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June i888-May 1889 


Publishing Office: 243 St. Vincent Street 



Printed hy T. &' A. Constable, Printers to Her Matesty, 
at the Edinburgh University Press. 



Note. — Poetry is denoted by an asterisk at the beginning of line. 


LCTING, The Psychology of. By John 
M. Robertson, 299. 
*Amoris Sapientia. By Reginald Horsley, 


Ancient See of Glasgow, The, A.D. 565-1560. 
(lUus.) By Archbishop Eyre, 125. 

*Andromeda. By Edward Carpenter, 140. 

Archseological Collection at Glasgow Exhibi- 
tion, The. By John Honeyman, 9 

Architectural Drawings, On ,the Exhibiting 
of. By John Honeyman, 33. 

Architecture, General Indifference to Modern. 
(lUus.) By George Washington Browne, 


Notes on, 61. 

of the Glasgow Exhibition Buildings. 

(Illus.) By Andrew Hall, 59. 
Arnold, Matthew, as a Critic. By R. A., 22. 
Art at the Glasgow International Exhibition, 

4. 30- 

Civic connection with : — 

Edinburgh, I. The Chambers Memorial 
Statue, 56. 
,, II. The S.S. C. Libraiy 
Competition, 91. 
Paris — The Gambetta Monument, 57. 

Congress, The, 149, 210. 

General Notes on, 67, 97, 132, 190, 231. 

• in the West of Scotland (with four illus- 
trations), 146. 

Nationality in. By James Paterson, 89. 

— of Accompanying Songs, The. By Carl 

Reinecke, 68. 

of John Crawford Wintour, The. By J. 

M. Gray, 28. 

Of Love in. By A. Roche, 29. 

Old and New in. By Professor G. Bald- 
win Brown, 84. 

Progressiveness in. By Principal Caird, 

I, 42. 

Student at Paris, The. By James Pater- 
son, u8. 

The Gospel of, 25. 

The Prospects of, under Socialism. By 

Walter Crane, 8i. 

Artist and Author. Jjy Esme Stuart, 2S7, 

Artists, The Royal Society of British. By 
W. S., 215. 

Arts and Crafts Exhibition, The. By F. 
Elliot, 160. 

Author's Note-book, Random Impressions 
from an. By William Sharp, 237. 

*Ballade of Kelvin Fair, A. By Martin 

Quern, l8l. 
Bastien Lepage and Modern Realism. By 

George Clausen, 1 14. 
Beei/tovein'aiia, Nottebohm's. By Mrs. Young, 

7i> 136- . 
Belated Critic of Wagner, A. By T. Carlaw 

Martin, 163. 
Belles-Lettres in Scotland. By John M. 

Robertson, 140. 
Berlioz, Jullien's. By Franklin Peterson, 356. 
Birmingham Exhibition Note, 216. 
Bohemianism in Anticoli-Corrado. By Percy 

Sturdee, 281, 345. 
Book Covers, 143. 
British Artists, The Royal Society of. By W. 

Broadening the Base. By F. A. Underwood, 

*Broken Ring, A. By Ernest Radford, 241. 
Burlington House, The Winter Exhibition at. 

By Graham R. Tomson, 246. 
Burne- Jones, ' The Wood Nymph ' of. By 

Professor Patrick Geddes, 155. 


-ATHEDRAL, Glasgow. (Illus.) By 
John Honeyman, 122. 
Causerie, The Goncourts : A Tempestuous 
Premiere at the Odeon. By Cecil Nichol- 
son, 256. 
•■'Chaucer — Sonnet. By J. Pringle Nichol, 24. 
^Christmas Eve and Easter Day — Sonnet. 

By J. Pringle Nichol, 24. 
'City of Dream,' The. By Miss Constance 

C. W. Naden, 332. 
Civic connection with Art — 

Edinburgh, I. The Chambers Memorial 
Statue, 56. 
,, II. The S.S. C. Library Com- 

petition, 91. 
Paris — The Gambetta Monument, 57. 
Concert Season in Glasgow, The, 297. 
Cornelius, Peter. By E. Clauss, 103, 133. 
Corot as an example of Style in Painting. By 
Professor R. A. M. Stevenson, 50. 

at Work. By David Croal Thomson, 5 1 . 

Exhibition at the Goupil Gallery, 328. 

Cotman's Drawings at the Burlington Fine 
Arts Club, 31S. 



ACON, Francis, his Life and Philosophy. 
Part I. Bacon's Life.' By John Nichol. 
Review, 1 1 1. 

'ECORATIVE Handiwork, Notes on the 

Exhibition of. By Francis H. Newbery, 

184, 222. 
Art Exhibition, The. By Francis H. 

Newbery, with four illustrations by Robert 

Little, 184. 
' Die Feen.' By Emil Clause, 70. 

.C,AST of Eden. By William Canton, 75. 
Education, Musical. ByF. H. Collinson, 134. 
English Songs of the Day. By S. W., 171. 
Etching and Etchings. By Frank Short, 228, 

"Evening Song, An. By E. F. Strange, 337. 
Evolution in English Verse. By John M. 

Robertson, 203. 
Exhibitions, 353. 

J? AR from thy Side. By Ernest Radford, 

Florid Vocal Music. By S. W., 138. 

Foreign Loan Pictures at the Glasgow Inter- 
national Exhibition. By R. T. Hamilton 
Bruce, 8. 

Forthcoming Art Congress at Liverpool, The. 
By W. M. Conway, M.A., 149. 

Freedom in the Universities. By R. A., 76. 

French and Dutch Loan Collection, tdin. , 
18S6, Catalogue. Review, 65. 

VjrENERAL Indifference to Modern Archi- 
tecture. (Illus.) By George Washington 
Browne, 57. 

Notes on Art, 67, 97, 132. 

George Romney. By Robert Walker, 49. 
*' Ghaist o' Dennilair, The.' By ' Wild Rose,' 

Glance at Italian Glass, A. (Illus.) By Oscar 

Paterson, 62. 
Glasgow Architectural Association Sketch- 
Book, vol. iii. Review, 94. 

Cathedral. (Illus.) By John Honeyman, 


Corporation Galleries, Pictures in. By 

James Paton — 

Mabuse. Portion of Altar-piece, 242. 
Greuze. 'The Sulky Boy,' 344. 

Institute of the Fine Arts, The Exhibition 

of the, 243. 

I3y Professor Patrick Geddes, 274. 

International Exhibition, Architecture 

of the. By Andrew Hall, 59. 

International Exhibition, 1S88 — 

ArchKological Collection. By John 

Honeyman, g." 
Bishop's Castle Collection. By James 

Paton, 31. 
Foreign Loan Pictures. By R. T. 

Hamilton Bruce, 8. 
Painting, 4. 

Sculpture. By Doryphorus, 6, 30, 54, 
90, 121. 

Municipal Buildings — Mr. William 

Young, architect, 93. 



Glasgow, The Ancient See of, A.D. 560-1560 

(Illus.) By Archbishop Eyre, 125. 
Glass, A Glance at Italian. (Illus.) By Oscar 

Paterson, 62. 
Gospel of Art, The, 25. 
Grosvenor Gallery, The. By Mrs. Graham R. 

Tomson, 278. 
Exhibition, The Pastels at the. By 

Morley Roberts, 78. 


OLE, F., R.A., The late, S3. 

Music in New York. By Worte, 19, 74. 
Is an English School of, desirable ? By 

W. A. Barrett, 99. 

Notes on, 106, 202, 236. 

Musical Amateur, The. By James Oliphant, 

^^isthetics in Presbyterian Worship. By 

Franklin Peterson, 38, 104. 

Education. By T. H. CoUinson, 134. 

Examinations, Local. By Libra, 15, 36. 

Life in Germany — Leipzig, 166, 296. 

Notes from Paris, 260. 

*My Lady of Dream. By Mortimer Wheeler, 


IbSEN, Henrik. By James Mavor, 173, 

'Illusion. By Ernest Radford, 241. 
Is an English School of Music Desirable ? By 

W. A. Barrett, 99. 
Italian Art, Modern. By Mrs. Mary Reed, 

Glass, A Glance at. By Oscar Paterson, 



ADE in Scotland. By Charles G. Leland, 

Japanese Art, ' Kakemonos ' ; a Study in. By 

Mrs. Mary Reed, 213. 
Sxord-Guards. (Illus.) By J. P. 

MacGillivray, 129. 
Jullien's Berlioz. By Franklin Peterson, 356. 

K.AKEMONOS': a Study in Japanese 

Art. By Mrs. Mary Reed, 213. 
*Kelvin Fair, A Ballade of. By Martin Quern, 

wiih four illustrations by John Lavery, 181. 
*Kiss, The. By John Warrack, 36S. 


_/EPAGE, Bastien-, and Modern Realism. 

By George Clausen, 114. 
Liszt, Wagner and. By An Old Wagnerian, 

Literary Notes, 80, 112, 144. 
Literature, Victorian. By William Martin, 

Local Musical Examinations. By Libra, 15, 

London Exhibitions, Notes on some, 10. 

The New Gallery, 35. 

The Maris Exhibition, 35. 


Prospects of Art under Socialism. By Walter 

Crane, 81. 
Psychology of Acting, The. By John M. 

Robertson, 299. 


ATIONALITV in Art, A Note on. By 
James Paterson, S9. 
' New Covenant' Ode, The. By Libra, 17. 
Note — Birmingham Exhibition, 216. 
Notes, I, 25, 162, 271, 304, 336, 366. 

New York, 343. 

from Paris .Studios, 221. 

Literary, 80, 112, 144. 

on Architecture, 61. 

on Art, General, 67, 97, 132, 162, 190, 


on Music, 106, 202, 236. 

on Painting, 53. 

on some London Exhibitions, 10, 35. 

on Sculpture, 55. 

on the Exhibition of Decorative Handi- 
work. By Francis H. Newbery, 222. 

Nottebohm's Bcethoinniaiia. By Leonora 
Young, 71, 1.56, 200, 258. 

November Boughs. Review. By Edward 
Carpenter, 334. 

.ACBETH,' Scenic Aspects of the 

Lyceum. (Illus.) By William Archer, 249. 
MacCunn, Hamish. By W. T. H., 40. 
*Madonna di San Sisto. By Thomas Woolner, 

R.A., 9. 
Mary Queen of Scots, On a Portrait of. 

(Illus.) By John Lavery, 87. 
Matthew Arnold as a Critic. By R. A., 22. 
Medea Charming the Dragon, 121. 
Memorial Catalogue of F7'ench and Dutch 

Loan Collection^ Review of. By Macaulay 

Stevenson, 65. 
Meredith's, George, Reading of Earth. 

Review. By William Sharp, 263. 
Modern Architecture, General Indifference to. 

(Illus.) By George Washington Browne, 


Italian Art. By Mrs. Mary Reed, 115. 

Mural Decoration, Some recent efforts in. 

(Illus.) By Professor Baldwin Brown, 225. 
Music, Florid Vocal. By S. W., 138. 
in Edinburgh, 1887-8. By Otto 

Schweizer, 14. 
in Glasgow. By G. W. 11., 11. 



1.AJON, PaulAdolphe. By Robert Walker, 

Ramsay, Allan. By Professor Nichol, 20. 
Random Impressions from an Author's Note- 
book — Italy. By William Sharp, 237. 
Rembrandts at Burlington House. By J. 

Forbes White, LL.D., 33S. 
Reviews — 

A Book of Verses. By W. E. Henley, 48. 

Pictures at Play. By two Art Critics, 48. 

Glasgow Architectural Association Sketch- 
Book, vol. iii,, 94. 

Memorial Catalogue of French and Dutch 
Loan Collection. By Macaulay Stevenson, 

Philosophical Classics for English Readers — 

Francis Bacon : His Life and Philosophy. 

Part I. Bacon^s Life. By John Nichol. 


Reviews and Notes, 175, 208, 240. 

Roman Models. By Arnaldo Ferraguti, 217. 

Rome and the Middle Ages. By S. H. 

Capper 12S, 345. 
Romney, George. By Robert Walker, 49. 
Rossetti's, Dante Gabriel, 'Silence.' By 

Professor Patrick Geddes, 155. 
Royal Scottish Academy Exhibition, The. 

By Professor Patrick Geddes, 306. 
Society of Painters in Water 

Colours, 153. 
Society of British Artists, The. By 

W. S., 215. 

'F Love in Art. By A. Roche, 29. 
Old and New in Art. By Professor G. Bald- 
win Blown, 84. 
*01d Morality. By Edmund Gosse, 209. 
Oliphant, Laurence. By Edward Carpenter, 

O'Meara, The late Frank, 156. 
*On a Picture by David Scott. By Gleesou 

White, 177. 
On a Portrait of Mary Queen of Scots. (Illus.) 

By John Lavery, 87. 
On the Art of Accompanying Songs. By 

Carl Reinecke, 68. 
On the Exhibiting of Architectural Drawings. 

By John Honeyman, 33. 

r AINTER Etchers' Exhibition, 312. 

Painting, Notes on, 53. 

Paris Causerie. By Cecil Nicholson, 256, 313, 


Musical Notes from, 260, 342. 

Studios, Notes from, 221. 

The Art Student in. By James Pater- 
son, 118. 
Pastels at the Grosvenor Exhibition. By 

Morley Roberts, 178. 
Plates, Our, 194, 232, 317. 
Poe's Tales and the Art of Fiction. By 

Ernest Rhys, 260. 
*Poems — A Broken Ring, Far from Thy Side, 

Illusion, Probation. By Ernest Radford, 

Poetry in a Music Drama, The Place of. By 

James Oliphant, 197. 
Portion of Altar-piece — ' St. George and 

Donor.' (With Plate.) By James Paton, 

Portrait-Painting. By Alice Coikran, 1S2. 
Presbyterian Worship, Musical /Esthetics in 

By Franklin Peterson, 38, 104. 
*Probation. By Ernest Radford, 241. 
Progressiveness in Art. By Principal Caird, 

I, 42. 

OAMOTHRACE, The Nike of. (Illus.) 
By Mrs. Maiy Reed, 157. 

Scandinavian Composers. (Illus.), 329. 

Scenic Aspects of the Lyceum Macbeth. (Illus. ) 
By William Archer, 249. 

Scotland, Art in West of. (Illus.), 146. 

Scottish Academy, The Royal, Exhibition, 
1889. (Illus.) By Professor Patrick Geddes. 

Homers, The Last of the. By Wil- 

ham Alexander, LL.D. (Illus.), 359. 

Society of Painters in Water Colours, 

The Royal, 153. 

Sculpture at the Glasgow International Exhi- 
bition. By Doryphorous, 6, 30, 54, 90, 

Demonstrations by M. Lanteri at Glas- 
gow. By Francis H. Newbery. (Illus.), 


Notes on, 55. 

Sellars, The late James, and his Work. 

(Illus.) By John Keppie, 191. 
Sevigne, Madame de, aux Rochers. By Mrs. 

William Sidgwick. (Illus.), 363. 
Sketches of Pictures in the E.xhibition of the 

Royal Scottish Academy, 276, 306. 
Socialism, The Prospects of Art under. By 

Walter Crane, 81. 
Some Recent Efforts in Mural Decoration. 

By Professor Baldwin Brown, 225. 
*Song. By William Sharp. 305. 
Songs, On the Art of Accompanying. By 

Carl Reinecke, 68. 
*Sonnet for a Picture. By Havelock Ellis, 

*Sonnets — Chaucer, Christmas Eve and Easter 
Day. By J. Pringle Nichol, 24. 
On a Picture by David Scott. By 

Gleeson White, 177. 
Renascence. By Walter Crane, 49. 
The Beautiful. By Sir Noel Paton, 113. 
The Year's End. By Colin Percival, 


*Spring. By Graham R. Tomson, 305. 

Stevenson, Robert Louis, with Portrait. By 
J. M., 108. 

Stott, WiUiam, of Oldham. By Alice Cork- 
ran, 319. 

Stray Dialogues, 207. 

Stuart Exhibition, The. By Morley Roberts, 

♦Sweetheart Abbey. (lUus.) By Walter C. 
Smith, 107. 

Sword-Guards, Japanese. By J. P. Mac- 
Gillivray, 29. 

1 O Omar Khayyam. By Gleeson White, 
Tristan and Isolde. By Franklin Peterson, 

Turner Drawings at Burlington House, The, 
1888-9. By Mrs. Alfred Hunt, 309. 

U NIVERSITIES, Freedom in the. By 
R. A., 76. 

V ENUS Anadyomene. By Professor John 
Stuart Blackie, 17S. 

*Verses written for Pictures. By Ernest Rad- 
ford, 145. 

Victorian Literature. By William Martin, 

W AGNER, A Belated Critic of. 
Carlaw Martin, 163. 

Wagner and Liszt. By an Old Wagnerian, 

"94, 233- 
Water Colours, The Action of Light upon, 

Winter Exhibition at Burlington House, The. 

By Graham R. Tomson, 246. 
Wintour, The Art of John Crawford. By 

J. M. Gray, 28. 
Woman's Work in Art Industries. By Miss 

Anslruther, 131, 15S. 
' Wood Nymph, The,' of E. Bume- Jones and 

' The Silence ' of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 

By Professor Patrick Geddes, 155- 
*Wood-Solace. By H. Bellyse Baildon, 273. 

By T. 

I EAR'S End, 

The. By Colin Percival, 



lLEXANDER, W., LL.D. The Last of 
the Scottish Homers (Illus.), 359. 
An Old Wagnerian. Wagner and Liszt, 194, 

Anstruther, Miss. Womans Work in Art 

Industries, 131, 158. 
Archer, William. Scenic Aspects of the 

Lyceum Macbeth, 249. 


)AILD0N, H. Bellyse. *Wood-Solace, 


Barrett, W. A. Is an English School of 
Music desirable? 99. 

Blackie, Professor John Stuart. *Venus An- 
adyomene, 178. 

Brown, Professor G. Baldwin. Old and New 
in Art, 84. 

Some Recent Efforts in Mural 

Decoration, 225. 

Browne, George Washington. General In- 
difference to Modern Architecture (Illus.), 

Bruce, R. T. Hamilton. Foreign Loan Pic- 
tures' at the Glasgow Exhibition, 8. 


^AIRD, Principal. Progressiveness in 

Art, I, 42. 
Canton, William. *Eastof Eden, 75. 
Capper, S. H. Rome and the Middle Ages, 

128, 354. 
Carpenter, Edward. 'Andromeda, 140. 

Laurence Oliphant, 265. 

November Boughs, 334. 

Clausen, George. Bastien-Lepage and Modern 

Realism, 114. 
Clauss, Emil. ' Die Feen,' 70. 

Peter Cornelius, 103, 133. 

CoUinson, T. H. Musical Education, 134. 
Conway, W. M., M.A. The Forthcoming 

Art Congress at Liverpool, 149. 
Corkran, Miss Alice. Portrait-Painting, 182. 

William Stott of Oldham, 319. 

Crane, Walter. Sonnet— Renascence, 49. 
The Prospects of Art under 

Socialism, 81. 

DoRYPIiORUS. Sculpture at the Glas- 
gow International Exhibition, 6, 30, 54, 90, 

ULLLIOT, F. The Arts and Crafts Ex- 
hibition, 160. 

Ellis, Havelock. "Sonnet for a Picture, 273. 

Eyre, Archbishop. The Ancient See of Glas- 
gow, A.D. 560-1560 (Illus. ), 125. 

Jr ERRAGUTI, Arnaldo. Roman Models, 


rEDDES, Professor Patrick. The 'Wood 
Nymph ' and ' The Silence ' of Dante 
Gabriel Rossetti (with two plates), 155. 

The Glasgow Institute of the Fine 

Arts (with plate), 274. 

The Royal Scottish Academy 

Exhibition, 306. 

Gosse, Edmund. *01d Morality, 209. 

Gray, J. M. The Art of John Crawford 
Wintour, 28. 

fl. W. H. Music in Glasgow, 1 1. 


. ALL, Andrew. Architecture of the 
Glasgow International Exhibition Build- 
ings (Illus.), 59. 

Henry, George. The Royal Scottish Society 
of Painters in Water Colours, 153. 

Iloneyman, John, The Archieological Col- 
lection at Glasgow Exhibition, 9. 

On the Exhibiting of Architec- 
tural Drawings, 33. 

Glasgow Cathedral (Illus.), 122. 

Horsley, Reginald. "Amoris Sapientire, 337. 

Hunt, Mrs. Alfred. The Turner Drawings at 
Burlington House, 1888-89, 309. 


EPPIE, lohn. The late James Sellars 
and his Woik (Illus.), 191. 

LaVERY, John. On a Portrait of Mary 

Queen of Scots (Illus.), 87. 
Leland, Charles G. Jade in Scotland, 189. 
Libra. Musical Examinations, 15, 36. 
' The New Covenant ' Ode, 17. 




Sword-Guards, 129. 
Martin, T. Carlaw. A Belated Critic of 
Wagner, 163. 

Martin, William. Victorian Literature, 46. 
Mavor, James. Henrik Ibsen, 173, 269. 
Robert Louis Stevenson (with por- 
trait), 108. 


ADEN, Constance C. W. ' The City of 
Dream,' 332. 

Newbery, Francis H. The Decorative Arts 
Exhibition (Illus.), 184, 222. 

Sculpture Demonstrations at Glas- 
gow, 340. 

Nichol, J. Pringle. *Chaucer, Christmas Eve 
and Easter Day, 24. 

Professor. Allan Ramsay, 20. 

Nicholson, Cecil. Causerie — The Goncourts : 
A Tempestuous Premiere at the Odeon, 

Paris Causerie, 313, 342. 


LIPHANT, James. The Place of Poetry 
in a Music Drama, 197. 
The Musical Amateur, 294. 

r ATERSON, Oscar. A Glance at Italian 

Glass (Illus.), 62. 
James. A Note on Nationality in Art, 

The Art Student in Pans, 118. 

Paton, James. Art at the Glasgow Inter- 
national Exhibition. The Bishop's Castle 
Collection, 31. 

Portion of Altar-piece — ' St. 

George and Donor,' by Mabuse, 242. 

'The Sulky Boy,' by Greuze, 344. 

Sir Noel. *Sonnet— The Beautiful, 1 13. 

Percival, Colin. *The Year's End, 177. 

Peterson, Franklin. Musical .lUsthetics in 
Presbyterian Worship, 38, 104. 

'I rista7i and Isolde, 168. 

JuUien's Berlioz, 356. 

OuERN, Martin. 
'^ Fair (Illus.), 181. 

*A Ballade of Kelvin 




Matthew Arnold as a Ci'itic, 22. 
- Freedom in the Universities, 76. 
Ernest. "Verses written for Pictures, 

"Poems — A Broken Ring, Far from 

Thy .Side, Illusion, Probation, 241. 


Reed, Mrs. Mary. ' Kakemonos : ' A Study 
in Japanese Art, 213. 

^ Modem Italian Art, 115. 

The Nike of Samotlirace, 157. 

Reinecke, Carl. On the Art of Accompanying 
Songs, 68. 

Rhys, Ernest. Poe's Tales and the Art of 
Fiction, 260. 

Roberts, Morley. The Pastels at the Gros- 
venor Exhibition, 178. 

The Stuart Exhibition, 267. 

Robertson, John M. Belles-Lettres in Scot- 
land, 140. 

■■ — Evolution in English Verse, 203. 

The Psychology of Acting, 299. 

Roche, A. Of Love in Art, 29. 

O CHWEIZER, Otto. Music in Edinburgh, 

'4- . . 
Sharp, William. George Meredith's Reading 

of Earth, 263. 
Random Impressions from an 

Author's Note-book, 237. 
*Song, 305. 

Short, Frank. Etching and Etchings (Illus.), 
228, 290. 

Sidgwick, Mrs. William. Madame de Sevigne 
aux Rochers (Illus.), 363. 

Smith, Walter C. *Sweetheart Abbey (Illus.), 

Stevenson, Macaulay. Review : Memorial 
Catalogue of French and Dtiteh Loan Col- 
lection, 65. 

Professor R. A. M. Corot as an Ex- 
ample of Style in Painting, 50. 

Strange, Edward V. *An Evening Song, 337. 

Stuart, Esme. Artist and Author, 2S7, 326. 

Sturdee, Percy. Bohemianism in Anticoli- 
Corrado, 281, 345. 

S. W. Florid Vocal Music, 13S. 

English Songs of the Day, 171. 



HOMSON, David Croal. Corot at 

Work, 51. 
Tomson, Graham R. The Winter Exhibition 

at Burlington House, 246. 

The Grosvenor Gallery, 278. 

*Spring, 305. 

NDERWOOD, F. H. Broadening the 
Base, 95. 


ALKER, Robert. George Romney, 49. 

Paul Adolphe Rajon, 65. 

Wheeler, Mortimer. *My Lady of Dream, 172. 
Wliite, J. Forbes. The Rembrandts at 

Burlington House, 338. 
Gleeson. *0n a Picture by David 

Scott, 177. 

*To Omar Khayyam, 26S. 

' Wild Rose.' *' The Ghaist o' Dennilair,' 29S. 
Woolner, Thomas R. A. "Madonna di San 

Sisto, 9. 
Worte. Music in New York, 19, 74. 
W. S. The Royal Society of British Artists, 

W. T. H. Hamish MacCunn, 40. 


OUNG, Leonora. Nottebohm's Beet- 
hoveniana^ 71, 136, 200, 258. 


Baillie, W. Carlisle. Tail-piece, 212. 
Bastien-Lepage, Jules. 'Pas yitztit,' to face 

page 113. 
Black, William S. Tail-piece to Vol. I. 36S. 
Brown, A. K. ' ' .Sundown,' 244. 
Burne- Jones, E., A.R.A. 'The Wood 

Nymph,' to face page I. 
Carles, Antonin. ' La Cigale,' 316. 
Chalmers, Hector. Sketches of Pictures at 

the Royal Scottish Academy Exhibition, 

276, 277, 306-308. 
Clausen, George. Field Worker's Head. 

From Pen and Inlc Drawing by A. Roche, 

to face page 232. 
Corot, J. B. C. 'Evening in Normandy,' to 

face page 65. 
— — ' Pastorale — Souvenir d'ltalie,' to 

f cue page 52. 
Coutant,'Miss Nelly. ' St. John the Baptist,' 


Coventry, R. M. G. ' A Summer s Day, 

Dalou, Jules. Monument to Delacroix, 313. 
Falguiere. ' La Musique,' 316. 
Ferraguti, Arnaldo. Roman Sketch, 21S. 
Gibb, Robert, R.S.A. 'Alma: Advance of 

42d Highlanders,' 276. 
Gray, Alice. ' An Eident Wabster,' 307. 
Guthrie, James, A.R.S.A. Portrait of Mrs. 

Fergus, 243. 

' To Pastures New,' 146. 

Hardie, Charles M., A.R.S.A. 'A Royal 

Decoration,' 276. 
Henderson, Joseph. ' The Mull of Cantyre, 

from South End,' 243. 
Hole, William, A.R.S.A. Etching, after 

Corot, ' Evening in Normandy,' to face page 

■ Etching — Landscape, 'Moonlight.' 

By James Maris, to face page 209. 

Hunt, Tom. 'Waiting for Buyers,' 244. 

Kerr, Henry W. 'At tlie Loupin'-on Stane,' 

Lanteri, Ed. Sculpture Demonstrations, 
340, 341- 

Layery, John. 'Dawn, 14th May 156S,' 14S. 

' One of the Maries,' 181. 

'From the Verandah,' 181. 

'The Blue Hungarians,' 181. 

■ 'The Seaforth Highlanders,' 181. 

Little, Robert. Sketches in the Exhibition 

of Decorative Handiwork, Edinburgh, 1888, 

1S5, 1S6, 1S7, 222, 223, 224. 
Mabuse. Portion of Altar-piece, to face page 

MacCorniick, A. D. Initial Letters, 258, 

287, 294. 

IleaJ-piece, 237. 

.M'George, W. S. 'Bark Peeling,' 277. 
Mackay, W. D. , R.S.A. 'November,' 277. 
Mackie, C. IT. ' Reapers returning at Sun- 
down,' 306. 
M'Taggart, W. A., R.S.A. 'A Highland 

Burn,' to face page 88. 
Mann, Harrington. Roman Sketches, 217, 

219, 220. 
Sketches in Anticoli-Corrado, 2S1, 

283, 2S4, 2S5, 286, 345, 347, 348. 
Maris, James. Landscape, 'Moonlight.' 

Etching by William Hole, to face page 209. 
Melville, Arthur, A.R.S.A. 'The Snake 

Charmer,' to face page 273. 
Menpes, Mortimer. Dry-point Etching, 292. 
Murdoch, W. G. Burn. 'A Leisure Hour,' 

Sketches of Macbeth at the 

Lyceum, 249-255. 
' Henry Irving as Macbeth,' to face 

page 249. 
Nisbet, R. B. Decorative Panel, 227. 
Noble, J. Campbell, A.R.S.A. 'Coming in 

with the Tide,' 277. 
O'Meara, Frank. ' Evening in the Gatinais,' 

to face page 188. 
Paterson, Oscar. Venetian Glass, 62, 63, 

Pettie, John, R.A. ' Hamish MacCunn,' 

Reid, G. O., A.R.S.A. 'The Catechising,' 


Reid, Sam. Portraits of John Milne of Glen- 

livet, 359, 362. 
Rhind, J. Stevenson. ' The Bathers,' 308. 
Roche, Alex. 'Good King Wenceslas, ' to 

face page 2,0s. 
Pen and Ink Drawing. After 

George Clausen's 'Field Worker's Head,' 

to face page 232. 

'Shepherdess,' 147. 

Romney, George. ^ 'L^<iy Uttxhy ,'' to face page 

Rossetti, D. G. ' HWtnce,' to face page 156. 
Runeberg, Walter. ' L'Amour et Bacchus,' 


Statue of Count Brahe, 315. 

Sellars,James. Architectural Designs, 192, 193. 
Short, Frank. Etching — Tail-piece, 293. 

Pen and Ink Drawing, 230. 

Sidgwick, Mrs. William. ' Les Rochers,' 

363 ; • Vitre,' 365. 
■Sinclair, A. G. Decorative Panel, 226. 
Smart, John, R.S.A. 'Ben Vourie, Loch 

Awe,' 277. 
Stott, William, of Oldham. 'The Nymph,' 

to face page 317. 

' Moonrise,' 319. 

Profile, from Study, 324. 

' Diana,' 323. 

Face, from Study, 321. 

Strang, W. Etching — 'The Hov/ers,' to face 

page 177. 
.Sturdee, Percy. Sketches, 282, 346. 
Thorneycroft, Hamo. ' Medea charming the 

Dragon,' to face page 121. 
Traquair, Mrs. Mural Decoration, 225. 

Panel, 228. 

Walls, William. ' Mare and Foals,' 277. 
Walton, E. A. Landscape, 146. 

Pastel, 244. 

Portrait of a Girl, to face page 353. 

Whistler, James M'Neil. Etching — ' Ex- 
terior,' to face page 290. 

One of the Thames Series, 290. 

Wingate, Lawton, R.S.A. ' Linn Mill, 

near Alloa,' 277. 



A Highland Burn. By W. A. M'Taggart, 
R.S.A., to face page %%. 

Chester Cathedral Pulpit, io faee page 99. 

Diana. From .Study for picture, ' Diana and 
Endymion.' By William Stott of Oldham, 323. 

Evening in Normandy. By J. B. C. Corot. 
Etching by William Hole, A.R.S.A., /o/irre 
page 65. 

Evening in the Gatinais. By Frank O'Meara, 
to face page 1S8. 

Exterior. By J. M'Neil WTiistler. Repro- 
duction of Etching, to face page 290. 

Face. From Study. By William Stott of 
Oldham, 321. 

Field Worker's Head. By George Clausen. 
Pen and Ink Drawing by A. Roche, to face 
page 232. 

Figure of Girl. By Mortimer Menpes. Dry- 
point Etching, 292. 

Good King Wenceslas. By Alexander Roche, 
to face page 305, 

Henry Irving as Macbeth. By W. G. Burn 

Murdoch, to face page 249. 
Japanese Sword-Guards, to face page 129. 
Lady Derby. By George Roinney, to face 

page 49. 
Landscape. 'Moonlight.' By James Maris. 

Etching by William Hole, K.'H.K., to face 

page 232. 
Mary Queen of .Scot.'=, Blairs College Portrait 

of, to face page 8 1 . 
Medea charming the Dragon. By Hamo 

Thorneycroft, to face page 121. 
Moonlight. Landscape. By James Maris. 

Etching by William Hole, A.R.S.A., to 
face page 209. 
Pas Meche. Bastien-Lepage, to face page 

Pastorale — Souvenir d 'Italic. By J. B. C. 

Corot, tofacepa^e 52. 
Portrait. By E. A. Walton, to face page 


Profile. From Study. By William Stott of 

Oldham, to face page 324. 
Rowallan Castle, Ayrshire, to face page 92. 
Silence. By Dante Gabriel Kossetti, to face 

page 156. 
St. George and Donor. By Jan Gossart 

Mabuse, to face page 241. 
Souvenir d'ltalie — Pastorale. By J. B. C. 

Corot, to face page 52. 
The Nymph. By William Stott of Oldham, 

to face page 317. 
The Procession. By Harrington Mann, 

The Snake-Charmer. By Arthur Melville, 

A.R.S.A., to face page 273. 
The Sowers. Etching by William Strang, to 

face page 177. 
The Sulky Boy. By Jean Baptiste Greuze, to 

face page ly;. 
The Wood Nymph. By Edward Bume-Jones, 

to face page I. 

The Scottish Aut Review 

Vol. I. 

JUNE 1888. 

No. 1. 

object the dissemination of Art knowledge. 
Interest in the Arts is manifestly increasing through- 
out this country, and for intelligent guidance of this 
interest there is a generally felt desire. While pri- 
marily intended to meet this want, the aim of the 
Magazine will be to treat the subjects considered in 
a spirit calculated to make it of value as a contri- 
bution to Art thought, independent of mere locality. 
In periodicals of this kind it has become more and 
more necessary that certain subjects should be 
handled by those whose knowledge of them is not 
only special but practical. Accordingly it is our 
intention that, in this paper, those actually engaged 
in the various Arts should express thd ideas they have 
of necessity formed regarding the Arts which are the 

work of their lives. In the pages of this Review the 
Painter will write about Painting, the Sculptor about 
Scui-PCTJEE, the Architect about Auchitectube, the 
Musician about Music, and the Man of Letters about 
LiTEKATUKE ; but not to the exclusion of those who, 
though not themselves professionally engaged in the 
Arts, may yet have general culture or special know- 
ledge qualifying them to deal with subjects coming 
within the scope of the Journal. Endeavouring, as 
it does, to carry the treatment of Art to a point 
parallel to that attained by well-directed journalism 
in other fields, we sincerely hope that our action 
will commend itself to the press. Assured that it 
will be endorsed by serious Art-workers, we trust 
that those who care for the Arts will help to advance 
the work by giving it an encouraging support. 




THE history of knowledge is that, on the whole 
of a continuous, ever accelerating progress. In 
some departments this may be more marked than in 
others, but on the whole the law is a constant one, 
which constitutes each succeeding age the inheri- 
tor of the intellectual wealth of all preceding ages, 
and makes it its vocation to hand on the heritage 
it has received, enriched by its own contributions, 
to that which comes after. And it is\this char- 
acteristic of knowledge which lends an incalculable 
quickening influence to thought and research. If 
we cannot assent to the paradox that the\ chief 
value of knowledge is not in the possession but 
in the pursuit of it ; if there are few who would 
endorse the well-known saying of Malebranche — ' If 
I held truth captive in my hand, I should open my 
hand and let it fly, that I might pursue it again,' 
yet this much must be conceded, that the known, 
the mastered and established facts of knowledge 
derive a great part of their value from their relation 
to the unknown and the undiscovered. It is the 
new hopes that are ever arising in us in the search for 
truth, it is the stir of unresting endeavour, the 
impossibility of stagnation, the excitement of in- 

quiry, the wonder and delight of the world of 
thought breaking upon us with the ever-unabated 
charm of novelty ; it is the sense of the ever-increas- 
ing amount of our intellectual possessions and the 
prophetic glimpses of richer, but as yet unappro- 
priated, treasures ; — it is, in short, the atmosphere 
of progressiveness which lends a peculiar interest to 
the vocation of the searcher after truth. But whilst 
this characteristic is obviously true of the physical 
sciences, whilst, as respects this great department 
of knowledge, we see at a glance that modern times 
are at an almost incalculable distance in advance 
of ancient, and whilst there are obvious reasons on 
which we may base the conviction that the progress 
of these sciences will be still greater and more rapid 
in the future, is there not some ground for maintain- 
ing that in some branches of literature and in 
almost all that belongs to the province of art, a 
point of excellence was reached in past ages which 
has never been transcended, and that here all that is 
left for modern times is only the attitude of reverent 
study and admiration, the humbler task of imitat- 
ing those exquisite works of the genius of antiquity 
which we can never hope to excel ? Moreover, if we 



reflect on the conditions by whicli progress is deter- 
mined, may it not be argued that science and art 
stand on altogether different grounds ? The causes 
wliich conduce to the progressive advancement of 
the former do not apply to the latter, and it might 
even, witli some sliow of reason, be maintained that 
the growth of scientific knowledge constitutes a hin- 
drance to artistic originality and productiveness, so 
that as science advances, art must necessarily decline. 
How far, let us ask, is tliis contrast ti'ue, and what 
are the lessons which, as students in both these pro- 
duces of Jiuman thought, we may gather from it ? 

In the first place, it is obvious that in art (and 
under this general term I include not only what are 
ordinarily meant by the Fine Arts, but also that 
which may be regarded as the highest of tliem — 
Poetry) attainment depends much more on individual 
ability and genius than in science. A modern man 
of science may not be of greater mental power than 
many of its earlier pioneers, but he is immeasurably 
in advance of tlie latter in a sense in which we can- 
not say that a modern poet or sculptor is in advance 
of Homer or Pindar, of Pliidias or Praxiteles. In 
those departments of human attainment in wliicli 
observation and experiment are the instruments of 
knowledge, or again in tliose which, though they do 
not advance by the mere accretion or accumulation 
of facts and results, have in them a principle of 
development by which each successive age absorbs 
and uses up tlie thought of the past, it is plain 
that, witli the same ability, tlie modern inquirer has 
immense advantages over the investigator of bygone 
times. Every real contribution which any past 
observer or thinker lias made to science is, to him 
who begins now' to labour in the same field, not only 
a ready-made part of knowledge, but a means of 
further discovery. Even a student of ordinary abil- 
ity and diligence may in a few years make himself 
master of the best results of the lifelong labours of 
those who have contributed to the marvellous pro- 
gress of physical science since the close of the 16th 
century. Nor does it need any great or exceptive 
powers of mind, any genius akin to that of the Kep- 
lers, Galileos, Newton s of past times, to be able to 
advance beyond their point of knowledge and to 
carry on the march of discovery into regions which it 
was not given to them to penetrate. For every new 
fact, every fresh application of a principle or law, is 
a distinct addition to the existing body of know- 
ledge. And so, science progresses not merely by 
the intellectual activity of the highest minds, but 
by the patient toil of those who can only furnish 
materials for fresh induction, or work out applica- 
tions of ascertained principles. In science it is not 
men of genius only who are capable of doing any- 

thing, laborious mediocrity has here also its most use- 
ful part to play, and even the veriest intellectual day- 
labourers, the hewers of wood and drawers of water, 
may do something to iielp on the common work. 

Moreover, from the same cause it arises that the 
work of many of tlie greatest contributors to science 
speedily loses any other than an historical interest. 
However valuable what they did in their own day, 
their methods of investigation are no longer followed, 
their books are not read, the precise results of their 
researches are not attended to in ours. In many 
cases what were really valuable discoveries, measured 
by the existing state of knowledge, have been only 
stepping-stones towards greater discoveries, or have 
been superseded by wider generalisations. Even in 
the case of tliose great discoveries which remain per- 
manent contributions to man's knowledge of nature, 
the form in wliich they were first propounded may 
have been greatly impi-oved on by the labour of 
otlier and inferior minds, in whose works alone they 
are now read. Who now reads, not to speak of a 
host of earlier lesser lights, the writings of the great 
discoverer of the primary laws of the planetary 
motions ? how many men in England know what 
Newton did in the precise form in which it was pre- 
sented in the Principia ? We can get what is of 
permanent value in such woi-ks in a simpler and 
clearer form, and with those modifications and exten- 
sions which subsequent research has suggested, in the 
scientific manuals of our own day; and so whilst 
tiiese alone are read, the dust gathers on the works 
of the masters. 

But if now we tiu-n to that department of human 
activity whicli is embraced under the general desig- 
nation of Art, it is obvious that the conditions of 
progress, if here there be any such thing, are alto- 
gether different. The achievements of tlie painters, 
sculptors, poets, of the past, are not handed on to 
their successors like those of the men of science, so 
as to make it certain that each succeeding age shall 
be in advance of all that went before. Here, what 
a man does depends comparatively little on what 
others have done before him, but mainly on the 
quality and temper of his own mind. It is true 
that, as time progresses, there may be a greater 
command of the accessories of art, and also tliat the 
works of the great masters, as they increase in 
numbers, furnish more examples to kindle the 
artistic enthusiasm and to guide the efforts of later 
generations. To get his ideas conveyed to us, the 
painter uses the language of lines and colours, the 
poet of melodious words, and the traditions of their 
craft may do something to perfect both in the use 
of the organs of expression they employ. But tlie 
chief element in the perfection of a work of art is 


B_v E. Bmrns Joses. a K.A. 



that wliich lies deeper than expression — the creative 
faculty, the ineffable gift of genius, the capacity — 
define or describe how you will, by which comes that 
intuitive insight into the life of nature and man, 
that strange susceptibility to what is noble and 
tender and beautiful which touches and thrills us 
in the works of the great masters of art and song. 
Now this is an element which cannot be transmitted 
or handed down. It is independent of tradition 
and education ; it comes as an inspiration on elected 
souls fresh from the eternal fount of light, and the 
men of later times have no nearer or freer access to 
it than those of ages the most remote. As the 
world grows older and the Arts can look back on a 
longer history, it becomes indeed easier for minds of 
average ability by dint of culture to get up the 
external accessories of Art, to mimic the voice, the 
tone, the manner, the forms of expression, which, 
once peculiar to genius, are now the stock conven- 
tions of the poet's or painter's craft. By laborious 
study of models and of varieties of style and treat- 
ment, the clever art-aspirant may gain a specious 
facility of execution, and so qualify himself to pro- 
duce manufactured articles that impose on the 
unpractised, and pass with many for the genuine 
fruit of inspiration ; or he may so steep himself in 
tlie atmosphere of some great master as to catch 
the trick of his manner, and produce on undiscerning 
minds an impression in some faint measui-e akin to 
his. It is one result again of the varied literary 
culture of our time to rendei- it easier for talent and 
cleverness to write well, to write with a seeming 
flow of ideas and facility of language which at an 
earlier time would liave been to the mass of clever 
bookmakers an altogether impossible achievement. 
The stage properties of literary art have gone on 
accumulating for many ages, and are now accessible 
to all. Not only the machinery of versification, the 
knack of an ingenious and pleasing arrangement of 
melodious syllables, but a vast repertory of poetical 
effects, choice words, happy epithets, graceful 
images, metaphors, similes from every realm of 
nature, has so accumulated, that a competent 
literary artisan, endowed with a retentive memory, 
a cultivated taste, and a light and facile touch, may 
easily throw off" lyrics, sonnets, epics, dramas, by the 
dozen — electrotype productions so closely resembling 
the real metal that very many purchasers never 
know the difference. But how little this increased 
facility of production is any sign of real progress in 
Art is made evident by the fact that, though a 
great poet or painter may, as in well-known 
instances, have a most perfect mastery of the 
medium of expression, yet the soul of Art may 
shine through the rudest and most imperfect forms. 

and that with an ineffable force and fervour which 
at once eclipses the borrowed light of laborious 
culture. A few rude scratches from the pencil of 
genius, a note or two struck from the lyre by a 
hand all innocent of artificial culture but in sym- 
pathy with the soul of nature and vibrating in 
response to ' the still sad music of humanity,' may 
be instinct with a power and pathos, a capacity to 
cliarm and elevate and delight, which are the irre- 
fragable tokens of a true inspiration. 

From the same cause it follows that great works 
of art do not, like the works of many great scientific 
writers, become in course of time antiquated and 
obsolete. If Science possesses a character of pro- 
gressiveness which Art cannot claim, those who 
labour in the realm of Art have this compensation, 
that here the results of individual effort have a per- 
manence which is impossible in Science. A great 
work of art has a value which is all its own, which 
is independent of any step it marks in the progress 
of Art, and which therefore it never loses. So long 
as the material form lasts men do not cease to 
admire and cherish it, and even in the most distant 
ages, amidst a thousand changes in the thought and 
life of the world, it remains, in and for itself, a 
cherished possession of mankind. Not less' now 
than when the chisel of the Athenian scidptor gave 
the last touch to the Theseus of the Partlienon, or 
the groups of citizens gazed for the first time on the 
glorious procession of festive forms, moving, leaping, 
dancing amidst garlands and song, to which tlie 
hand of genius had given immortal expression in tlie 
frieze that swept round the great temple of the 
Acropolis — with not less admiration in this far 
distant age, torn away though they be from their 
place and little more than defaced fragments of the 
great originals, do thousands from all lands gaze on 
these monuments of ancient genius preserved for us 
in the great English repository of Art. And so, 
too, are not this and otlier schools of learning in 
this country bearing daily their silent testimony to 
the undying interest which the world retains in 
whatever survives to us of the treasures of ancient 
literature.? Time has not antiquated the great 
classical writers of antiquity, nor the progress of 
knowledge rendered their thouglits obsolete. Their 
ideas have indeed been assimilated by the minds 
and absorbed into the language and literature of 
succeeding ages, but not less do their works them- 
selves, in their original form and shape, remain the 
subjects of our study and admiration. Our best 
intellects teach and comment on them. Our most 
skilled critics spend their lives in eliciting and set- 
ting in fresh light their beauty of thought and 
exquisite perfection of form. AVe are not satisfied 


to get tlieir contents conveyed to us through the 
medium of our own language ; for we feel that, in a 
work of art, thought and language, idea and form, 
so interpenetrate each other, the impression pro- 
duced is a result of substance and expression so 
subtly interblended, that we have only an imperfect 
reflection of the great epic or tragic poem, or the 
ode or elegy, until we can know and experience for 
ourselves all the flow and rliytlim of its verse, all the 
delicate point and precision of its expression, all the 
majestic pomp or tlie tender music of the language. 

As there are wines which, it is said, can only be 
drunk in the country where the vine grows, so the 
flavour and aroma of the best works of art is too 
delicate to bear importation into the speech of 
other lands and times ; to appreciate them truly, 
we must breathe the very air and steep ourselves in 
the spirit of their own age and country, and receive 
them in the very form in which they were produced, 
fresh and fragrant, on the soil to which they are 

(7o he continued.) 



THE Art Section of the Glasgow International 
Exhibition will take an important jilace among 
the Exhibitions of recent times, for it contains not 
only what is perhaps the best collection of Sculpture 
that has yet been shown in this country, but also a 
widely inclusive and representative collection of the 
works of British and Continental painters. 

After the exceptionally fine character of at least 
one room in Edinburgh two years ago, and the in- 
teresting grouping of works in Manchester last year, 
there has naturally been some curiosity as to what 
the issue of the endeavour at Glasgow would be, for 
it was felt that there was a something in eacli of those 
Exhibitions which it would be difficult to rival in 
interest. Yet the Glasgow collection is quite dis- 
tinctive in its own way, equalling, if not excelling 
Manchester and Edinburgli in interest, and sujserior 
to either in facilities for the enjoyment and study of 
modern art in a large and catholic spirit. 

Before further considering the quality of the 
Exhibition, however, it may be well to review shortly 
the general scheme whicli has been adopted in 
arranging it. The galleries, ten in number, are 
commodious, well-lighted, and convenient in plan ; 
and, but for an excess of light, easily obviated, they 
are well-nigh perfect for tlieir purpose. The use of 
muslin screens under the glass roof, to temjoer the 
light, is a laudable step in the right direction. 

The treatment of the Sculpture is a feature of the 
Exhibition showing a marked improvement on the 
somewhat apatlietic attitude that has hitherto been 
adopted towards the art in Scotland. Instead of 
being distributed throughout the rooms primarily 
intended for pictures, it is arranged by itself in a 
gallery planned for tlie purpose. It is also gratify- 
ing to observe tliat the same wise spirit of advance 

is shown by the introduction of decorative panels in 
this and in two adjoining rooms, indicating an effort 
to encouraae a form of art that has been too long 
disregai'ded in this country. At the ends of the 
Sculpture Gallery there are two moderate-sized rooms, 
one filled with architectural drawings, and the other 
with photographs. The remaining seven galleries 
are devoted to pictures — British and Foreign — on 
loan and for sale. While it is satisfactory to note 
such an excellent departure in tlie matter of Sculp- 
ture, it is unfortunate that a backward step has 
been taken in the treatment which lias been given 
to the fine collection of Works in Black and White. 
It is incomprehensible why this collection, containing 
some of the best works of art in the wliole Exhibi- 
tion, sliould have been excluded altogether from the 
Fine Art Galleries, and placed in a passage wliere 
these works can hardly be seen, and certainly cannot 
be studied, while one of tiie rooms is occupied with 
the results of the different processes of jjliotograpliv. 
It is quite desirable tliat these results, so varied in 
their interesting developments, should be exhibited 
in a suitable place ; but the fact that they ought to 
be properly shown does not justify the preposterous 
exclusion from tlie Fine Art Collection of the works 
in Black and White, a form of art expression whicli 
lias been freely adopted by the great masters in all 
time, as a means of embodying some of tlieir 
happiest inspirations. 

As has already been mentioned, the pictures are 
divided into two sections — Loan and Sale. In view 
of the great difficulties of getting up a good sale 
collection, it might well be doubted whetlier the 
attempt should have been made in an undertaking 
of the kind. The results certainly do not indicate 
that the Fine Arts Committee have been wisely 


guided in making the endeavour, for tlie sale sec- 
tions, occupying no less than three galleries, cannot, 
with the exception of a few works, be regarded as 
doing anything but detracting from the art value 
of the Exhibition. Doubtless the few fine pictures 
tliey contain might have been secured just the same 
had the Exhibition been made entirely a loan one. 
If this had been done, tlie collection would have 
gained by the exclusion of valueless examples, and 
the space thus set free might have been occupied 
by some of the excellent loan works rejected for 
want of room, or else the pictures retained might 
have been arranged to ftir greater advantage. 

In the British Loan Section there are important 
and characteristic works by such masters as Rey- 
nolds, Turner, Whistler, Burne Jones, Watts, Gains- 
borough, Cecil Lawson, Rossetti, Raeburn, Constable, 
Cox, Thomson of Duddingston, Roberts, Richard 
Wilson, and Wilkie. A chef-cVccuvre of Corofs is 
the great work of the Foreion Loan Section, whicli 
contains quite a number of excellent examples of the 
same master. Tliere are, besides, representative 
works by the other men who, on the Continent, have 
led the movements in modern art to their liighest 
developments — Millet, Mattliew Maris, Puvis de 
Cliavannes, Monticelli, Rousseau, James Maris, 
Troyon, Bastien Lepage, Courbet, Daubigny, Diaz, 
Delacroix, Jacque, Israels, Bosboom, etc. 

In addition to these numerous examples of tlie 
art of the modern masters, wliich constitute the 
strength of the Exhibition, tliere are also displayed 
many characteristic works by such men as Orchard- 
son, Mark Fisher, Alexander Eraser, E. J. Gregory, 
Alma Tadema, G. P. Chalmers, Albert Moore, Peter 
Graham, Henry Moore, John Pettie, Jolin Phillip, 
Horatio Macculloch, Sam Bougli, and others of 
similar calibre. 

The pictures of Sir John Millais, of which there 
ai-e several, occupy such a peculiar middle position 
in art that they are difficult to class. Millais" work 
would be that of a master — of the commonplace — 
did the commonjilace not so often master him. His 
personality constitutes him the very genius of British 
Philistinism, in its best and its worst aspects, his 
big humanity, and his strong weaknesses and weak 
strength having exactly fitted him to typically em- 
body and represent in his works the British Public's 
conceptions — and misconceptions — of what pictorial 
art should be. These pictures will therefore afford 
a convenient standard for reference in dealing with 
this subject in detail in a future paper. 

While thus rich in examples of men who have 
done, or may now be doing the ripe work of their 
lives, it will be found that of work which is indica- 
tive of the art tendencies of the day — a feature 

notably awanting in Manchester— -there are here a 
few examples, not, however, sufficiently important 
to form an adequate representation of present 
activities and the directions tiiey take. 

Popular pictures have long been deemed necessary 
by the promoters of Art Exhibitions to draw the 
unreflecting crowds who like a show of things they 
can easily comprehend, and tlie liabit has too mucli 
been to appraise the ' success ' of exhibitions by 
the figures registered at the turnstiles. Hundreds 
of pictures calculated to tickle the fancy of careless 
sightseers, and mislead the understanding of those 
who come with more serious aims, are yearly hung 
in the prominent places in exhibitions throughout 
tlie country. Thus public exhibitions, avowedly 
organised to foster the public taste for art, are made 
to exert a powerful influence for the lowering of 
the very thing they exist primarily to conserve and 
elevate. Exhibition managers may not be able to 
count on educating the public, but tliey can at 
least ensLU-e, and the public have a right to demand, 
that all spurious work, which can only mislead, shall 
be excluded. The Fine Art Council of the present 
Exhibition, after tlieir praiseworthy action in setting 
energetically to work, and gathering a mass of ex- 
cellent material from public - spirited collectors 
willing to lend it, might well have made an admirable 
new departure, by exhibiting only Art of a high 
class. It is to be regretted that they have failed 
to avail tliemselves of this opportunity. And so 
there are plenty of popular pictures by the fasjiion- 
able painters, whose ])rolific inanity and mediocre 
talent, often combined with tlie industry of an 
enei'getic commercialism, enable them to produce 
the myriads of meaningless works which, if they 
serve no other purpose, keep the names of their 
producers before the country — as manufacturers of 
padding for picture galleries, public and private. 

It is a pity that considerable artistic ability 
should so often be misdirected by men from whom 
we have not only had fair promise, but even good 
performance. In this connection it cannot but 
make the judicious grieve to find, in the Exliibi- 
tion, work from Sir Frederick Leigliton, Luke 
Fildes, and Hubert Herkomer, which has in it no 
more of the vital spirit of Art than has the learned 
inability of E. J. Poynter and Sir J. D. Linton, 
the cheap sentiment of Faed and Phil Morris, and 
the sentimentality of Marcus Stone, the hideously 
unreal realism of Brett, and the meretricious 
prettiness of MacWhirter and Murray. 

The productions of the fashionable painter are 
at any time out of place among the works of 
the serious artist. But their presence becomes 
specially obnoxious, when round and round tlie 



Exhibition they have been accorded positions of 
the best, while works of art are relegated to 
obscure and inconvenient places — among them 
portraits by Watts, Sir Joshua, and Raeburn, and 
landscapes by Constable and Turner. The worst 
case is the hanging of the pictures of Cecil Lawson, 
the greatest English landscape painter of recent 
times. His most important works, a close study of 
which would liave been a source of pleasure and 
profit to every discerning lover of art, have been 
placed in inaccessible jwsitions. Such hanging as 
this is as peculiar as it is indefensible. With 
spacious galleries, and a wealth of fine material, the 
entire arrangement is such that no wall conveys an 
impression at all equal to that of the best room at 
Edinbursli — the Fiench and Dutch Loan Section 
• — or equal to tliat attained by the grouping 
of the works of the best British painters at 
Manchester. If demonstration was required 
of a thing which every one witii art feeling- 
knows, Edinburgh and Manchester demonstrated 
that, to show good pictures properly, it is necessary 
to keep them in good company. After the example 
of Edinburgh especially, it is deplorable that the 
Foreign Loan Section here should be hung as it is, 
instead of being arranged so as to ensure that the 
grave harmony of the noble works contained in it 
shall be preserved unjarred. The Foreign Section 
might have been as cosmopolitan as it is, but the 
good pictures might have been kept on walls by 
themselves, with clear gain all round. Whatever 
may be the educative value of such Art Exhibi- 
tions — a thing about which there is a deal of 
cant in the air — it is evident that the best lesson 
Edinburgh and Manchester had to teach, from 
an art exhibition point of view, has not been 
learned by the hangers of tlie very next that has 

The Water-colour Section is by no means so 
strong: in art of a hig-h class as are the sections 
already alluded to ; indeed the collection is only 
redeemed from failure by the presence of a few good 
drawings, some of which might surely have been 
better placed. The art interest of the collection 
centres in the sketches and pictures by Turner, 
David Cox, Rossetti, Burne Jones, James Maris, 
Bosboom, J. M. Swan, E. A. Walton, Mauve, 
Williamson, and Mesdag. A perfect example of 
Turner at his best is hung in the centre of a screen 
in the middle of the room. To the right of it is a 
particularly beautiful sketch by the same master — a 
nocturne, wrought witli the delicate sensibility and 
artistic power that are so remarkable in Turner's 
best work. It is a pity that Mr. Ruskin's devoted 
admiration for Turner, and avowed reverence for 

art, have not prevented him from scribbling, in ink, 
on the face of this exquisite work — 

' / donU know the place 
J. Ruskht, i88o. 
J.M. W.T. Late Time 
and very bad for him , ' 

— spread over four lines upon the picture, as here 
printed. ' The place ' is evidently somewhere in 
the heaven of the painters dreams. No wonder Mr. 
lluskin does not know it ! 

From this general survey of the various sections 
an estimate may be formed of the chai-acter of the 
whole. This may be best indicated by comparing 
and contrasting it with the two remarkable Exhibi- 
tions that went before. In Edinburgh the out- 
standing feature was the French and Dutch Loan 
Section, in marked contrast to the inadequate 
collection of British pictures, which, tliough it 
comprised fine examples of a few of the masters, 
was, as a whole, far from being representative of 
the Art of tlie country. The special interest of the 
Manchester Jubilee Exhibition lay in its displaying 
in one grand collection what tlie powers that be — 
namely, the Royal Academy and the dealers who 
exploit the Academy, have recognised — or have 
been constrained to regard — as representative British 
Art produced during the last half-century. That 
Exhibition was widely popular independently of its 
art value, because it contained hundreds of pictures 
with which the British public were already familiar, 
from their having been engraved. Continental Art 
did not come within the plan of the Manchester 
Exhibition, and British Art was so imperfectly 
represented at Edinburgh, that, though each had 
distinguishing features of interest, neither of these 
Exhibitions afforded opportunity for comprehen- 
sively viewing the scope and direction of modern 
European thouglit in art, and deducing therefrom 
the lessons it may teach. The distinguishing- 
feature, therefore, of the Glasgow Exhibition is, 
that, being truly international in spirit, it is rich 
in sufficiently representative examples of what the 
modern world has been doing in art to allow ample 
scope for comprehensive and intelligent study of the 
subject. This is what differentiates it from all 
other recent Exhibitions, and gives it a special and 
peculiar value ; and lovers of art would do well 
to avail themselves fully of the opportunities it 


HERE may be seen, without doubt, the best 
collection of recent Sculpture that has ever 
been exhibited in this country. This, however, is 
the most tliat can be said, and it is not much when 


we consider that the collection is neither large nor 
fairly representative of its aims. We were led to 
indulge in great expectations of this section by the 
glowing terms in which it was officially heralded in 
the columns of a contemporary, but feel ratlier dis- 
appointed with tlie result. ' The special gallery,' 
in which this ' International Exhibition of Sculp- 
ture ' is shown, is not specially adapted to its use, 
being little else than a big corridor. In this place, 
whicli might liave been suitable for pictures, the 
comparatively small collection of one liundred and 
seventy numbers is ' cribbed, cabined, and confined,' 
with scarce a single piece seen to advantage. Ar- 
ranged against the wall, in niches, or in groups, 
with outlines broken and interrupted, the collection 
is robbed of at least half its worth and effect. 

As to the international phase, it is not important, 
being mainly English and Frencli, with an undue 
preponderance of the London or English school, 
whence nearly half tlie exhibits hail. Scotland has 
about a fourtli, France (Paris) has less than a fifth ; 
the rest of the world is represented by Germany, 
five, Italy, seven, and Belgium, four, pieces. 
Russia, America, Austria, and Japan are not repre- 
sented. Japan, considered by some authorities the 
most artistic country in the world, has found no 
consideration for her magnificent sculptures in 
bronze. From wonderful Italy there are a few 
pieces of the very ' Brummagem ' of sculpture, 
believed to be representative of tlie Italian scliool 
only by the benighted tourist. 

In glancing over the collection we miss several 
important names, and observe that others are very 
poorly represented. Of the latter, we may mention 
Fremiet, the sculptor of the extraordinary Gorille ct 
Femme, sjiown in last year's Salon ; of the former, 
Mercie, Falguiere, Saint-Marceaux, Barrias (Paris), 
Saint-Gaudens (New York), and Gilbert (London), 
all men of the highest ability. 

Judging from this exhibition, sculpture would 
seem to be an art of even more limited expression 
than it really is ; for, apart from life-size figures and 
busts, there is scarcely any variety. Of one of the 
most interesting modes — bas relief — there are few 
examples, and the work of the anhnalic)- is scarcely 
to be seen. Wiiy is there no work of the giant 
Barye or of Cain .'' 

If the collection is not all that was expected, and 
might have been, it is pleasant to find that the 
public take great interest in it. The narrow pas- 
sages of the gallery are constantly crowded. The 
ordinary visitor is evidently surprised into gazing 
with the intentness of those who look for the first 
time. Some express themselves as preferring the 
sculpture to the pictures. As there are neither 

seats nor room for any, one is sorry those lovers of 
tlie plastic art cannot remain and feast their eyes in 
comfort. The appreciation shown amply justifies 
the promoters of the Section, whicli, we understand, 
was discredited, as being of insufficient public in- 
terest to warrant the expense connected therewith. 

The most effective work in tlie gallery, as it is the 
greatest technical effort, is what appears to be the 
original model of Alfred Bouclier's remarkable group 
of runners at the goal, on the production of which 
he was occupied for three years. It was cast in 
bronze at the expense of the French Government, 
and shown at last year's Salon. The Committee 
have been fortunate in securing this exhibit, which 
we may safely say is the most wonderful thing of the 
kind ever sliown in this country ; indeed it is almost 
unique. It is there, with all the fresli, vivid life of 
a sketch, full of abandon ; but to think of the labour 
and diflSculty of bringing such a work to a successful 
issue is truly appalling. 

One is inclined to tliink the result has somewhat 
of a tour deforce character, wanting that quality of 
repose whicli is at once the chief virtue and limita- 
tion of the art. As one looks at the three fellows 
rushing through space witli outspread limbs, 
wide-mouthed and shouting, the conclusion is forced 
that such works can at best only be a rendering, as 
in sculpture everything has to take definite forms, 
and such a group of ffying bodies could not be seen 
or studied, unless by the eye of the instantaneous 

Hamo Thornycroft is shown at his best in 
'Teucer,' 'The Mower,' and 'Lot's Wife,' all 
different in character, but alike in strength and 
refinement, eminently English in tlieir feeling of 
dignity and reserve, and interesting in contrast with 
work in the French spirit. In the ' Teucer ' we 
have a phase of action worthy of close consideration, 
and calculated to throw light on the question of 
repose referred to above. Having just discharged 
an arrow, the figure stands rigid and tense, with 
bated breath and eagle eye. The moment selected 
is when a certain tliought and action are completed 
in nice unison, the intensity of whicli petrifies. We 
feel tliat it is right that the figure, although instinct 
with quick life, should be dead still. With the 
runners it is different. The action is not dis- 
charged, it is being discharged ; there is conse- 
quently a disturbed impression conveyed to the 
senses wjien we are asked to behold runners running 
in perfect stillness — asked to observe the invisible 
action of a bird's wing in full flight. 

(To be contiriued.) 



{Gallay No. 4). 

THE great feature of this collection is un- 
doubtedly the fine examples of Corot. No. 748 
'The Wild Man of the Woods/ is the largest 
and most striking sketch I have yet seen by Corot, 
its very incompleteness lending it a charm seldom 
to be found even in his more finished work. On the 
other wall facing this is Mr. White's well-known 
and beautiful picture, No. 651, ' Landscape.' 
This picture, when shown in Edinburgh many years 
ago, excited much interest, and was the means of 
attracting attention to this great French painter. 
No. 769, ' Danse des Nymphes,' is a w-eU-known 
and splendid example. Nos. 706 and 728, 'The 
Woodcutters,' and 'Twilight,' old Edinburgli 
friends, are distinguished and beautiful specimens. 
No. 728, ' The Bather,' showing Corot's treatment 
of the nude, is a fine and interesting picture, such 
pictures being rare in this country. No. 681, ' The 
Lake,' is a fine small Corot. The other examples 
range from good to bad and doubtful. 

Millet, whose name stands at the head of the 
recent French School, is only represented by Mr. 
Donald's fine 'Going to Work' (No. 667), 'La 
Bergere ' (No. 729) — the fact of this example being 
hung may be explained by the small choice of ^fillet's 
work in this country, though I must say that it 
rather goes to lower than raise the artist's reputa- 
tion, — and a beautiful small drawing. No. 718, 
' Sheplierdess.' This is much to be regretted, as 
this great artist has never been fully shown in this 

Rousseau is not largely represented, though No. 
730, ' Le Soir,' is a fine picture, and No. 755, 
' Forest of Clairbois,' is interesting from its splen- 
did treatment of masses of green. No. 634, ' The 
]Mill,' is an impressive sketch. 

Of Daubigny, whose name is so well known in this 
country, there are only two striking examples, No. 
739, 'Sea Piece,' and No. 797, 'Mantes (Soir),' 
giving him in his finest mood of dark grey. No. 
768, ' Landscape,' is a good though somewhat con- 
ventional Daubigny. 

Diaz. — There is not much of this artist's more 
distinguished work. No. 654, 'Flowers,' is how- 
ever an exceptionally fine piece of painting. No. 
649 is also good. On Screen 2, No. 832, ' The 
heart of the Forest,' is a good if somewhat con- 
ventional landscape. There are no fine specimens 
of his figure-painting in this collection. 

Troyon cannot be said to be strongly represented. 
No. 659, ' Off Honfleur,' has a wide reputation from 
having been in the Wilson collection. No. 772, 

' Sheep,' is a fine picture, and No. 683, ' Resting,' 
a fair example. 

There is but one example of that great and 
original artist, Delacroix: No. 751, 'Lion and 
Tiger,' — a great picture on a small canvas, full 
of nervous, palpitating life. 

Decamps is represented by his grandly solemn 
picture — strangely weak in the sky, however — No. 
753, ' St. Jerome in the AVilderness.' 

Michel, thougli little known in this country, 
deser\-es to be more fully represented tlian by one 
small example. No. 662, ' A Hill Road.' 

Vollon's ' Strawberries ' (No. 642) is fine, and the 
same may be said of No. 708, ' Fruit.' 

The only very fine Dupre is No. 747, ' Sea 

Tliere are two or three pictures by Frere so 
unlike his ordinary work as to make one at first 
almost doubt their being by the same hand that 
produces the common Frere in the market. I never 
remember having seen any work by this painter so 
good as Nos. 660 and 815, ' The Cooper's Sliop,' 
and ' Les Sabotiers.' 

No. 760, ' Fishmarket, Dieppe,' is a fine Isabey, 
and No. 736, ' River Scene,' a very interesting JNIun- 
kacsy, though reminding one strongly of Daubigny. 

No. 735, 'Retour du Troupeau,' is a good 
Jacque, with much of jMillet's feeling. 

Monticelli. — There are only two pictures by this 
artist, No. 721, ' Paysage, Automne,' and No. 775, 
' Adoration of the Magi ' ; this latter is a very fine 

Courbet's two fruit pieces. No. 746, ' Fruit,' and 
No. 685, ' Fruit Piece,' are fine. I much wish one of 
his large figiu-e-pictures or landscapes had been added. 

Turning to the Dutchmen — Israels is fully repre- 
sented. No. 661, 'The Sleeping Child,' is in my 
opinion the best work of his in this Exhibition. 
No. 638, ' The Frugal IMeal,' is a good picture of 
its period, thougli not so masterly. 

James Maris is at his best in No. 645, ' Near 
Rotterdam.' No. 639, ' Montmartre,' by M. 
Maris, is a fine example of this painter's weird land- 
scape. No. 821, 'Boy Feeding Pigs,' is an early 
and beautiful W. Maris. 

Bosboom never, to my knowledge, painted a 
stronger picture than No. 825, ' Interior of the 
Bakkenesse Kerk, Haarlem.' 

The early death and great promise of Mollinger 
have, I think, induced many to overestimate the 
value of his work, and the large canvases shown here 
confirm this opinion. They are good, not great 

Readers will, I hope, excuse these rough jottings 
of my first impressions hastily put do^vn. 


Had this collection been weeded of nearly half the 
jiictures, and the remainder properly hung, it would 
have been an honour to Glasgow. 

R. T. Hamilton Bruce. 


Safe-guarded by immortal charms, 
She clasps her Heaven in folded arms ; 
And, starlike, over tempest knows 
Bright unassailable repose. 

Thomas Woolxkis. 


Glasgow Exhibition. 

THE ' old London "' idea, whicli was improved 
upon at Edinburgh, has readied a much higher 
development on the slopes of Kelvingrove. Here 
we have not merely a picturesque and interesting- 
representation of a building of the olden time, but 
an attraction of surpassing interest in its contents ; — 
an immense collection of objects of great historical 
and antiquarian value. In comparison with what it 
contains, the Bishop's Castle itself nnist be regarded 
as an object of quite subordinate interest ; and here- 
in it differs from any of its quasi-antique predeces- 
sors, although both in design and execution it will 
compare favourably with any of these. It was neces- 
sarily to a large extent an original conception ; for 
not only is the site peculiar and entirely different 
from that on which the ancient building stood, but 
the views of the old castle which have come down to 
us — and from which alone we can now gain any idea 
of its appearance — are of comparatively recent date, 
and by no means so exact as one could wish for 
purposes of restoration ; and, what is of more conse- 
quence, we have no representation whatever of the 
main building as it existed in tlie 15th century. The 
architect of the castle of 1888, therefore, had to 
draw largely on his imagination, and he had, more- 
over, not only to deal with a difficult site, but also 
to face another difficulty, which, in less skilful hands, 
would have been fatal to the verisimilitude of his 
work, namely, the adaptation of the building to its 
intended purpose by providing sufficient light for 
the various apartments. This has been managed 
without any apparent incongruity, and the erection 
as completed gives an excellent idea of a baronial 
tower of the 15th century, with many picturesque 
characteristic features. But the treatment of the 
interior is not less careful nor less creditable. The 
massive walls, about five feet thick, the vaulted Hall 
with its spacious fireplace, and the turret stairs, with 
ribs springing from the top of their newals, are all 

in excellent keeping ; the whole will be readily recog- 
nised as a most appropriate temporary home — so far 
as appearance goes — for the many curious and pre- 
cious relics of the past which it containg. 

It is impossible, within the compass of this short 
notice, to do more than indicate in the most general 
terms how the collection is arranged, and what are 
some of its special features. Besides several small 
rooms, there are three principal apartments in the 
Castle — one on the basement floor, another on the 
ground floor, and another on the first floor. The 
last of these, which is the great Hall, contains three 
groups of relics specially interesting in their histori- 
cal connection. In the first of these we find such 
objects as the Brooch of Lome, the sword and the 
battle-axe of the Bruce, many objects found on tlie 
field of Bannockburn, and other things belonsins- to 
the period antecedent to the reign of Mary Queen 
of Scots. The second group comprises Queen Mary 
relics only. These are exceedingly numerous, and 
many of them are of great value and exceedingly 
interesting. The third group consists exclusively of 
Jacobite relics, of which there is a very large collec- 
tion. In the room immediately below, on the 
ground floor, there is much greater variety. Here 
there is a small collection of prehistoric remains — 
weapons and implements of the stone age, and of 
the bronze age- — ^^jiist enough to give an idea of the 
characteristics of such articles, but the series is not 
continued downwards chronologically. There is, 
however, a most extensive and interesting collection 
of old armour and weapons, including cannon and 
fire-arms of the most ancient make ; also many 
curious instruments of torture and punishment, old 
Scotch furniture, mechanical appliances, spinning- 
wheels, and the like. Also personal ornaments, 
ancient charms, jewels, enamels, medals, tokens, mini- 
atures, ' Tassie ' gems and medallions. Another 
interesting group here is the ecclesiastical, muni- 
cipal, masonic, and academic insignia, which includes 
several magnificent maces. A totally different group 
consists of what may be called implements and 
trophies of amusement, ancient golf clubs, curling- 
stones, and the like. And yet another group, which 
will have a peculiar interest for many a west-country 
visitor, is made up of relics of Covenanting times. 
The ' Solemn League and Covenant ' itself is there, 
the flags the Covenanters bore, and the swoi-ds they 
wielded at Drumclog and Bothwell Brig, and many 
other objects. Coming- to a still later period, we 
find a large assortment of Burns relics ; and besides 
all these, a miscellaneous collection — literary, artistic, 
and antiquarian, which would be hard to classify, 
but which will well repay careful examination. 

The room in the basement is devoted to old 



(ilasgow knick-knackets, and contains, among other 
things, a large number of drawings, engravings, and 
maps, illustrating the changes which have occurred 
from time to time during the growth of the city, 
and whicli in recent years have been so remarkal)le. 
In all the rooms the walls are adorned with paint- 
ings of liistorical personages, including the most 
authentic portraits of Mary Queen of Scots, trophies 
of arms, drawings and phot<)gra])]is. Some of tlie 
articles brought together are of great intrinsic value ; 
many are ijuite unicjue and priceless. It is there- 
fore extraordinary, and most creditable to tlie public- 
s])irited owners, that so many liavebeen found willing 
to part with their treasures for a time, and liand 
them over to tlie custody of the Connnittee. 

From this rough sketch of the scope of the 
Exhibition in the IJishop's Castle, it will be evident 
that the collection is well calculated to be attractive 
and instructive to many classes of visitors, and to 
awaken a wide diversity of sympathies. Its charac- 
ter is eminently popular, and as the objects are all 
plainly la])elled, tlie peculiar interest attaching to 
most of them may be apjireciated by any one who 
has had the advantage of a IJoard School education. 
Many of the relics, here in curious juxtaposition. 

must excite profound, it may be conflicting, emotions, 
in every leal Scottisli lireast. No one can look un- 
moved on the veritable Brooch of Lome, the sword 
and battle-axe of the Bruce, the prayer-book the 
unliappy Mary held in her hand at her execution, 
and the Bible which was on the scaffold with the 
good Manjuis of Argyll, the embroidered sash worn 
by Charles at Edgehill, the claymore of Claverhouse, 
and tlie blood-stained lianner of Drumclog ; but the 
grim contrasts suggested, the conscious quickening 
of latent loyalty to one or other— or above and be- 
yond all to tliat land of his sires which claims his 
fealty— who but a true-born Scot can understand .'' 
Yet the citizen of the world, viewing these memo- 
rials of bygone times with impartial eye, undimmeil 
by the perfervidum 'uigen'ium, and recognising in 
them the mementoes of a noble national record, will 
be slow to attribute blame to either factions or in- 
dividuals, and ready to see that each had his own 
proper and indispensable jiart to play in working 
out the great problem of the nation's civil and 
religious emancipation — that the passionate Edward 
was a ' maker " of Scotland as well as tlie jiatriotic 
Bruce, and the vacillating Charles not less than the 
uncompromising Covenanter. John Honeyman. 


THE ideal critic may be gifted witli an insatiable 
appetite for picture-seeing, but the most ro- 
bust would quail before atteiii])ting to examine with 
any degree of care one-tenth of tlie galleries whose 
doors are thrown open in the beginning of May. 
The Royal Academy and the New Gallery must be 
left for a future notice, and little more than a cata- 
logue of the outstanding works in some of the other 
exhibitions can be attemjited in the space at our 
disposal. The true interests of art suffer grievously 
through crowding into the space of two months a 
series of picture-shows, each deserving a certain 
amount of attention which it is almost ini])ossible 
to give them. 

Enough, and more than enough, has been said 
and written regarding the quarrel between Sir 
Coutts Lindsay and liis lieutenants. The Gros- 
venor has certainly suffered tlirough tlie withdrawal 
of the artists whose work in former years gave the 
gallery its rainon (Veirc, and its rooms have now 
little or nothing to distinguish tliem from an un- 
usually good section of the Academy. The hanging 
is no better : numerous really good pictures are 
badly placed, while the line is largely occupied by 

works of little character. Mr. Arthur Hacker, Mr. 
W. ]<;. F. Britten, and Mr. John R. Reid, have been 
accorded the places of honour. Mr. David Murray 
shows no fewer tlian seventeen canvases of no special 
elevation, while we hear of several very hard cases of 
entire exclusion. 

Among the very good pictures is a boy's head, 
by Mr. Geo. Clausen, soundly and ably painted, of 
astonishing truth of tone. Mr. Mark Fisher has a 
cattle subject which shows liim at his best. Mr. 
Arthur Lemon's fine canvas is badly liung, while 
Mr. H. W. Gilchrist's interesting portrait of Walt 
Whitman can hardly be seen among so many sickly 
jiroductions. Mr. Wellwood Rattray's fresh land- 
scape brings one somewhat in touch with nature, 
and Mr. R. W. Allan's ' Passing Showers ' holds 
its own with its neighbours. 

On the whole, however, the Grosvenor is decidedly 

The New English Art Club has fully warranted 
its formation, and occupies a place unique among 
London exhibitions. Its members include many of 
the ablest young men of the day. Though some of 



them are represented by unimportant pictures, the 
Art Club is less open to hostile criticism than any 
collection at present on view. Tiie connnonplace 
self-satisfied productions which bulk so largely else- 
where are here conspicuous by their absence. There 
are undoubtedlyseveral more or less absolute failures, 
which need not be specified, but there is scarcely a 
canvas in the room which does not show artistic 
motive. Among the more notable examples of 
really high attainment is Mr. Whistler's 'White 
Note,' which has the dignity of a master. Mr. 
Hubert Vos, Mr. H. S. Tuke, and Mr. E. A. Wal- 
ton are each represented by portraits of great 
excellence. Mr. George Clausen, Mr. Fred Brown, 
Mr. Frederick Bate, Mr. Edward Stott, Mr. Norman 
Garstin, and Mr. Alex. Harrison, all well merit 
attention and study. Of tlie landscapes, there are 
several of unusual interest. Mr. E. A. Walton 
sustains his success of Isist year witii a sober and 
powerful water-colour, and Mr. Alexander Mann 
and Mr. James Paterson are represented by impor- 
tant landscapes. Did space permit we would like 
to draw attention to several works which add charm 
to this unique exhibition. Mr. T. S. Lee's head 
in bronze is worthy of study, and there are etcliings 
by Mr. Whistler, Mortimer Menpes, and F. Short, 
and a masterly pastel by Degas. 

The Royal Society of British Artists shows signs 
of a return to its former humdrum. Mr. Whistler's 
desertion is lamented by some, but the rejoicing of 
the genuine original R.B.A.'s is open and sincere. 
The yellow drapery is still in situ, but the pictures 
it shades are in many cases beneath criticism, and 
connnonplace to a degree. There are nearly 500 

exhibits, of wliich the majority would be better 
away. It is only on careful examination tiiat here 
and there, often in obscure places, we discover work 
wliich has some artistic impulse, most often bearing 
names little known. Mr. Stott's 'Endymion' is 
without ([uestion the picture of tlie exhibition, and 
amons tlie canvases which save the character of the 
gallery are Mr. Horace Hart's ' Henry the Seventh 
Chapel,' Mr. Tuke's portrait of Judge Bacon, Mr. 
Jules Lessore's Churcli at Rouen, and pictures by 
Mr. E. Simmons, Mr. Alexander Harrison, Mr. T. C. 
Gotch, Mr. James Paterson, and Mr. Walter Sickert. 
A peculiarly cruel piece of hanging is the placing 
Mr. Frank Brangwyn's impressive ' Rye Ferry ' 
where it is almost impossible to see it. As an 
exhibition open to outsiders, the Society would do 
well to consider tlie principle on which tlie works 
received are accorded their respective places on the 
walls. It would seem to be members first, good or 
bad outsiders, anywhere. 

^Ve have left no .space to refer but in a line to 
tlie Water-Colour Societies. The Institute indeed 
can be dismissed in a word : it is a poor exhibition, 
with .scarcely lialf a dozen drawings one would axre 
to see a .second time. Tlie Royal Society has no 
lack of inane prettyness and threadbare sentiment, 
but tliere are several exhibits of note. Miss Clara 
Montalba, Mr. R. W. Allan, Mr. J. W. North, and 
Mr. Albert Goodwin, among otliers, maintain the 
interest of the gallery, wliile Mr. Arthur Melville, 
in his masterly eastern drawings, shows a thorougli 
command of the technitjue of his medium, a ([uality 
and depth of colour which make surrounding pic- 
tures look poor and thin. 


IN a journal such as this, it will, we presume, be 
scarcely necessary to urge the importance of a 
serious and widespread cultivation of music. Most 
of our readers are already conscious of its importance 
as a factor in the progress of mankind — thougli it 
cannot be overlooked that very many persons still 
regard it as a frivolous amusement, unworthy of the 
attention of earnest men. One might easily fill 
columns with tlie sayings of the profoundest thinkers 
on social and political questions in all ages, which 
prove the very high value they attached to tlie study 
and practice of music, as a humanising, elevating, 
and refining influence in the intellectual and social 
development of a people. We need do no more 

than remind our readers of the teaching of Plato, 
Sir Thomas More, and Bacon, not to mention Goethe 
and others in more recent times ; but we will 
take the liberty of quoting the opinion of one 
who has been regarded as perhaps the most prac- 
tical legislator the world has seen, but who has 
not generally been credited with mucli ai-tistic 
enthusiasm — Napoleon I. He said : ' Of all the 
liberal arts, music has the greatest influence over the 
passions, and is that to which the legislator ougjit 
to give the greatest encouragement. A well-com- 
posed song strikes and softens the mind, and pro- 
duces a greater effect than a moral work, which 
convinces our reason, but does not warm our feelings 



nor effect any alteration in our habits.' Compare 
this with the teaching of the founders of tlie 
Chinese legislation — a system of government in whicli 
music was regarded as a powerful political instrument 
for smoothing away ruggedness of disposition, and 
making men more amenable to law and order, 
and which has existed in much the same form till 
our own day — expressed more than 2000 years 
before. One quotation must suffice, from Mencius, 
remarkable for its similarity to that of the modern 
statesman. ' If the king''s love of music is great, 
the kingdom will be near a state of good govern- 
ment.' This idea naturally suggests the late Prince 
Consort, a devoted student of music, who did much 
to promote general culture and refinement, by 
fostering the arts of peace, and giving an impulse to 
all intellectual pursuits. It is largely due to his 
influence and example that music lias so rapidly 
attained a more prominent place in our social 

The true value of music as a means of expressing 
our spiritual and emotional nature, and as a necessity 
of our lives, has certainly not yet been fully appre- 
hended in this country. Assuming, liowever, that 
among more thoughtful minds the importance of 
encouraging a healtliy delight in music throughout 
the community has been clearly recognised, let us 
see what has been accomplislied in Glasgow in this 
direction. For the last twelve or thirteen years we 
have had, through the liberal-mindedness of some 
public-spirited citizens, a series of orchestral concerts 
in the winter season. These concerts, after experi- 
encing various financial vicissitudes, have at length 
become practically self-supporting, the debt due to 
the deficits in the earlier years being now paid off. 
The orchestras are of exceptional excellence, and 
perform the finest classical and modern orcliestral 
music, besides taking part in the oratorio perform- 
ances of the Choral Union. In addition to these 
concerts, we have from time to time lieard the 
orchestras under the direction of Mr. Halle and 
HerrRichter; and we have also had many opportuni- 
ties of hearing, both with orchestra and in smaller 
concerts, most of the prominent soloists, vocal and 
instrumental, now before the public. As far as 
music brought from the outside is concerned, we in 
Glasgow can congratulate ourselves on being as well 
supplied as, if not better than, any town in the three 
kingdoms, except London. 

Tlie question naturally arises, however, what 
influence have these facilities for hearing good music 
exerted on the general taste of the community .'' 
Have they to any very marked degree raised the 
standard of appreciation of music, or caused it to be 
regarded as more worthy of serious study ? Have 

people generally begun to appreciate more keenly 
the power of good music to bring peace and sun- 
shine into their workaday lives, to awaken their 
nobler emotions, and enable tliem to grow more in 
sympathy with their fellow-men ? Do persons who 
either in public or private undertake to interpret 
the exquisite creations of the great masters of 
melody and harmony feel more deeply the respon- 
sibility of their task, and study these works more 
carefully and reverently in the effort to discover all 
their latent beauties, and reveal tliem to, and make 
them felt by, others ? 

To these questions it is difficult to give a satisfac- 
tory reply. We can only judge from the public exhi- 
bitions of musical societies which are given from time 
to time, and from a few otlier sources of information 
open to all interested in the subject. With regard 
to choral societies, other tlian the Choral Union — 
which does good work, and has existed for many 
years — we regret to say that things are eminently 
unsatisfactory. The members of these societies do 
not as a whole show an appreciation of the respon- 
sibility of their position. In many cases they seem 
to regard their meeting together to study the works 
of the great composers as in a great degree a matter 
of amusement, which may be neglected if anything 
more attractive turns up. The rehearsals are badly 
attended, and in anything but a thoughtful spirit. 
A concert is given ; and their friends are invited, and 
come in full dress, to see the poor conductor labour- 
ing to make the cliorus present anything of a musical 
appearance — and failing. How often do we tm'ii 
away from such an exhibition, knowing the troubles 
of the conductor, and feeling grieved that his earnest 
efforts to make the glorious nnisic enjoyed and 
appreciated are thus miserably seconded. Is it not 
possible to get togetlier even a small body of earnest- 
minded amateurs who are willing to devote tliem- 
selves to the serious study of choral music_/6;' its oion 
sake, who will value as a privilege their power to 
interpret to others, and to make them feel the charm 
and beauty of the music when it is rendered as per- 
fectly as possible 't In one society we know of, the 
giving of a concert is made the occasion of an even- 
ing's dancing ; while in another, fashionable philan- 
thropy seems to be the excuse for an unappreciativc 
performance. The solos sung by members of tlie 
choir usually suffer most — for being originally written 
for thoroughly-trained vocalists they are beyond 
the powers of an amateur. The impression, however, 
seems to prevail, in the charity musical organisations 
particularly, that to make music appeal to the 
general public — the less-cultivated especially — a very 
moderate performance of a work will do well 
enough. It seems to be overlooked that, besides the 



insult offered to the composer and the more enlight- 
ened part of the audience, tlie music is certain to 
fail altogether in its effect on the unmusical, as its 
power to move and impress must depend on its 
beauties being properly brought out, and on its being 
rendered as the composer intended. To the educated 
musician, a moderately good performance of a new 
work may be of interest, as he himself can feel the 
beauties latent in the music ; but the less-instructed 
audience can only judge of it by the effect produced 
as it is performed. 

To what extent tlie love of music has penetrated 
into the homes and private life of the people, it is 
very difficult to estimate. The number of pupils 
from our city who pass the Local Musical Examina- 
tions does not give a very reliable indication ; for in 
many cases success in this direction has been at- 
tained at the expense of the love of music for its 
own sake. Instead of being taught to feel the 
beauty of the music, to take deligjit, and find 
emotional expression, in the lovely melodies, and in 
the exquisite poetic feeling, of the works of Mozart 
and Schubert, the pupil is made to grind away 
at particular pieces in order to obtain as much 
mechanical dexterity and imitative expression as 
will satisfy the examiner. Evidence of this fact 
may be found in the fashionable concerts given by 
teachers to exhibit the attainments of their pupils 
to their admiring friends and relatives. At these 
concerts the feeble, tentative efforts of juvenile pre- 
cocity are warmly applauded — to the almost certain 
injury of the pupil. The audience, liowever, in the 
long run becomes wearied of the imperfect render- 
ings of high-class work, and feels a sense of relief 
wlien the performance is over. Were there a 
musical school in Glasgow, there coidd be no ob- 
jection to selected pupils of the various masters 
giving a periodical recital before the professors and 
a critical audience of people interested in musical 
progress. This is done in the principal Conser- 
vatoires abroad, and serves a useful purpose. But 
the setting of fifteen or twenty young persons — 
more or less musically endowed — ^to give utterly 
inadequate performances of good music before a 
fashionable audience in a concert-hall, cannot, we 
think, serve any good end. 

Still, the air is full of talk about music — talk, we 
fear, more or less superficial. From pulpits and 
platforms we are taught the necessity that exists 
for its widespread cultivation. Even the Town 

Council of our city, a body usually more remarkable 
for economic astuteness tlian artistic sympathy, lias 
tliought it advisable of late years to provide music 
for the people, and has established open-air band 
jjerformances, and a weekly Corporation concert by 
local performers. At the International Exhibition, 
concerts of tlie ' promenade ' order will be frequent — 
though, considering tlie important place in the scheme 
which the sister art of painting occupies in its most 
serious form — it is perhaps a pity that the artistic 
aspects of music have not come in for more considera- 
tion. We might have had a few high-class recitals in 
a suitable building, and a chamber concert or two, by 
efficient performers. As, however, the Committee 
dealing with the musical arrangements entirely 
ignored the musical profession, and did not seek the 
aid of experts, the result arrived at is not surprising. 
On J of the most hopeful signs of a happier future 
is tlie existence in a flourishing state of the Society 
of Musicians. This Society was formed four years 
ago for the purpose of bringing the professional 
musicians of Glasgow together, that they might get 
to know each other, and act in concert for the 
advancement of tlie best interests of music in Glas- 
gow. It now numbers among its members and 
associates the best musicians in the city, and also 
many gentlemen who have been intimately con- 
nected with the promotion of music and musical 
organisations. The Society has already done some 
good work in giving encouragement to composition, 
and forming a library of valuable orchestral, chamber, 
and other music, besides promoting the free dis- 
cussion of musical questions and the study of various 
phases of musical thought and activity. Already 
the example of Glasgow has been followed by the 
formation of similar societies in Edinburgli and 
Dundee. There can be no doubt that the existence 
of these organisations will exercise a most beneficial 
inHuence on tlie progress of music, as from tliem 
will proceed tlie future development and extension 
of musical education and culture. 

In this paper we have been able to deal only with 
the more important circumstances which affect 
musical life and progress in Glasgow. There are 
many interesting features which we have not been 
able to notice, such as tlie settlement among us 
during recent years of many accomplished musicians, 
the development of a taste for chamber music, etc. 
With these, we may take occasion to deal in future 
articles. G. W. H. 




SEASON 1887-88. 

INSTEAD of reporting our Musical doings in the 
orthodox form, I give the following list of the 
principal concerts, etc., that have taken place this 

4 Orchestral Concerts, conductor Mr. Manns, enterprised by 

Messrs. Paterson & Sons. 
2 Orchestral Concerts, conductor Dr. Charles Halle (Reid 

I Orchestral Concert, conductor Mr. Carl D. Hamilton (Scottish 

4 Choral Concerts, conductor Mr. Collinson (Choral Union). 
I Do. Concert ('St. Paul'), conductor Mr. Collinson (St. Mary's 

Cathedral ). 
I Choral Concert, conductor Mr. Millar Craig (Waddell's Choir). 

1 Do. do. (Haydn's Passion Music), (St. John's Episcopal 


2 Choral Concerts, conductor Mr. Kirkhope (Kirkhope's Choir). 

3 Ballad Concerts (Mesdames Adelina Patti, Sinico, and Nordica). 
I Chamber Concert (Dr. Halle, Mme. Neruda, and Mr. Franz 


I Chamber Concert (Dr. Halle, Mme. Neruda, and the principals 
of Halle's Orchestra in connection with the Reid Festival. ) 

6 Chamber Concerts (Messrs. Townsend, Delia Torre, Colin Mac- 
kenzie, and G. Macneil). 

3 Chamber Concerts, under direction of Mr. A. Gallrein. 

1 Chamber Concert (Miss Fanny Davies, Mile. Soldat, and Signor 

Piatti ; Philosophical Institution). 

2 Pianoforte Recitals (Joseph Hoffmann). 
I Do. Recital (Franz Rummel). 

1 Do. do., (Delia Torre). 
I Violin do., (Carrodus). 

I Do. do., (Sarasate, accompanied by Herr Schonberger, 

Besides these, many smaller concerts liave taken 
place, in which tlie following local artists have made 
their appearance : — Mme. Anne Grey, Mrs. Millar 
Craig, Messrs. Arthur Edmunds, A. Bach, Millar 
Craig, and W. Ives, vocalists ; Messrs. Bridgman, 
Hartley, Lingard, Tom Craig, and W. Waddell, 

Add to this various musical performances in con- 
nection with churches and bazaars, and it will 
readily be seen that as to quantity there has been 
no lack. 

Much may, however, be said about the haphazard 
way in which a good many of these concerts were 
produced. Too much is left to cliance ; there is a 
want of organisation, and in my opinion, as far as 
regards local performances, co-operation on the part 
of the local musicians would produce a far better 
result from every point of view. For instance, when 
larger choral works are attempted, the orchestral 
accompaniment has almost always to be ignored ; 
the choral part may be well rendered, but when, for 

the full orchestra, a couple or so of strings, with 
piano and harmonium, are substituted, the result is 
scarcely satisfactory. Then, the public can scarcely 
be expected to be continually patronising the smaller 
concerts — the attraction is not sufficient. 

If concerts were definitely organised for the season, 
and duly advertised, I am convinced there is talent 
enough among the musicians resident here to enable 
them to give orchestral concerts regularly through- 
out the season, and, as far as the pecuniary result 
goes, more would be gained by co-operation for a 
few really important and good performances than by 
so many smaller ones, which tax the public far more 
without giving any distinct and valuable result. 

Tliat this matter is quite feasible has been amply 
proved by the Orchestral Concert given on the 19th 
of April in the Music Hall, under the direction of 
Mr. Carl Hamilton, led by Mr. Daly. The per- 
formers, numbering about sixty, were all professional 
musicians, brought together by Mr. Carl Hamilton ; 
among them were a few from Glasgow and Dundee. 
The following was their programme : — 

Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony ; Oveiiiires : — Mozart's ' Zauber- 
flbte,' Mendelssohn's ' Ruy Bias,' and Weber's ' Oberon' ; 
the Saltarello from A. C. Mackenzie's 'Colomba'; and 
Beethoven's Third Concerto for Piano and Orchestra ; with 
Mr. Delia Torre as pianist, and Mr. Glencovse as vocalist. 

Tlie great success of the performance, looking at 
it from a strict and critical point of view, ouglit to 
induce the public to support and keep together this 
orchestra for regular concerts, so that our local choral 
performances may have a chance of being heard in 
their entirety, besides the orchestra per se giving 
regularly a series of really good concerts at a mucli 
more reasonable price than is charged for the or- 
chestras that have liitherto been brought together at 
enormous expense. 

It is to be hoped that Mr. Carl Hamilton will 
succeed in this scheme, and I am sure he has all 
music-loving people on Jiis side. Of course these 
concerts need not do away witli the occasional visits 
of other orchestras, such as Dr. Halle's and Dr. 

There is no doubt that as a pleasure, a fashionable 
entertainment, or an accomplishment acquired with 
other branches of education, music plays an important 
part in this and other cities of Scotland. There is 
certainly no lack of excellent academically-trained 
masters for the different branches of our art who de- 



vote themselves almost exclusively to teaching ; those, 
however, taught by them are the amateurs of music. 

Why are there, among the many really talented 
pupils who wish to study music as an art and make 
it their profession, so few now remaining with us to 
acquire that wished-for knowledge of tlieir art in all 
its different branches ? 

Because to do so it would be necessary for them 
to attend a properly established school — call it 
Academy, or High School of Music — so organised as 
to give them all the opportunities wished for at a 
reasonable expense, enabling them to pass progressive 
examinations and receive certificates, and such aSchool 
does not exist in Scotland. This, then, is clearly the 
reason why our young music students have to leave 
us and go either to London or the Continent to 
pursue their studies. Tlie establishment in Scotland 
of sucii a School, organised on carefully defined 
principles, is therefore strongly to be advocated. 

Meanwliilc, looking at the results gained in a 
general way, progress lias been made in Edinburgh 
of late. 

We have followed the good example given us by 
our Glasgow brethren, and created an ' Edinburgh 
Society of Musicians," which counts at the present 
time about sixty-five members, all professional 
musicians, and twenty-five associates. 

At the meetings of this Society lectures and 
musical performances are given by its different 
membe)-s at regularly fixed intervals, discussions on 
given subjects are started, and friends — musical 
celebrities visiting our city — are entertained. 

Another move in the riglit direction has been the 
formation of a Bach Club by Mr. Franklin Peterson. 
It consists of thirty-five members at the present time, 
more or less enthusiastic, who meet fortnightly for 
the study of Bach's compositions. 

Otto Schweizer. 



IF there is any one characteristic which may be 
relied upon as affording some proof of the 
reality of a musician's devotion to his art, it is his 
earnest desire for some sign tliat music is beginning 
to take its place, not only in the Art world, but in 
the estimation of all, as something not only beauti- 
ful and worthy as a pursuit, but deeply serious in 
intention. That the works of Beethoven or Schubert, 
when performed, have to be classified in our news- 
papers under the heading 'Popular Entertain- 
ments' is, to any one who reverences art, strikingly 
significant of the attitude the greater portion of the 
public assumes towards some of tlie greatest crea- 
tions the soul and intellect of humanity have ever 
produced. Although Literature, Painting, and 
Music seem, in a way, to lower themselves in order 
to affbrd mankind his indispensable entertainment, 
it is not really so. The sister arts, as arts, and as 
amusements, are totally different things, and we 
require new terms for art in the form of the railway 
novel, the popular illustrations of the same, or the 
comic opera. These are all well in their way, but 
must not be confounded with serious art. The 
true musician feels this very keenly, and lives with 
a perpetual longing for the time when all will at 
least acknowledge that music is a deeply earnest 
pursuit, and not a thing to trifle with. Nothing- 
shows more strongly the irreverent spirit of tlie 
age than this heartless trifling witli art. 

The question that natm-ally arises out of this is — 
How is it that, notwithstanding tlie immense amount 
that is being done in the way of education, the 
pi.d)lic is more apathetic with regard to its apprecia- 
tion of music tlian in any previous age ? It is now 
almost impossible to bring an audience together to 
listen to anything except a musical phenomenon, 
or a concert with Madame Patti as the principal 
attraction. (The ' Queen of Song,' by the way, 
takes care to avoid an artistic progrannne altogether.) 
Even orchestral concert schemes get financially a 
little worse year by year, not only on this side the 
border, but in Manchester, where things ought to 
be better. That education is required, no one for 
a moment will doubt, but one may surely ask the 
question whether the Icind of education universal at 
the present time is not, somehow, at fault ? The 
whole country swarms with professional musicians 
who have Mus. Bac. or Mus. Doc. after their names, 
and although we know that, in order to jDOSsess this 
degree, a certain amount of musical study must have 
been gone through, how few there are, out of the 
number, of any value to the musical world from an 
art standpoint ! This brings us to the real subject 
of our article, that is : Do musical examinations, as 
at present conducted, do anything for the cause of 
musical art .'' 

The London training schools desire to assist 
education in the provinces by fixing a certain stan- 



dard to be aimed at, so that no person may have a 
right to call himself musical, or enter the profession, 
without documentary evidence that some amount of 
attainment lias been readied. This is of course so 
far good, but is it not working in the wrong direction ? 
Let us take the case of the individual. There is 
not much use in driving, or trying to drive, technical 
information into the head, or mechanical execution 
into the fingers of an individual, unless he show 
some sign of appreciation of the end to be gained. 
If the love of the art is there, all is right, but if 
not, one should endeavour to foster the love ; or if 
this prove too difficult a task, there is another 
resource, and that is, to convince the student of the 
desirability and importance of what he is to be 
taught. If this is true with the individual, so it is 
witli the public. To attempt to cram the masses 
with tecluiical education before there is any founda- 
tion to work on is surely a mistake. If there is no 
responsive desire on the part of the public, not even 
a proper estimation of the serious nature of the art 
aimed at, all the examinations, all the standards, 
all the documents so much talked of and so much 
rushed after, will not further the cause of nuisic in 
tiie smallest degree. Examinations may be, and 
are a good paying speculation, but if we look at 
the matter a little more closely, it will be seen that 
this is about the only good result we can ascribe to 

■ Let us take the objects which nuisical examina- 
tions aim at, and inquire for a little as to whether 
they achieve, or seem likely to achieve, any of the 
ends for which they have been promoted. It is 
obviously in every way desirable that those who are 
employed as teacliers of the young should be able 
to sliow some guarantee of efficiency, and that this 
guarantee should be reliable. If it is not thoroughly 
reliable,itisworse than useless to its owner, misleading 
to an employer, and an imposition upon the public. 
Without referring to those qualifications which any 
one undertaking the duties of a teacher ought to 
possess, we require, Jlrstli/, that the music governess 
be thoroughly familiar with the elements of the art 
she means to teach the first principles of ; secondly, 
that she be possessed of the natin-al gifts of ear for 
time and tune ; and tliinUy, that she must be 

With regard to the elements. What does a 
knowledge of the elements imply ? Surely more 
than a mere absorbing of so many facts. A 
Jcimiliarity with the groundwork of our musical 
notation is required. A student — say a young lady 
— may study with the utmost care a book on the 
elements, and be able to answer any question therein 
contained, owing to the fact of its having been 

crammed into the head within a short space of time, 
and therefore fresh in the memory. But the same 
individual, althougli glib enough with an answer 
for everything, would perhaps astonish you by play- 
ing tied notes, knowing perfectly well all the time 
the meaning of a slur over two similar notes : or 
she woidd possibly fail to give the due value to a 
dotted minim in the face of the fact that she knew 
it was equal to three crochets ! In other words, 
that young lady's knowledge of the elements might 
be practically useless. It is no use saying that sight- 
reading should be a test for this, because many very 
slow sight-readers are most correct. The local 
examiner asks a few questions, and if these are 
satisfactorily answered, he is in duty bound to pass 
his candidate for the elements. 

Secondly, we referred to the ear for time and tune. 
Regarding this, most are inclined to agree tliat, 
although a good ear is lai-gely a natui-al gift, a great 
deal may be done by cultivation. A better system 
of training beginners ioj'cel time instead of to count 
it, and a persistent attempt to impress on the 
learner the difference to tlie sense of hearing between 
a correct and incorrect harmony is sure to have its 
effect. Also, a good ear implies moi-e than an ap- 
preciation of pitch. It implies a perception of 
difference in quality and quantity in tone : legato, 
staccato, portamento, piano, pianissimo, fortissimo, 
must all have a distinct meaning to the correct ear. 
Can tlie local examiner see to this in the space of 
five minutes ? 

Regarding the last qualification — appreciation of 
music — the examiner should have a chance, for it is 
easy to judge whether a candidate plays or sings in 
a manner showing sympathy with the composer's 
intention, or simply with so much correct or in- 
correct manipulation of the keys ; but, does he use 
his judgment.? Certainly not. Because he knows 
that were lie to make the appreciation of music a 
a test, none, or next to none, would pass, and the 
great local examination scheme would soon prove a 
huge financial mistake. 

Why is this all-important matter so much ne- 
glected ? If musical training does not succeed in 
kindling some desire on the part of the student to 
inquire into and discover what composers have 
written — some desire to work for love of the art — 
then either the training is one-sided and wrong, or 
the individual is hopelessly destitute of musical 
feeling, and tlierefore quite incapable of instructing 

The appreciation of music — be it only the sim- 
plest air in an instruction book — can be encouraged 
from the very beginning, and it is the teacher's 
business to see to this with tlie same care which 



he gives to ensure tlie correct position of the hand 
on the key-board, or the fingering of a scale. 

Obviously then, as local examinations do not pre- 
tend to educate, and as the examiner only makes 
the best of things as he finds them, the London 
colleges, instead of doing anything for education in 
the provinces, simply do nothing for it. Musical 
education — sucli as it is — is simply helping to pay 
vast sums of money to the London colleges : a suffi- 
cient amount, possibly, to have established a school 
for music ! 

Glasgow and Edinburgli have long acknowledged 
that musical art can never make real progress in our 
midst until a centre of musical education is estab- 
lished and conducted on the same principles as the 
best Conservatoires on the Continent or in London ; 
but there has been notliing as yet but talk. Nor is 
there much probability of anything being done in 
the future unless the matter is taken up by the 
professional musicians tliemselves. The London 
institutions have been quick to see that the pro- 
vinces required something authoritative — something 
bearing a name and a red seal — and have come 
forward with their Local Examination Scheme. 
This has replenished their coffers, but has it done 
any good besides ? If it has, the good is rapidly 
becoming a flagrant evil, because a thorough musi- 
cal education is not sought for as it should be. 
The would-be musical public no longer asks for 
education, it only wants to pass an examination. 
And what is tlie consequence .'' More incapable 
teachers than ever. Fortunately principals of 
schools are gradually finding this out, and candi- 
dates for a situation find tlieir examination certi- 
ficates viewed with a considerable amount of 

Before leaving tlie educational side of this 
question, a few words remain to be said regard- 

ing the influence of examinations upon the in- 
dividual. A student, whatever his pursuit, requires 
encouragement ; not, of course, tlie encouragement 
of his friends, for that, even although judicious and 
well intended, often does more harm than good. 
Tlie interest of the student is aroused wlien lie 
begins to see his way into a subject ; and only when 
tlie true purpose of music as an art — (not as a short 
cut to an examination) — begins to reveal itself to 
him is he really encouraged to pursue his studies 
furtlier. If a candidate succeeds in passing an 
examination, it has one of two effects. Either 
she (for the candidates are mostly ladies) stops 
at that point, and her friends exert their influence 
to procure her a situation ; or, if she does not 
require to teach, the document may be framed and 
luing on the wall, while the owner is expected to do 
her best for tlie entertainment of friends at musical 
' At Homes ' or Charity Concerts. Seldom indeed 
does the possession of an important-looking docu- 
ment have the effect of encouraging a lady to pursue 
tlie art for its own sake. Those who are really in 
earnest go to Germany or London as soon as they 
can. Then, in the case of failure. The poor unfor- 
tunate is either pitied or laughed at ; and although 
a few kind souls endeavour to show her that she was 
unfairly treated, or the victim of nervousness or 
miscliance, tliey cannot succeed in rekindling the 
latent spark of enthusiasm which may liave existed. 
It has been our endeavour in this article to show, 
that the influence exerted by Local Examinations 
on musical education is worse than useless, or posi- 
tively injm'ious. In a future number we shall take 
up the matter briefly from the professional point of 
view, and, at the same time, say a few words as to 
the plans which might be adopted for promoting 
the establishment of a School of Music in Scotland. 



TO be called upon to write a work for a special 
occasion — and more especially such an occa- 
sion as the inauguration of an International Exhi- 
bition — must at all times be rather a thankless 
task for a composer. It is quite a different thing 
when the choice of a subject is left in tlie hands of 
the musician himself, and he is at liberty to select 
a theme which may inspire liis imagination, or, at 
all events, absorb his attention sufficiently to enable 
him to forget that he is engaged upon a work that 

must contain certain effects, and be written to a 
given pattern. 

Dr. Mackenzie seems to us evidently to liave felt 
this, for lie has made no attempt to free himself 
from conventionality. He has been given what 
was, to liim, an uninteresting subject, and the result 
is an uninteresting composition. The composer 
of ' La belle Dame sans Merci ' and ' Colomba ' 
would, we have no doubt, make an attempt to work 
himself into a condition of mind that might bear 



some sort of resemblance to a state of inspiration — 
but the effort was fruitless. There can be no good 
work without inspiration. We take this term, of 
course, in a somewhat restricted sense — for we do 
not mean to imply that it is necessary to be in a 
trance, or a state of ecstasy, in order to create 
beautiful music. It is only required that the com- 
poser feel thoroughly in sympathy with his theme — 
impressed by it to the extent of complete absorption 
for the time being. Mr. Robert Buchanan's ' Ode " 
has been alluded to in all our journals, so it is not 
necessary for us to say more than that the author 
seems to have felt very much the same as the com- 
poser, but has done his utmost — that utmost being, 
we are sorry to say, mediocrity. 

The opening section of the work, which contains 
the principal subject of the work, is the most effective 
portion of the whole. This subject, which of course 
stands for our city itself, is distinctly Norwegian in 
character, the composer evidently going as far back 
in Scotcli history as he could for his material, and, not 
being able to find anything in the \\ay of national 
music — by ' national ' we mean purely Scotcli 
music — which could fittingly refer to the Clyde, 
and give us a suggestion of the sea, he takes us to 
the indefinite period of Norse invasion, in order to 
give a somewhat less prosaic turn to his theme. 

Tenors and Basses, 




Dark sea-born City, witli thy throne set on the surge-vex'd shore. 

This primary subject, wliich is bold and effective, 
is delicately treated in the duet for sopranos and 
altos in page 3, and we are sorry when this portion 
is finished, for it is tlie only passage in ^vhich we 
can trace the composer's individuality. After a 
short instrumental interlude, we are introduced to 
the principal chorus, but, we are sorry to say, it is 
painfully dull in treatment througliout. There is 
none of that refined colour in the instrumental 
portion which we are accustomed to associate with 
the name of Dr. Mackenzie, and nothing in the 
choral writing to compensate for the omission. At 
tlie words " Lo ! raising now the palm and not the 
sword," there is a new subject, vastly inferior to the 
one at the beginning, and possessing very little 
meaning in a musical sense. 







— >«=1-F- 


r Ld ' I f 11 

Lo ! raising now the palm, and not the sword. 


chorus, and although not occurring more frequently 
than the 'working out' demands, these four notes 
soon begin to irritate the nerves — a pretty sure sign 
that the idea they suggest is not a happy one. 

We are glad to refer to a little bit of brightness 
which occurs on page 11. At the words, ' Symbols 
of plenty and of power,' an accessory tlieme used 
througliout the chorus appears in a sharj) key. It 
is beautifully defined, and in perfect sympathy with 
the idea of sunshine and shower. 

The prevalence of flat keys throughout the com- 
position may be noticed in passing as a not unim- 
portant cause of the heaviness of the entire work. 
There is a broad close for chorus in unison (see score, 
page 16), used for the words ' Praise ye tlie Lord.' 
When at a loss for a good finisli, it is always a great 
temptation to adopt unison for the voices, thereby 
obtaining a big effect with the least possible amount 
of trouble. In the ' Epode ' the composer introduces 
us to a Scotch subject for the first time. Scotch it 
is, because it contains a portion of the Scotcli scale, 
but this is the only national characteristic it con- 


The latter bar is used as a figure throughout the 

Till all our kind are free To spread the gifts of peace with br.tve 

The passage ' This is our Covenant ' might have 
afforded an opportunity of introducing some really 
good national music, and we are considerably sur- 
prised that our representative composer should treat 
us to so feeble an attempt in the very direction 
where we should have expected to find him strong. 
There is, however, one extremely powerful piece of 
writing, where the artistic musician is shown to 
advantage ; and we feel a sense of satisfaction in find- 
ing that the work, if unsuccessful as a whole, still 
bears the hall-mark of true musical expression. The 

' To share our substance, proving to our neighbours 
The gain is God's, not ours,' 

are magnificently treated. Nothing could possibly 
be more impressive than '•iX^&Jhrthsmio unison passage 
leading the sopranos up to high A — the only liigh 
A in the work — and the instantaneous pianissimo in 
full harmony following. Just before the ' Hun- 
dredth Psalm,' we find the last appearance of the 
Norwegian subject, but given in the major key, a 
change wliich causes it to lose all its Scandinavian 
character. After an effective modulation, the chorus 
in unison delivers the time-worn old hymn, but in 
the key of E flat ! The composer has sacrificed 
what might have been a grand choral effect, for the 



sake of the organ and the band, and we tliink the 
result proves him to have made an artistic mis- 
take. The four voice parts are, of course, all em- 
ployed in the lowest portions of their registers, until 
the last three bars at the end, where the sopranos 
are suddenly taken an octave higher, giving the 
audience the impression which would be created by 
a soloist trying to sing in an unsuitable key. The 
effect is not by any means improved by the fact of 
the key being well adapted for tlie band, because, just 

at the very end, where the inspiring old psalm tune 
should appeal in stately grandeur in its true shape, 
it is disguised utterly, and the chorus, which the 
composer lias treated as a grand solo, seems as if it 
were lost and only managed to right itself at the 
last three bars. ' Old Hundred,' we think, should 
have been treated in a more popular form, as no 
other version but the familiar one could possibly 
reach so directly the hearts of a Scotch audience. 



ALL prejudice being laid aside, it will doubtless be fieelyadmitted 
among well-informed musicians, as well as among intelligent 
artists of all kinds in Europe, that true talent finds its warm patrons, 
as it dees its bountiful reward, in New York, and the country which 
that metropolis represents. It is an ungenerous, ungrateful, preju- 
diced mind which denies this fact. But America must recognise, 
as Europe must remember, that in Music and Art the United States 
are the successfully educated of their distant parent. The true- 
born Americans of the first half of this century were not musical or 
artistic in any respect. Their interests were all too material, their 
necessities and inspirations too local, the temptations and sugges- 
tions all too commercial, for time or taste to be given to much that 
was cesthetic or spiritual. It was not until after success in all busi- 
ness connections became known that we began to receive here the 
influxes of English and European taste and talent which led us 
on. But American nature was ambitious also, and aspiring. It 
was not willing to open a New World and not emulate the Old. 
Every taste and study and elevating pursuit of the older nations has 
been most zealously followed, and every impulse for novelty and 
originality, so characteristic of the American people, has been 
brought to bear strongly on its study and practice of all the Arts 
of the Old World. 

In this, too, it has been aided by the strangely cosmopolitan 
character of the growing population. New York, like every part 
of this sixty millions of people, is made up of every nationality in 
Europe, and the largest contributions to the population have come 
from the most advanced among the nations of that Continent. It is 
needless to enumerate the causes that have sent thither so many, 
from the better classes even, of German, P'rench, Russian, as well 
as of British people during the last quarter of a century ; and the 
additions that have been made in music and the various arts to the 
scanty repertoire that existed here before is a very marked feature 
of the progress of this people in that time. New York prides itself 
very justly on the high standard that its taste and judgment have 
reached at this day in all these matters, but it is by the invaluable 
aid of the spirit infused among its population by importations from 
abroad, that it has been enabled to reach that high position. We 
may be able to set forth in these pages conclusive evidence of the 
high grade to which musical judgment, performance, and culture 
have attained in New York and her sister cities, but in doing so it 
will be too plain how much she depends on English, German, 
French, Italian, — in fact on European instmction and inspiration 
for gaining and for maintaining that standard. Europe is the 
mother in a thousand ways of these growing cities and states, but 
she must recognise how wonderfully her children have progressed 
in their training, and try to feel only a cosmopolitan pride, if she 
sees them leading the way in appreciation and execution of what 
has been given them to learn. 

Almost every kind of musical culture has reached as high a 

perfection in New York and in this country as anywhere in the 
world ; every style of composition, vocal or instrumental, is as 
well rendered here as in any part of Europe. But it is because 
Europe herself is here, and not in the least because America has 
herself oulstripped the mother countries. She has lent the spirit, 
the motive, the ambition, the material means for the study and 
practice of mus'c, as well as of other arts, but it is European 
talent, skill, experience, and elevating influence that are guiding 
and controlling all the artistic successes of this country. It is 
not easy to see to this day what head Great Britain would make in 
rendering the great orchestral compositions of the German classics 
\vithout German performers themselves ; and when your readers 
consider that New York city contains a larger Geriimn popula- 
tion than any German city itself (except Berlin), they will easily 
see that orchestral performances of the concert room and opera 
can be carried here to the utmost limit of perfection now known. 
Italian Opera relies here, as in London and in other European 
centres, on Italian artists for instruction, resident or imported, and 
few countries supply so many successful native-born singers in 
this field as the United States. Then again, in the great school 
of Oratorio, and religious harmony, which are peculiarly, almost 
exclusively, the stronghold of British musical talent, nowhere is 
the appreciation stronger, and study of these compositions carried 
to higher success, than here in New York and the other cities 
about her. Abundant facts shall appear to illustrate the no 
longer growing but mature and elevated tastes that characterise 
the spirit of New Yorkers in their attention to this style of com- 
position. This is perhaps the British, or the Anglo-Saxon, nature 
cropping out in her people, and here more than in anything else 
the English element in the population asserts itself. There are very 
many oratorio and sacred choral societies successfully in existence 
in our cities, and a striking feature of the musical life of the last 
few years in New York has been the formation of very numerous 
private amateur societies for the rendering, simply for their own 
enjoyment, of many of the less-known works of this sort from 
British composers. It is noticeable, too, that these gatherings 
for oratorio-singing bring together more of our native Saxon or 
British stock blended, now and then, with the addition of the rich 
voices and natures of other Teutonic branches. 

Indeed, New York is hardly or fairly an American city, except 
in the sense that what is of the United States is of Europe, 
enlivened, animated, impelled by the freedom of a new home and 
a new World. The people are, to a feverish degree, hastening in 
their progress, and after what is new, but they are guided by 
European rules and standards, when such exist, and are fully 
abreast of Europe herself in all that pertains to the study and 
appreciation of science, as of any of the arts. 






ENGLISH literature lias often found its best 
echoes in the North. After tlie compara- 
tively barren period of the seventeenth century, 
during which Poetry was shrivelled under the frown 
of Presbyteries, in the early years of the eighteenth 
the genius of Lindsay seemed to revive in Ramsay's 
verse. When Chaucer was half-forgotten or lan- 
guidly imitated by Lydgate and Hawes in England, 
James I. and Dunbar took up the Chaucerian lyre 
and struck from it fresh cadences. Similarly, in a 
later age, the muse of Spenser wandered across the 
Tweed to Hawthornden. Pope, in the eighteenth 
century, had many imitators : but among the poets 
whose verses bore trace of his versification and 
manner of thought, none added so much from native 
stores, none set his music to songs so decidedly his 
own, as Allan Ramsay. That he was a pupil of 
Pope is proved by one of his first publications, the 
' Morning Interview,' in which the early visit of a 
beau to liis mistress is made the pretext for a light 
satirical description of the hcau-monde in Edinburgh, 
in the style of the ' Rape of the Lock.' In like 
manner Ramsay's humorous manner of antedating 
the decease of his contemporaries seems to have 
been suggested by Swift's account of the death of 
Partridge, closely mimicked in the elegy on John 
Cowper. But as regards matter, thouglit, and 
lantruaee, he borrowed as much from the Scotcli 
ballads, and more from his own resources. 

He made his appearance as an author when the 
freer spirit, evoked by the commercial activity of 
the northern towns, was beginning to revolt against 
the extreme rigidity of Puritanic asceticism ; and he 
found the nation ripe for his native humour, ' his 
manners' painting strains,' and his lively sketches of 
Scottish life. The circimistances of his own career 
connected him with various classes of the com- 
munity, and contributed to his power of sympathis- 
ing with, and successfully addressing various ranks 
of his countrymen. Born in 1686, in a Lanarkshire 
village, the son of a manager of Lord Hopetoun's 
mines, he traced his descent to a branch of the 
family he apostrophises in his famous adaptation of 
Horace beginning — 

'Dalhousie of an auld descent, 
My chief, my stoup, my ornament.' 

His youth was spent amid the fresh breezes of Low- 
land braes. But, his father dying early, the poet 
was, on his mother's second marriage, sent to Edin- 

burgh as apprentice to a wigmaker. After ten 
years spent in this somewhat unpoetical employ- 
ment, we hear of him emerging into authorship as 
member of the Easy Club — a northern recast of the 
Kit-Cat, Wills', and White's, of the southern metro- 
polis. In 1712 he married, and having found his 
talent, began to eke out his living by comic ballads 
and elegies whicJi, sold at a penny a piece, were in 
great demand in the alleys of the town. His first 
considerable effort, a republication of ' Clirist's Kirk 
o' the Green,' issued in 1716, witli two parts of 
liis own in continuation, made his reputation as a 
homely humorist. It is an idyll of rustic manners, 
quaint as a sketch by Teniers, occasionally coarse in 
expression, but unsurpassed in vigour by any similar 
production of the century previous to the publication 
of the ' Jolly Beggars.' Ramsay now left off making- 
wigs, and betook himself wholly to writing, editing, 
and selling books. In 1721 he published a quarto 
of his own miscellanies, ending with a prophecy of 
his fam& (adapted from the ' Excgi monumentum'), 
which its reception seemed to justify. His success 
at this time began to excite expressions of envy, to 
which he replies, ' I have been honoured with three 
or four satires ; but they are such that several of 
my friends allege I wrote them myself to make the 
world believe I have no foes but fools.' After 
another volume of tales, lie published, in 1724-27, 
the 'Tea-Table Miscellany,' a collection of old 
Scotch and English songs, interspersed with several 
of his own, wliicli ran through twelve editions in a 
few years ; and, in the same interval, ' The Ever- 
green,' purporting to be a collection of Scotch 
poems written before 1600. Half of these, how- 
ever, have been shown to be of later date. Ramsay 
was no scholar ; he could scarcely read even Horace 
in the original, and was no critic of the antiquities 
of his own tongue. In the ' Evergreen ' he pub- 
lished ' The Vision,' said to have been ' compylit 
in Latin anno 1300, and translatit in 1524.' It is 
as unmistakably Ramsay's own, and one of his most 
vigorous patriotic effusions, as Rowley's ' Ella ' is 
Chatterton's. In 1725 appeared ' Tlie Gentle 
Sheplierd' — an expansion and refinement of pre- 
vious minor pastorals — by which the author's fame 
was established. It was received with acclamation, 
republished in London and Dublin, and procured 
him the friendship of Gay and the admiration of 
Pope. In 1 730 Ramsay put forth a collection of fables 
in verse, and then ceased writing, in the exercise of 



a deliberate judgment rare amongst poets. 'I 
e^en gave over,' lie wrote six years later, ' in good 
time, before the coolness of fancy that attends ripe 
years should risk the reputation I had acquired.' 
He set up his bookseller's shop on a larger scale, 
and with it the first circulating library in Scotland, 
associated on terms of equality witli the leaders of 
wit and fashion, and sent his son, afterwards tlie 
famous painter, to Rome to learn his art. Having 
saved a considerable sum of money, he misinvested 
it in the establishment of a theatre, and suffered 
his only severe check at the hands of liis only real 

In the Golden Age when the lamb and the wolf lay 
down together, so did the minstrel and the monk. 
In the ages of authentic Scottish history the Muses 
have, by some vmhappy fatality, been almost always 
antagonistic to the dominant church. Even pious 
old Barbour exercises a sage incredulity with regard 
to the miracles and predictions of his time. ' The 
King's Quhair ' is a rich Pagan fantasy, conceived in 
a spirit alien to that of the Acta Sandoruin. Doug- 
las and Henryson may pass free from the ' Index 
Expurgatorius.' But Dunbar writes like a dis- 
frocked ecclesiast, assailing with invective and scorn 
unsurpassed for centuries the abuses and shams of 
which he had in his youth largely availed himself. 
Lyndsay, in the attitude of a more imdisguised par- 
tisan, alternately mocks and denounces every cere- 
monial and institution of the fold of his fathers. 
The scene changed in tlie 16th century, and 'New 
Presbyter' took tlie place of 'Old Priest.' The few 
versifiers of the 17th more or less directly assailed 
the Covenant. Puritanism having done its worst 
to put down Poetry, it was natural that when the 
reaction came Poetry should lead tlie assault on 
the Puritans. Their rule, as censors of life and 
manners, was more firmly rooted in the northern 
than in the southern section of our island ; and the 
magistrates of Edinburgh, acting on their dictation 
in 1737, refused to license Ramsay's Theatre while 
the small fry of litterateurs in their train assailed 
him with a shower of lampoons. He protested 
vigorously in prose and verse ; but, appealing in vain 
to the legislature for compensation for his unexjiected 
loss, had to succumb. The bigots triumphed, and 
more than a generation elapsed before they were 
shot through and through by the arrows of a mightier 
genius. Ramsay threw himself again with energy 
into his business, repaired his fortunes, and died at 
the age of 72, in general content with his lot, having 
looked through half a century on the bright side of 
nature, and made the best of both worlds of fancy 
and of fact. He was no hero, but as honest as a 
man can be who is above all thint^s resolved to be 

popular. As is generally the case with such tem- 
peraments, his genius never takes a very high flight. 
His thoughts are seldom subtle, his passions never 
intense, his good-natured view of men and things 
never penetrates to the Tragedy that underlies the 
Comedy, the misery beneath the merriment, of life. 
He is a stranger to the mood represented in the 
refrain of his great predecessor, Dunbar, ' Timor 
mortis conturbat me,'' or in that of his yet greater 
successor, ' Man was made to mourn.' According 
to Ramsay, he was made to drive an honest trade, 
to mix in good society, to collect old songs, to sniff 
the fresh country air, and, watching the manners 
and loves of gentle hinds and village maidens, to 
reproduce their adventures, their dialogues in more 
polished speech, and dedicate the i-esult to the 
Countess of Eglintoii. YiaOi'i^ara /xadij/xara : he 
who has never suffered cannot thrill the world's 
heart : he who is all smiles will have all smiles, but 
tlie end of him is the sod. Yet the superficial 
observer knows his role, and with the sound sense of 
a canny Scot, adheres to it. Ramsay has written no 
absolute nonsense, is never guilty of bombast or the 
drivel that conceals itself under a show of violence, 
and only here and there of the mild affectation and 
classical pedantry of his age. As long as hi* best 
verses are read they will continue to please ; for his 
genius, so far as it goes, is genuine. 

' The pastoral,' says Addison, ' which flourished 
when cities had not been built or commerce estab- 
lished, belonged to a state of ease, innocence, 
aud contentment where plenty begot pleasure, and 
pleasure begot singing, and singing begot poetry.' 
Perhaps there never was such a state or time, but 
when every shepherd ' told his tale under the liaw- 
thoriie in the dale ' it ^^•as easier to imagine it, and 
Ramsay came as near to the imagination as possible 
in an artificial age. One merit of ' The Gentle 
Shepherd ' is its rapport with external nature. Tlie 
■character he assigns to Scotch poetry in general 
specially belongs to his verse. In it ' the morning 
rises as she does on oiu' own horizon ; we are not 
carried to Greece and Italy for a shade, a stream, or 
a breeze ; groves rise in our own valleys ; the rivers 
flow from our own fountains ; and the winds blow 
upon our own hills.' His landscapes resemble those 
of Claude : a haze of classical refinement is thrown 
over real features. Towards the close of the last 
century the hinds of the Pentlands used to point 
out to strangers the waterfall of ' Habbie's Howe,' 
the cottages of Glaud and Symon, Sir William's 
Tower, the avenue of shady groves, the strand 
where Patie 

' Took delight 
To pu' the rashes green wi' roots sae white ; ' 



•tlie uplands, where with 

' Ane Shakespeare and a famous Ben, 
He often spoke and ca'd them best of men.' 

Tlie variations in tlie dialect of the ' Sheplierd ' 
cannot always be maintained on dramatic grounds. 
For thougli familiar witli tlie rural speech of liis time, 
the author seems to have occasionally left it for tlie 
fine language of the capital. The plot of the piece 
has little originality. From Theocvitus and Virgil, 
the Aminta and tlie Pastor Fido had introduced 
into Elizabethan pastoral the contrasted couples, — 
the pair of frank lovers, the bashful swain and 
proud beauty, — whose colloquies make up the dia- 
logue. The ' Sad Shepherd ' and ' The Faithful 
Shepherdess" have higher poetic merit, but are marred 
by incongruities. Tlie simplicity of Rainsay''s story 
made it for half a century a favourite in Lowland 
cottages, and the scenes could easily be represented 
on a rustic stage. The characters, lauded as types 
of the finest peasanti-y in the world, are too merely 
typical, and their vagueness marks the limits of the 
authoi-'s dramatic power. Peggy has by some inju- 
dicious eulogist been compared to Miranda. The 
real parallel has escaped the critics — that of Piince 
Florizel and Perdita. The bulk of 'The Gentle Shep- 
herd ' preaches — ' A man's a man for a'' that,' and a 
'Simple maiden in her flower ; ' but in the denoue- 
ment the poet characteristically — as is done in the 
more recent ' John Halifax ' — puts liimself right 
with the caste of Vere de Vere. 

Ramsay's songs, among which we may include 
the snatches shoved into the ' Siiepherd ' to make 
it read like a Vaudeville, are partly his own, partly 
adaptations from older models. Many of those 
which most contributed to his popularity, written 

for literary assemblies or convivial gatherings, are 
interesting to us as rejDertoires of eighteenth cen- 
tury compliment, or specimens of invariably harm- 
less satire. Among those more decidedly lyric we 
may name ' Tlie Lass o' Patie's Mill,' ' The 
Yellow-hair'd Laddie,' ' Farewell to Lochaber,' 
' Bonnie Jean,' ' Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,' and 
'The Higliland Laddie.' Ramsay's misfortune is 
tliat Avhere he lias improved on others he has been 
afterwards eclipsed. He adds to the old tune and 
the rough old words the grace and refinement of 
the wits, wjio, in the 'Easy' and 'Johnstone' 
clubs talked over their cups of Prior and Pope, of 
Addison and Gray. Burns, with the fervour that 
came direct from above and his own hot heart, sets 
the most wooden of his race on fire. We may 
clinch the difference by comparing Ramsay's ampli- 
fication of Francis Semple's ' Auld Lang Syne' : 

' Methinks around us on each bough 
A thousand Cupids play, 
Whilst through the woods I walk witii you 
Each object makes me gay. 
Since your return the sun and moon 
With brighter beams do shine, 
Streams murmur soft notes while they run, 
As they did lang syne,' 

— by comparing and contrasting it with this : 

' We twa hae run about the braes 
An' pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wandered mony a weary fitt. 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

' We twa ha'e paidl'd i' the burn, 
P'rae mornin' sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin' auld lang syne.' 


WHEN a great writer dies, the immediate and 
universal sentence is tliat in his death litera- 
ture has suffered a serious loss. In most cases this 
is a mere obituary platitude, with no special signi- 
ficance beyond a tribute to the dead man's skill or 
eminence in his craft. But in the case of Matthew 
Arnold this commonplace which is now on the lips 
of every one has a very definite meaning, and is 
indeed perhaps the fittest comment on the event. 
The death of Mattliew Arnold is the most serious 
loss which the cause of letters, in this country at 
least, has suffered during the present generation. 
It is not so much the loss of a great artist in letters 
— that happens every day or every decade — and 

even the last ten years have robbed us of more than 
one writer of genius far above Arnold's. It is 
rather the loss of a man wholly penetrated with the 
literary spirit, and devoted to the spreading of that 
spirit as of a religion, — of a man who, in his teacji- 
ing, in his practice, and in all the subtler influences 
of his character, was the great witness and cliampion 
of literature among the men of his time. It has 
been the fashion to call Matthew Arnold the apostle 
of culture, but the phrase is not quite an adequate 
one. There is a culture of the intellect, a culture 
of conduct, and also a culture of the aesthetic emo- 
tions. Of the last of these, and of its gospel of 
art for art's sake only, Matthew Arnold could in no 



sense be called an apostle. A man of fine and cul- 
tivated feeling he undoubtedly was, but his festhetic 
perceptions were not what in the strict sense of the 
term we may call pure. They had not the note of 
perfect agstheticism— they were not extra-moral, but 
always with a strong and importunate admixture of 
ethics. So far from abiding by his own articulate 
standard of criticism — to keep aloof from practice, 
and allow a free play of the mind on all subjects — 
there probably never was a writer who had practice 
more constantly in his view, and his whole work of 
criticism is a violation of his own set rule. As 
Malebranche saw all tilings in God, so Matthew 
Arnold saw all things in Conduct, and at times his 
perpetual insistence on morals grows positively irri- 
tating. His pulpit manner is a very peculiar one — 
not liarsji and imperious like Carlyle's, nor yet 
puerile and jsetulant like tliat of Ruskin — but a 
style bland, persuasive, and tautological — some- 
thing between the polished suavity of an Anglican 
archdeacon and the affectionate maundering of 
one's grandmotlier. The diction, too, lends itself 
to the deepening of this impression. It is lucid and 
idiomatic enough— yet somehow one cannot call it 
classical. Imaginative vigour may be the bane of 
our vernacular prose, but if the French are to be 
our masters, we must aim not only at their clear- 
ness, but at their piquancy as well. But in point 
of style, Arnold is a P\-enchman manqtie ; his prose 
is above all things pointless. It is a neutral prose — 
as clear and wholesome as fair water, but also as 
colourless and as insipid. 

Yet to say of Matthew Arnold that he was a 
preacher of right conduct, is still to leave his exact 
position imperfectly marked off. Mr. Herbert 
Spencer, in his own way, is also a preacher of con- 
duct, and so in their ways are all the ministers of 
all the churches. Tlie end in all these is very much 
the same, but the difference lies in the method 
which each employs — in the intellectual guide and 
stimulus to conduct which he proposes. And 
broadly, it may be said that the distinction between 
these others and Matthew Arnold is notliing else 
than the distinction between literature and dogma. 
Tlie men of science give us their data and inductions 
of ethics ; tlie Cliurchmen offer their articles of 
theology — all more or less definite and exact. And 
what, then, is Arnold's method ? Simply this — 
' to know the best that is known and tliouaht in 
the world, and by, in its turn, making tliis known, 
to create a current of true and fresh ideas.' Not, 
surely, a very definite or rigorous method this ; 
above all, not in the least a scientific one. Indeed 
it is essentially the very antipodes of science, for it 
relies mainly, if not altogether, on authority. It 

cares little for necessary sequences, unless these have 
been expressed in some beautiful saying, or incar- 
nated in some interesting person, or exemplified in 
some memorable deed. It asks not for trutli in se, 
but for men's ideas about truth ; it finds its mate- 
rials in precepts which have a literary form, and in 
examples which are capable of literary presentment. 
In short, it is out and out a literary method ; and 
this is why at the outset it was said that in the death 
of Matthew Arnold literature had suffered such a 
grievous loss. For the tendency of intellect now-a- 
days is altogether the other way. AVe are asking 
for exact truth, and getting impatient of the per- 
sonal equation. But with Arnold the colouring 
medium of personality is everything. Truth tinged 
with character is indispensable to him — truth so 
fii-ed with emotion tliat it glows and flames up into 
poetry is best of all. This is the true spirit of the 
litterae humaniores — this keen and catholic interest 
in all the recorded words and deeds of men. For 
practically it is an all-embracing interest — not alto- 
gether indeed, for there are often notable excep- 
tions — yet in contrast to the theological spirit we 
may fairly enough call it catholic. Theology also 
relies on authority — but then its canon is strictly 
limited. It has its sacred books and its sacred 
persons rigorously marked off from the multitude 
of the profane. But with Matthew Arnold every 
book is sacred — every, or nearly every, man is, 
potentially at least, a doctor of the Church Uni- 
versal. There are grades, of course, in this vast 
ecclesia of the race — and Israel, for very plausible 
reasons, sits undisturbed on the Episcopal throne ; — 
but not far beneath liim there is room for Hellas — 
there is room, too, for the great Romans, and, 
in short, for everything and everybody, except Mr. 
Spurgeon and the ' Readings from Eliza Cook.' 
For it is here that we touch the weak point of 
the literary method. It is the excellence of that 
method that it applies itself to conduct tlirough 
the higher a?sthetic emotions — tliat it clotlies the 
impalpable laws of right living with flesh and 
blood, and invests them with an august historic 
garment. On the other liand, its fault is in the 
incurable vagueness and irrationality of its test. 
' The best that is known and tliought in the 
world ' — this itself would need a criterion, but in 
the hands of Arnold it means — what it would pro- 
bably mean in tlie hands of any one — simply the 
most attractive from a literary point of view, the 
most thoi-ouglily penetrated and sublimed with 
emotion, the richest in all the clustei'ing associa- 
tions of story. Perhaps there never was a man for 
whom tlie magic Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ah 
ornnibus, had a more overmastering fascination than 


for Arnold. Tlie power over him of tliis influence limited and lacking of the liigliest reaches in his 

was the secret at once of his weai<ness and of his craft — a critic witli a fastidious horror of all vagrant 

strength. It made liim, on tlie whole, an eminently developments, a C'atliolic who Jiad not rid himself of 

sound and safe thinker, a classicist in literature, and that last infirmity of Catholicism — tlie hatred and 

in morality what we may call a Catholic of the the misunderstanding of dissent, 
higher and broader kind. But it left him also R. A. 




SiXGEU of spring, sun-flooded songster thou. 
In what far fields dost rove, thy book in hand, 
With eyes tliat beam love-light across tlie land .'' 
Who held all hearts alive, who, dead, canst bow 
All hearts to honour ; never may'st thou know 
The weary weight tlie long rolled ages bring 
On folk and country thou wert apt to sing ; 
So will no shade of sorrow gloom thy brow. 

Do young flowers freshen, Cliaucer, now for thee ? 
Do shy buds burst and grasses grace the earth .'' 
AVhat birds in May make music to thy mirth ? 
Rest, lifeless, lightless, so thou shalt not see 
With wild-wo'ed eyes the desolation we 
Have wrouglit upon the England of tliy birth. 



Who erst made music for thy sister's sleep 
(She parting presence liere one Christmas Eve), 
Passed from our praises now, thyself dost leave 
Thy fields part gathered, part yet ripe to reap : 
On tliat glad day, when one immortal leap 
Burst the tomb's bonds, nor stayed the sky to 

cleave, — 
Which those deem bright myth, these blest birth 

Night's death-shade chilled thee on earth's upland 

Poet, whose first fair song-flower bloomed for death, 
Whose eyes oft strove to pierce that cloudland grey. 
Through which, too swift, thou wing'st unwavering- 
Won at dear dowry of thy cherished breath ; 
Hast caught at length the words the sea-song saith. 
And found in night the secret shunned of day. 

J. Pringle Nichol. 

Edhibnrgh ; T, atid A. Coristahle, Printers to Her Majesty. 

The Scottish Art Review 

Vol. I. 

JULY 1888. 

No. 2. 

hampered by traditions, but not witliout a 
definite policy. An indication of that policy will 
be found in the succeeding article — The Gospel of 
Art. The Dilletante and the Dryasdust, and all 
whose hearts have been eaten out by the pride of 
caste, or the dry-rot of a self-sufficing ' Culture,' will 
have no place here. We are not for them, nor they 
for us. What we want is living truth for living 
people. These pages will therefore be open to 
the contributions of those who write from know- 
ledge and conviction on the subjects to be dealt 

with by the Journal, and in harmony with the spirit 
which animates it. The Scotttsh Art Review 
is run to supply at the cost of production, and 
largely as a labour of love, the best thought we 
can command. We want good men to help us. 
And we require the public to co-operate with us, 
by buying and reading what we thus supply for the 
furtherance of no individual or class interests, but 
the furtherance of a knowledge and a love of tliat as- 
pect of divine truth which it is the privilege of Art 
to present to men — a knowledge and a love which 
this nation stands in dire need of at the present day. 



THE importance of Art in human affairs, and the 
advantage to man's higher well-being of his 
clearly recognising that importance cannot be over- 
rated. It is a poor and low ideal of life which 
would regard Art as only ornamental, only a sort of 
refined source of pleasure ; and it is a narrow and a 
false one which would have us believe that Art is 
only for the few. Art is for every man and woman 
who in childhood gathered flowers and shells because 
of their beauty. 

But there are tendencies in our life making us grow 
away from and lose tliose first affections, and life 
becomes sadder and more sordid for their loss. Art 
is the tangible expression of the spirit which retains, 
tlirough life, the child's spontaneous delight in what 
is beautiful, as a perennial spring of purest joy, 
^^•elling up through all our being. No bitterness 
that life may bring can blight the fair growth of 
souls thus nourished at the roots. Art, therefore, 
is the visible proof of a spirit which can triumph 
over all life's ills. Beginning in the innocent joys 
of childhood, it culminates in the manhood which, 
cognisant of all the trouble and the tragedy of life, 
and even, mayhap, a prey to them, can yet look out 
unfretted, from the sweet serenity within, that has 
learned how to resolve all human discords in the 
Divine harmony. 

To the millions of toiling, sad, baffled and suffer- 

ing men and women in tliis land whose lives are 
kept sordid, and barren, and mean for tlie want of 
this joyous spirit of Art, surely this is a matter of 
some importance. It is not expected or hoped that 
men are to be suddenly translated into heaven on 
earth by looking at painted pictures, or listening to 
sweet strains of music. But it is certain that, until 
men become endued with that spirit of wjiich all 
true \\orks of art are the generous expression, tlieii- 
lives will be bereft of an ennobling joy which is the 
inalienable birthright of every human soul. Not 
for the dilletante, or the idle rich, who, indeed, can 
but rarely understand its spirit. Art is for every 
man who, with a single eye and a pure heart, desires 
to learn how to recognise, in all the aspects of life 
and nature, rightly seen, a tangible expression of the 
Divine love, and who is thereby moved to share with 
his fellow-men delight in that recognition. For 
Art is the language by which such things are told. 

Most men and women regard works of art with a 
certain affection, of a kind, frankly deligliting in 
them, even though sometimes with no more than a 
child's insight into their meaning. Yet too many 
seem to get no further, believing, it may be, that 
Art is a very fine sort of thing, but with a be- 
wildered notion that the knowledge and under- 
standing of it are for critics and connoisseurs only, 
being much too precious and profound to be shared 



in by tlie ruck of men. So long as this unfortunate 
misconception prevails, Art must remain a dead 
letter to tlie workaday world, instead of being, as it 
ought to be, a living power to enlarge and ennoble 
our lives. 

We as a nation have too much neglected Art. 
Engrossed in our scientific researches and in our 
marvellous developments of mechanical powers, we 
have taken too little heed to grow in other needful 
directions. Nor lias our feverish quest for material 
wealth been without its hurtful consequences to 
ourselves. But tlie love of the beautiful is part of 
our very being ; it cannot be crushed out ; it will 
live while human nature lives. And our surround- 
ings, and our life as a people, are rich in countless 
influences to nurture it. We dwell in a land 
glorious with the majesty of the silent and ever- 
lasting hills ; ricli witli happy breadths of fertile 
valley ; watered plenteously with limpid stream 
and noble river, beamed on with the ever-changeful 
glory of heaven's liglit, and all set in the silver sea. 
Our sons go down to that sea in ships ; they go 
forth upon the great deep ; we make for all men of 
the earth all material things that handicraftsmen 
can devise ; our ships carry them to foreign lands ; 
we come and go in every corner of the earth ; our 
flag is everywhere. In our myriad labours here, in 
this workshop of the world, with the pathetic 
undertone — ' Tlie still sad music of humanity ' — 
that the pensive ear hears ever, even amid the 
deafening roar of our factories ; in tlie exploits of 
our brave, strong sons, who, over all our wide 
empire, hold the races of men in awe ; in the sweet 
loveliness and majestic grandeur of our island-home 
— in all these we have an exhaustless store for the 
nurture of that love of the sublime and the beautiful 
which is an imperishable instinct of tlie human soul. 

There is hardly a man who is not, at times, 
touched by thouglits like these. And there are 
men among us who are so touched, and so stirred, 
by an ever-present sense of tlie beauty and glory of 
the natural world, and of the great pathetic drama 
of human life, that they must give utterance to the 
things their souls feel with sucli passionate intensity. 
Art is the language by wliicli alone sucli things can 
be expressed — Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, 
Music, and Literature, its various forms. 

Art, therefore, is, to man's higher nature, nothing- 
less than one of the primary necessaries of life^an 
absolute essential to the growth and prosperity of all 
that finer life of tlie soul for which mere material pro- 
sperity is, at best, but the preparation and the basis. 
For Art is the language through which alone much 
of what is highest and deepest in the human soul 
can find expression. Moved by what the common 

consent of men calls inspiration, the artist is irresist- 
ibly compelled to seek expression for the divine 
feeling with which he contemplates all life and 
nature, that he may share that feeling with his 
fellow-men. As speecli for communication between 
mind and mind proves man an intellectual being, in 
nature far above the brutes. Art, the language of the 
soul, proves that his nature is divine. The artist 
presses material things into their highest service, 
caring for them not for their own sakes, but glad to 
have them that he may, by moulding them to forms 
of beauty, stamp indefeasibly upon the grosser 
world of matter his spirit's exultant joy in its own 

Man, made in God's image, delights to exercise 
the divine privilege oi thinking — of projecting ideas. 
When these ideas are truly related to physical 
things they are Science; wjien truly related to mental 
things they are Philosophy ; and when they are truly 
related to spiritual things they are Religion. But one 
comes who, with a rare instinct tliat includes them all, 
looks on the beauteous order of tlie world, and, 
telling what he sees, re-expresses them in a more 
perfect form, revivified by love and clothed in love- 
liness. His work is Art — Art which divinely shows 
truth so clothed in vesture of visible beauty that 
men are irresistibly drawn to it in love. Thus Art 
is the perfect flower of human thought. 

It is believed, and even insisted on by some, that 
while this may be true of the Art of Literature — and 
especially of Poetry — it is not true of those arts such 
as Painting and Sculpture, which deal with a more 
material basis than words. Human tliought in 
Painting and Sculpture must depend for its expres- 
sion on the successful manipulation of materials taken 
crude from the inanimate world — pigments,inarble,or 
clay ; wliile words, the basis of Literature, are already 
divested of material, being, indeed, a sublimated 
and selected product of vital thought. It is there- 
fore contended that for the expression of the highest 
aspirations and the purest and farthest-reaching 
thoughts, man must refuse to be trammelled and 
clogged by anything more material than words ; in 
short, that Poetry, pure and simple, can express 
thoughts and feelings and aspirations diviner far 
than can ever be embodied in Painting or in Sculp- 

This belief is not only prevalent, it is all but uni- 
versal in our day. The language of words is at 
present far more intelligible to Western civilisation 
than is the language of the painter's or the sculp- 
tor's art. There are reasons why it may always 
remain so, one alone being enough to account for it 
— from infancy we are all accustomed to use words 
as the vehicle of ideas. Most people for half a life- 



time, and many for nearly a whole lifetime, are thus 
unconsciously familiarising themselves with the Art 
of Literature, in which all men are, at least, adven- 
turers, if not experts, ere ever they begin to form 
anything more than a mere casual acquaintance with 
the other arts. Little wonder, then, if so many 
hastily conclude that the highest possibilities of 
thought are for Literature alone. 

The various Arts might rather be likened to the 
sides of a great pyramid, all springing from the 
broad base that is as wide as humanity, nearing each 
otlier the higher they rise, until at the apex they 
meet in heaven. Our modern industrial civilisation 
has merely regarded that side which happened to 
be within its view, but has not sought to know of 
those otlier sides it could not see. 

While in no way disposed to detract from, or, 
indeed, to do other than delight in the noble aims 
and achievements of Poetry, and of Literature gener- 
ally, we cannot for one moment concede that the 
specific limitations of the graphic and plastic arts 
are such as to prevent them from embodying the 
loftiest ideals of wliich the liunian soul is capable. 
There is a certain convenience in the using of words 
as the instrument of thought and expression ; but it 
by no means follows that all ideas must, or even can, 
be formulated in words. Indeed, it may well be 
doubted whether the noblest of all our ideas, our 
highest spiritual aspirations, can be formulated in 
words, any more than can our most subtle and preg- 
nant emotions, such as love, grief, or desjjair. These 
declare themselves at their greatest intensity in what 
we habitually speak of as ' unutterable ' looks, when 
the invisible soul moulds the material body to ex- 
press and promulge by a vivid flash, in one intense 
moment, what volumes were powerless to describe 
with equal potency, but which Painting or Sculpture 
could well convey. 

This sense of the inadequacy of words is expressed 
by Goetlie, himself one of the greatest masters in 
Literature that the modern world has known. He 
says, referring to man's sense of God's existence : — 

' Fill thy whole heart with it — 
And when thou art 

Lost in the consciousness of happiness — 
Then call it what thou wilt, 
Happiness ! — heart ! — love ! — God ! 

I have no name for it— Feeling is all ; 

Name, sound, and smoke. 

Dimming the glow of heaven ! ' — Faust. 

Goethe thus declares his sense of the impossibility 

of conveying the most exalted feeling by words, and 
indeed only succeeds in suggesting by a negation 
what he would have us know — 

' I have no name for it — Feeling is all.' 

But here, where words fail, Painting and 
Sculpture succeed, using, as they do, a language 
based upon the primal expressions of Nature, 
wherein the Creator has not deemed it unworthy of 
His perfect thought to write that thought, not 
merely in words, but to embody it in material forms; 
in man, whose face, illumed by noble thought, is as 
the face of God, and in every flower that blows, and 
in every tree that draws its bodily sustenance from 
earth and lifts its face to heaven. 

Indeed, so far from it being the case that man''8 
noblest thoughts cannot be embodied in actual mate- 
rial by those arts, such as Painting and Sculpture, 
which use material as a basis, it would rather appear 
that man is singularly deficient in a sense of his high 
calling and destiny till he thus emulates his Maker's 
exaiuple — till he realises that, endued with the 
Divine Spirit, he is himself a creator, and, looking 
out upon all life and nature, and recognising there 
the elemental expression of the Divine thought, the 
Godhood in him makes him delight to mould inert 
matter with Divine purpose, informing it with his 
spirit and vitalising it, till even the dead rock is 
made to live in the majesty and loveliness of Beauty, 
and declare to time, and almost to eternity, man's 
exultant joy in the Divine Spirit within him, that 
has produced the glorious Work of Art, which, ex- 
pressive of the triumph of the living soul over dead 
matter, is thus the continual answer to all doubt 
and all pessimism, an irrefragable proof of the 
existence of God, and a sure ground for unconquer- 
able and eternal hope. 

Religion, led from the great main track of life 
by the unconscious misdirection of Theology and 
Philosophy, has travelled from dissent to doubt, and 
from doubt well-nigh to despair ; and she has need 
of the restoring, and consoling, and ever-joyous 
fellowship of Art, to revivify her for the conquest 
of the new world that is now expectant of the New 
Revelation which it so sorely needs. It is with a 
profound sense of this need that a few earnest men, 
here and there throughout the land, are being con- 
strained sometimes to turn from the arts that are 
the work of their lives, and, by spoken and written 
words, to help forward this New Renascence. 

The EnrroE. 



THIS painter may be said to occupy a position 
among Scottisli landscapists that is in some 
respects unique ; and, if we would trace tlie sources 
of his art and its methods, if we would rightly 
place the man, and cleai-ly define his position among 
his contemporaries, it will be necessary to take 
account of certain phases of modern art that are 
other than Scottish. 

The present is a fitting time for attempting such 
an estimate as we have indicated, for a very fairly re- 
presentative collection of nearly one hundred and fifty 
of the works of Wintour is at present before the 
public in tiie gallery of the Messrs. Dott, Edinburgh. 

Enougli, perhaps more than enougli, has been 
said as to the influence of Constable upon the land- 
scape art of France. We all know tliat the sturdy 
Englishman won fame and decorations on the 
further side of the Channel at a time when he was 
little regarded on his own ; and we are ready 
to believe — indeed we know indubitably — that ' The 
Hay Wain ' and ' The Small Waterloo '' gave power- 
ful stimulus, and even definite direction, to the work 
of those younger Frenchmen who studied and 
praised them when they were visible in tlie Salon 
of 1824. But the painters who were tluis stimu- 
lated, and the men who surrounded and followed 
them, went on to produce work different enough 
from that of Constable. Were we unacquainted 
with the records of Art in France, were we unable 
to trace, link by link, its historical sequence, it 
might be difficult to guess that the landscape of 
Rousseau, that the landscape of Diaz, was descended 
in directest line from the landscape of Constable. 

The painters of France had been roused from 
the stupor of habitude and routine ; the art of 
Constable, with its \'ivid flash of novel insight, 
had startled them into a perception of new aspects 
of nature, in which lay unsuspected artistic pos- 
sibilities. These fresh possibilities they proceeded 
to develop, each in his own way, with a ])erfect 
care for those qualities of harmonious tone and 
colouring which have been and will always be dear 
to tlie masters of every period, but certainly "itli 
little of that painful effort after demonstrable 
accuracy of natural tone and relation in wjiich so 
many of tlie younger Frenclnnen are now weary- 
ing themselves in vain, and wliich — liowe\er interest- 
ing as a scientific experiment or as a student's 
exercise — has but slight connection ^^•ith anything 
that may be rightly regarded as final art. 

A somewhat similar history, a somewhat similar 
absorption of the mind of Constable, and re-utter- 
ance of it in fresji and varied ways, may be traced in 

the work of more tlian one English landscapist — is 
visible, for example, in the art of Cecil Lawson ; 
though he, like other Englishmen working on simi- 
lar lines, was faithful in a more literal and rigid 
manner to the example of their prime master 
and ' first begetter ' than were tlie landscapists of 
France. But in Scotland the art of Constable has 
been, until the very last year or two, practically un- 
known ; has been, certainly, entirely inoperative, 
either as stimulus or guide, upon any of her land- 
scapists, with the single exception of Wintour. 

He, like the Frenchmen, had his period of submis- 
sion to the master, a period of yet more complete 
identification tiian was theirs with the scope, aims, 
and methods of Constable's art. And then — still 
like the Frenclimen, though working independently 
of them, and in entire ignorance of the results which 
they had attained — he passed on to express himself in 
more original and individual fashion than hitherto ; 
adopting however, all unconsciously, a method which 
is not witliout kinship and likeness to that charac- 
teristic of the ' romantic ' landscapists of France. 

Trained in the 'Trustees' Academy' under Sir 
AVilliam Allan, Wintour began liis art upon tlie old 
Scottish lines that were current at tlie time. Por- 
traits at first occupied him, portraits that showed 
neither freshness of method nor yet fresli power and 
insight enougli to justify a technique that was tra- 
ditionary and outworn, or — as we should ratlier 
say — to make us forget the technique altogetlier in 
our contemplation of what that technique expressed. 
He busied himself, too, with figure-subjects, and 
the earliest of these in the present exhibition — the 
' Prospero and Caliban ' and the ' Puck and the 
Fairies ' — show in their pronounced colouring some 
effort after the typical excellences of Etty. A 
later picture, 'The Cottage Door,' wliile perfectly 
atrocious in its mis-shapen and ill-drawn figures, 
contains an excellent, broadly treated vista of land- 
scape distance, delicately expressive handling of 
foliage, and, especially, a delightful passage of tone 
in that touch of rosy grey given by tlie bird-cage 
tliat is placed among the quivering leaves. 

We then pass to a second period of ^^'^intour's art, 
to tliat represented by delicate and refined water- 
colours like ' At the Mill Sluice,' and ' Boys Fishing,' 
which, however, want that certainty of crisp, telling 
touch, and that emphasis of definite, strongly-struck 
colour which charm us in such of the painter's rather 
later essays in the same medium as those which 
represent, in a singularly attractive and artistic 
fashion, various of the quaint castellated houses of 
Perthshire and the north. 


Coincident in period witli these latter water- 
colours are 'The Miller's Cottage,' 1856; 'The 
Cottar's Well,' 1855 or 1857; and the large, effec- 
tive, powerfully blocked-out sketch of ' The Minnow 
Fishers,' to which a curiously recent date is, tenta- 
tively, assigned in the catalogue, — important subjects 
in oil, in all of which the influence of Constable is 
unmistakable, and, indeed, overmastering. 

But in works like ' A Border Castle,' 1872, and 
the ' Gloaming on the Eye,' 1880, the painter shows 
more clearly his own essential individuality ; thougli 
in these, and in all that he did in later years and 
tliat was most typically his, he approximates — quite 
independently, and of his own proper motion — to 
the aims and methods of tlie Frencli landscapists of 
the generation that is just passing away. Detail, 
in works like these, has become subsidiary ; tlie 
artist has chosen to sacrifice the ' each ' to the ' all ' 
of nature ; he is engrossed witli the large relations 
of things, with composition, with the general balance 
of opposed or blended colour, with facts of tone, of 

atmosphere, of gradation ; and into his treatment of 
these he infuses as much as we could well desire of 
true ^painters' poetry ' — the excellent phrase is Mr. 
"SVliistler's — of that beauty and suggestiveness which 
can be gained by accomplished technique, and can 
be gained in no other way. On similar lines, and — 
though of smaller size — of even more perfect quality, 
is tlie ' Blairlogie ' and the ' On the Ellwand.' We 
have seldom, indeed, seen a rendering of moonlight 
more satisfyingly liarmonious and rich in tone than 
is afforded by the first-named of these two pictures. 
Altogether the little exhibition is a most interest- 
ing one, full of the instruction and the delight which 
true art always brings to us hand in hand. We are 
disappointed to learn that, as yet, the great bulk 
of its visitors have been painters. These have not 
failed duly to appraise its value ; but the exhibition 
is one which has the strongest claims upon the 
attention and the patronage of the entire body of 
tlie art-loving public of Scotland. 

J. M. Gray. 


LOVE moves men to do great things, and is 
assuredly the truest incitement to production 
that the artist has. Imbued with the spirit of 
beauty which he drinks in from the world around 
him, his nature makes him long to express its love- 
liness, to tell the message he has received, and 
lovingly in song, on canvas, or in stone, doth he 
spend his force. 

Cupid will not serve as representative of this 
amour, for he is blind ; but artist-love is ever watch- 
ful and bright-eyed. 

Love's power is divinely sympathetic and com- 
municable ; to sliare delight its end ; and once 
aroused — be its affection what it may, for good or 
bad — it influences all. Its glamour is magnetic, 
Joy and Beauty hasten to lend their enchantments, 
and the artist-lover breathes forth his soul in his 
art ; for is not tliis ecstatic perception of the beauti- 
ful the artist's patrimony par excellence? And 
thougli others may feel intensely, yet to produce 
requires of the mind the most passionate absorp- 
tion ; and exactly in proportion to the rapture of 
the love felt by the artist for his subject, will be the 
beauty of his annunciation to others expressed 
through his work. 

Want of enthusiasm is indeed an unforgivable 
fault in the artist ; in fact, an artist wanting enthu- 
siasm is a contradiction in terms. If the name 
artist means anything, it surely means one to whom 
' vital feelings of delight' are habitual ; so much so, 

tliat, being liimself continually filled with tliem, he 
must express tliem to his fellows, that they also may 
share them. True, there are those whose apprecia- 
tion of what is lovely is very deep and sincere, and 
who are yet unable to tell, through the medium of 
any art, what they feel ; but it holds good gener- 
ally, that the man of unusual sensibility finds some 
method of making known to his fellow-men the 
consciousness of his delighted observation. 

This artist-love is patient. Nature gives up her 
secrets grudgingly, and only to those vigilant 
watchers who are ever waiting, ready to receive and 
thank her, doth slie mete out from her bountiful 
stores. It follows, then, that the artist should be of 
large and generous vision ; of simple and unbiassed 
mind ; one who with kindly eye will note the 
beauty of his life and surroundings, and, with Love 
as his inspiration and his guide, write of men and 
things, — for is not Love the only true narrative 
power in the world .'' 

The long, oftentimes dreary, term of probation 
that the artist is willing to endure to enable him at 
last to express what his soul would be saying, might 
be lightened and sweetened if it were impressed on 
the student that the mere science of Art is scarce a 
definable thing, so intimately is it wedded to feeling 
and instinct ; and what is known as ' technique ' is 
not a teachable quantity, for what constitutes 
perfect technique in one master means ineptitude in 
another. At best, erudition or academic formula is 



but a poor substitute for that quick vital learning- 
which comes of delicious moments of rapt entrance- 
ment ; and though such a mode as this may be 
questioned by many as a system of education at all, 
yet a consensus of opinion among artists would 
assuredly prove this to be the prevailing opinion. 

The reasoning that makes the colour of a red rose 
pleasant because contrasted witli its green leaves, 
would not be so cogent or true as the intuition by 
the artist of the fact that the beauty of the red lay 
in its being some subtle particular tone of red, in- 
tensely felt to be beautiful ; and the welling-up of 
the heart as the loveliness of this colour was per- 
ceived would make the painter express it beauti- 
fully thougli tliere was no complementary green to 
balance it. It is just on such points as this, how- 
ever, that the painter finds language inadequate to 
express his emotions ; but when a man puts down, 
in form or colour, a mark or tone, and the putting- 
down of this is exquisitely enjoyable to him — be the 
form or colour learned or unlearned — the thing pro- 
duced has the elements of truest art, because it is 

Love's sign, and is for ever acceptable. Experience, 
practice may cultivate, modify, or amend many of the 
mechanical parts that go to make up the whole, but 
the meaning expressed, the ' sometliing indefinable ' 
that is inseparable from this love-product, will not 
bear maturing, — it is complete. This may be better 
illustrated by comparing the difference felt between 
the work of two men working from the same model 
— the artist and the non-artist. The one is enrap- 
tured with his subject and its fitting translation into 
the forms of his art. The other, possibly the better 
craftsman, so far as surety of hand and accuracy of 
superficial detail go, but colder in his emotions, 
makes up with science what he lacks in love ; yet, 
though he produces a marvel in execution, and, to 
the vulgar, a perfection of accomplishment, he has 
missed what led him to attempt to reproduce, which 
the other following Love would achieve, namely, 
that spirit or divinity tliat owns homage to naught 
but Love, and without which true Beauty is impos- 

A. Roche. 



IN the general westward progress of art crafts and 
traditions from their warm birtliplaces in the 
Orient, France has been the last camp. Wlien the 
torch that lighted the revival in Italy grew dim, it 
was passed to her, and slowly made to glow again, as 
it does now, perhaps at its best, and soon to depart 
further into the ever-widening and opening west. 
When we remember that tlie French occupy the 
first position in the art of sculpture, and that their 
activity in it is so great as to produce an exhibition 
annually niuiibering over a thousand pieces, we need 
not be surprised that the few works here sliown 
by them surpass, in execution and expression, the 
rest of the collection. This is tlie more remarkable 
in that the examples shown cannot fairly be called 
representative, and are mostly in the form of piece- 
mould casts with the quality of artistic surface 
almost entirely obliterated. The defect of the 
French School of Sculpture lies in its chief excel- 
lence. Its followers are craftsmen first — ^poets of 
the beautiful afterwards, hence tlieir best produc- 
tions are frequently soulless pieces of perfection. 
They exhibit the correct canon, and speak by the 
card only to weary us of their learning. A fair 
illustration of these things may be seen in Uage 
de fer — a purely gratuitous title — by A. Lansox, a 
heroic group of two young men. The workmanship 
is brilliant and accomplished, but the thought is 

neither deep nor sincere. Free and effortless, all is 
on the surface, and the result is a kind of decoration 
which one feels tlie sculptor could go on producing 
ad lib. Although akin in accomplishment, Lc 
Genie militmre, by Paul Dubois, is a work of very 
different character. Remarkable for its expression of 
latent power, strong in the most ideal qualities of fine 
sculpture, it transcends the School. Taken as a speci- 
men of technical skill and judgment, with every mass 
and line in its place, it is faultless. Military courage 
is represented by a young warrior in classic costume, 
seated. His face with resolute expression looks to 
the riffht from under the shadowing helmet. His 
strong right arm is brought forward, shield-like, 
and the closed hand rests on the thigh — great seat 
of physical strength. Tlie right side throughout 
bespeaks the dauntless front of war, which the 
straight sword grasped in the left hand tells us 
could be pitilessly urged. Work of this kind is not 
a personal outcome, it belongs rather to the culture 
of the art. The creation of such a thing requires 
the help of races and ages. We see in it a combina- 
tion of the best knowledge of the Greeks and of the 
Italians of the Renaissance. While it is of to-day, 
and could not have been before, it yet breathes of 
the Parthenon, and the tomb of the Medici, com- 
pelling us to stand, and in considering it, forget the 
slight things of Uage defer. 



La Foi, a companion figure from tlie same 
monument, has the effect of a simple portrait statue 
in a strained pose, and fails in general interest. 
Althouffh showing: the hand of the master in its deli- 
cate and graceful lines and maiden purity of expres- 
sion, it is deficient in monumental dignity and char- 
acter, and lacks the force and meaning of its title. 

Lc Matin, by Lemaire, is a lighter theme, full 
of simple charm and naive grace, neither a platitude 
of the school nor a mean copy of a model. This 
figure of a young girl seated, binding her hair after 
the morning bath, is chaste and natural. Her playful 
smile invites to sunny places by rivulets and leafy 
Dryade homes, where in fine marble and golden gleams 
her beauties would enchant. Byblis changie en 
Source, by Sdchetet, is a beautiful and naturalistic 
rendering of well-understood forms. It shows that a 
thorough knowledge of the craft has been acquired 
and digested. The sculptor has not said much, but 
he has expressed himself with the polished fluency 
that pleases. Conscious, and too nmch insisted 
upon, the treatment of surface is yet agreeably 
artistic, and must be very interesting in the original 
model of which this is only a cast. M. Auguste 
RoDix is represented by several minor works, the 
chief among which is the remarkable portrait head 
in bronze. No. 1512. The astonishing connnand of 
the medium has completely emancipated the art 
from the material — it is all fire and spirit ; thor- 
oughly dramatic, it seems to express the life and ex- 
citement of hot debate. That such a work shoukl 
receive its final form by the cire perdue process and 
the flow of molten metal was most fitting. In the 
head of Victor Hugo by the same liand, grasp of 
character and power of execution again predominate. 
We wisli this had been the original model. No. 
1609, Idyll, shows that M. Rodin's fire and vigour 
are in rein. Nothing could be finer than the dimp- 
ling softness and babyhood of this naturally-modelled 
group of infant loves. No. 1517, also by M. Rodix, 
is a small and interesting nude sketch in marble. 
No. 1544, by Ringal d'Illzach, is worthy of more 
than the passing notice which it is sure to attract. 
It represents the decapitated head of John the 
Baptist, placed on a broad dish, with a short sword 
thrust through the neck. The thin worn face looks 
upward with wide stare of horror and fallen jaw. 
In spite of the subject being scarcely suitable for 
the medium, and the almost fantastic character of 
the work, it has nevertheless a weird individuality 
that exercises a certain fascination. It is in terra- 
cotta, but the peculiar handling reminds one rather 
of wood or of metal. The dark colour of the latter 
material w'ould have suited the sharp detail and 
hard style. This sculptor shows a case containing 

six medals, each one worthy of detailed notice, so 
remarkable are they for strength of character and 
exjjression. The enthusiasm displayed in the 
medallion of Gambetta is particularly striking. 

Tlie name of Freiiiet is in the Catalogue, but it 
is only supported by two bric-a-brac pieces of trade 
reproduction in bronze, good enough in their way, 
especially the hounds, but not calling for serious 



THERE are several points from which the collec- 
tion of Scottish Archaeological and Historical 
relics in the Bishop's Castle may be regarded. The 
personal interest of a large proportion of the objects 
is that which will touch and aft'ect the majority of 
visitors. Though we in Presbyterian Scotland 
affect to despise and abhor as idolatry the venera- 
tion of relics, yet human nature is deeper than 
Presbyterianism, and the tangible memorials of the 
great and the notorious possess an interest and an 
attraction strong in proportion to the strength of 
the character with which they are associated. As 
illustrations, again, of historical events and of epochs 
in the national annals, the collection possesses vast 
significance for patriotic Scots. Still further, those 
who desire to know what manner of men our fore- 
fathers were, how they lived, what were their 
employments, habits, and mutual relations, will find 
much to satisfy tliem in the collection. 

It is from this last point of view that the Bishop's 
Castle Collection presents itself to readers of the 
Scottish Art Review. The country of our forefathers 
was poor, the habits of the people were rude, their 
habitations were not luxurious, and the national life 
was one constant worry of self-defence and internal 
strife and aggression. Notwithstanding these things, 
there was much of distinctive character in such arts 
as were practised ; just as there were very powerful 
national characteristics evolved by the restless striv- 
ings of the race. 

Nothing more distinctively national in its way is 
to be found in any country than the ancient castel- 
lated architecture of Scotland, fine examples of which 
are exhibited by Mr. John Fleming. Mr. Fleming's 
series of photographs includes views of such fine old 
buildings as Glamis Castle, Neidpath Castle, and 
the House of Traquair. In spite of comparatively 
modern additions and improvements, these mansions, 
dating for the most part from the fourteenth to 
the early part of the sixteenth century, retain in 
the main portion of their buildings sufficient evi- 
dence of the thoroughly characteristic and national 



style of their architecture. The central feature out 
of which this Scottish so-called baronial style de- 
veloped was tlie square tower or keep which in 
itself often rose to a great height, as, for example, 
in the case of the Tower of Lethington, whose walls, 
ten to thirteen feet in thickness, rise to a height of 
eighty feet. These towers in their original object 
speak eloquently of the insecurity of life, of the 
unsettled condition, and of the poverty of the 
people. The tower was the stronghold and tlie 
dominating feature of the district. Internally it 
consisted of single square apartments rising story 
above story, with one outer door placed high in tlie 
wall, and with narrow slits for windows. On such 
bald and unhopeful foundation by degrees became 
grafted the charming turrets, the gables, and tlie 
otlier decorative accessories which add such a grace 
and dignity to the square sombre masses, tliat form 
the central feature of medieval Scottish mansions. 

In the furnishing of these ancient houses, native 
talent contributed comparatively little. Rich and 
luxurious furnishings were out of place in strong- 
holds where the clank of arms and the rough hand 
of the freebooter were more familiar than the sound 
of the lady''s lute or the work of her embroidery 
frame. Such furniture as was of native origin was 
strong rather than elegant, and the ornamentation 
it bore was large and bold in character. Tlie 
cradles in which our ancestors were rocked, tlie 
chairs on which they sat, and the beds on whicli 
they slept, were strong enough to withstand the 
rough usage they received in the frequent attacks 
made on them by unfriendly neighbours, and the 
workmanship of such a tliorough nature that many 
of them remain to the present day, proof also 
against the assault of time. 

Several pieces of furniture of more than usual 
interest have been collected in the Bishop's Castle. 
Of these may be mentioned a black oak cabinet, 
which is said to have been the work of a prisoner, 
the head of the noble family of Gordon of Earlston, 
who, during an imprisonment which lasted for 
eighteen years, employed his leisure time in carving 
the whole wood-work of this cabinet. It dates 
from the seventeenth century, and as the carver 
must have worked from designs either before him 
in his confinement, or from such as were familiar to 
his memory, it forms a testimony to tiie state of 
the art in Scotland at that time. Some of the 
carvings are most elaborate and beautiful, but in 
general they are of rather a bold and grotesque 
nature. Wood-carving of a much older date 
appears on what is known as tlie bed of tlie Black 
Douglas, a relic which can be distinctly traced back 
for four hundred years, but of which the decoration 

points to a still earlier date. The figures of the 
main subject are very rudely and grotesquely exe- 
cuted, but the framework carving by which they 
are surrounded, and the ornamental panels below, 
are done in better taste and with more ingenuity, 
and may have been added to the main 25ortion of 
the work by a later hand. A very fine example of 
carved oak Scottish work of the period of James IV. 
is seen in the sideboard lent by Miss Laing of 
Portobello. This sideboard, believed to have 
belonged to Margaret Tudor, Queen of James IV., 
is riclily decorated with the rose, thistle, heart and 
crown, and bears Queen Margaret's cipher set in a 
profusion of rich Tudor carving, altogether forming 
a piece of remarkably beautiful open-work carving 
and fine workmanship. 

Among the chairs which liave been lent to the 
Bishop's Castle Collection, the most important are 
those which came from tlie Trinity House, Aber- 
deen, being the property of the Incorporated Trades 
of that city. These chairs show dates of manu- 
facture extending over two hundred years. The 
oldest of them is that known as King William's 
cliair, which in all probability formed part of the 
plenishing of the ancient monastery of Trinity, tlie 
panels (showing carved heads of monks and warriors) 
evidently belonging to the early monkish period. 
Another very fine chair is that presented by 
Jerome Blak in 1574, which bears his coat of arms 
and crest, a hand holding a cooper's adze ; and the 
chair of Alexander Idle, Deacon-Convener of the 
shoemakers, besides showing the crown and cutting- 
knife of the craft on the back, bears his name, A. 
Idle, and the date 1679. 

When Scottisli scholars and Scottish soldiers of 
fortune went out to seek their spheres of activity in 
the wide fields of the European continent, they 
brought home with them on their return a know- 
ledge of the arts, and a love for the amenities of life 
which were not easily gratified from native sources. 
From these causes there is no doubt that many of 
the finer things which found their resting-place in 
the strongjiolds of powerful Scottisli nobles and of 
wealthy ecclesiastics were of foreign origin. These 
objects were the models on which native workmen 
executed their ruder copies, and from wliich native 
taste moulded itself. Above all, French influence 
was conspicuous in tlie arts, dress, furniture, and 
implements of Scotland. The French alliance was 
long and intimate, knit by the common hatred of 
the English foe. One of the most striking examples 
of the French connection, and a remarkable testi- 
mony at once to the skill of French workmen and to 
tlie fine taste of a Scottish ecclesiastic, are the six 
silver maces whicli, in the year 1683, were found in 


the tomb of Bishop Kennedy at St. Andrews. Of 
these maces three remain the property of the St. 
Andrews University, one being that of tlie Univer- 
sity proper, the second and tiiird being the insignia 
of the United College and of St. Mary's College re- 
spectively. The University mace in particular is 
one of the most magnificent examples of Gothic 
metal-work anywhere to be seen. It bears to have 
been made by a Parisian goldsmith to the order of 
James Kennedy, in the year 1460. It is about 4 
feet in length, having on its stem three highly 
ornamented knops or bosses, and terminates in a 
hexagonal head of elaborate Gothic tabernacle 
work, with window-like openings, buttresses, and 
projecting turrets. It sliows also the arms of the 
see of St. Andrews, those of Bishop Kennedy, with 
other appropriate figurings and ornaments. 

As examples of Scottish silversmith work and of 
native engraving, the great series of silver and other 
medals connected witli the various archery competi- 
tions throughout the country may be examined 
with interest and instruction. Here again some of 
the finest medallions come from the University of 

St. Andrews, wliere, from the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century, an annual archery competition was 
held between the St. Salvador and the St. Leonard's 
Colleges. These medals were originally attaclied to 
prize silver arrows by the winner of the prize for the 
year, but now tliey are hung and better displayed 
in two glazed cases. They have an interest beyond 
that they owe to their artistic merit in the names of 
St. Andrews students engraved on some of them, 
which names subsequently became great in Scottish 
history. Early in the series we find the Marquis of 
Montrose holder of the silver arrow, and at little 
distance in time there is a similar memorial of the 
success of his great rival and adversary, the Earl of 
Argyle. Tlie archery medals of the Royal Company 
of Archers and the splendour of their nunierou.s 
prizes form a gallant show of Scottish silversmith 
work, and though less imposing, not less interesting 
are the silver bow and medals of the famous Papingo 
of Kilwinning, which for full four hundred years 
was one of the public competitions and recreations 
of the people of the West of Scotland. 

J. S. Paton. 


THE many admirable drawings which cover the 
walls of the Architectural Gallery in the 
Glasgow Exhibition have been very fully and 
fairly noticed in the pages of the professional jour- 
nals, and we do not intend to go over the same 
irround now. The collection is acknowledged to be 
of exceptional excellence, and this very circumstance 
should lead us to expect it to be exceptionally in- 
structive, not to architects only, but to a much 
wider circle — all true lovers of art. It is such we 
ask to come along with us and consider some of the 
many lessons which this great series of drawings may 
be expected to teach. 

It is a remarkable and suggestive fact that very 
few even of those who take a real interest in art 
think the architectural gallery worth visiting. Here, 
as at Burlington House, it is the one corner of the 
crowded building where peace and quietness may 
always be found. The collection is perhaps the best 
of the kind that has ever been brought together ; 
but it is perfectly clear that even this superiority 
has no attractive effect — or at best, so little that we 
may with strict accuracy speak of the whole as de- 
spised and neglected. Now, if we are right in saying 
that this fact is suggestive, it may be profitable to 
consider what it does suggest. All true art is, and 
must be, attractive. It appeals to the deepest sym- 

pathies as well as to the loftiest emotions of the 
human heart, inspiring love as well as reverence. 
The cultured mind is tlierefore drawn to it by an 
irresistible impulse ; but where there is no indication 
of this overmastering power — where it is conspicu- 
ously absent — is it unreasonable to doubt if art in 
any true sense exists at all .? Is there not rather a 
strong presumption that it does not — that what 
professes to be art, destitute of such an essential 
characteristic, is something false and unreal — a delu- 
sion, a mockery, and a snare ? We have already 
seen that the architectural exhibition will not bear 
this test of attractiveness, and the inference is inevit- 
able. There is nothing more abhorrent to the artis- 
tic sense than falsehood. It takes but little of it to 
break the continuity of the sympathetic current, and 
dissipate its magnetic influence, and we may almost 
certainly conclude that where the circuit is incom- 
plete, it is falsehood that intervenes. Is this, then, 
the clue to the mystery of the deserted galleries .? 
Let us follow it up and see wliere it leads us. 

It does not require much insight to perceive that 
this distracting element of falseness does exist in 
architectural exhibitions in rather an aggravated 
form. First of all, they profess to be exhibitions of 
architecture, and they are not ; secondly, the draw- 
ings exhibited are not, strictly speaking, architec- 




tural drawings, and tlie majority of the best drawings 
are not even executed by the ostensible authors 
wliose names appear in tlie catalogue ; and, thirdly, 
most people look at them under a totally false idea 
of what they really are, and what they mean. The 
deception may be unintentional, but being real, there 
is no escape from its consequences — tliat is the point 
we wish to emphasize. 

We speak loosely of architects exhibiting 'ex- 
amples of their works,' and we annually see articles 
headed '"Architecture" at tlie Royal Academy,' 
and elsewhere, and there is small blame to the 
public if they are misled by such expressions, and 
if they utterly lose siglit of the fact that in the 
nature of things it is impossible that a work of 
architecture can be exliibited except where it stands. 
It seems almost as if architects themselves were in 
danger of falling into the same forgetfulncss. This 
would not merely be a mistake, but a calamity. 
Nothing jierhaps has done more to degrade archi- 
tecture both as a profession and as an art tlian the 
popular misconceptions wliich these exhibitions tend 
to foster ; and the question wliether sucli exhibi- 
tions ought not to be entirely discontinued is one 
which demands the most anxious and careful con- 
sideration of every one who is really interested in 
the art. 

It is probable that for reasons quite apart from 
the interests of art such exhibitions will continue. 
It is therefore all the more incumbent on us on all 
fitting occasions to protest against the idea that 
they are exhibitions of architecture. They are 
exhibitions of drawings of arcliitecture, which, as we 
shall presently see, is a very different thing. Many 
of these drawings possess great artistic merit, even 
when the architecture they illustrate is contemptible, 
but it may be fairly suggested that if the interest is 
to turn on the work of Haig, or Brewer, or David- 
son, it would be very much better to leave these 
artists free to work at their best, among the monu- 
ments of Westminster or the terraces of Mont St. 
Michael, rather than under tlie harassing limita- 
tions whicli tlie modern designer is obliged to 
impose. But the very best efforts of the best artists 
cannot enable the architect to exhibit liis art in tlie 
same sense that the sculptor or painter exhibits his. 
The architect acknowledges no superior in the world 
of art, and before his masterpieces the greatest 
achievements of the sister arts sink into comparative 
insignificance, but in the modern exhibition he can- 
not possibly assert his pre-eminence. The truth is, 
that between tlie exhibition work of the architect and 
that of the painter or sculptor there is absolutely no 
analogy : so true is this, indeed, that it is not even 
possible to imagine corresponding limitations applic- 

able to each. If, for example, the sculptor could 
only exhibit a part of his statue — a half either way, 
or even a leg only, or a hand — he would not be in 
the same unhappy case as the architect represented 
by a perspective drawing; because he might stiU 
make what he did exhibit perfect — a faultless ex- 
ample of the sculptor's art ; but tlie architect can 
only liope to make tlie perspective a faultless speci- 
men of another art altogetlier — the art of tlie etcher 
— not of the architect. Tlie beauty of detail, the 
harmony, fitness, truth, sublimity, are not tliere, 
and cannot possibly reach the mind through the 
medium of ])en and ink. In the same way the 
]jainter, if denied the use of colour and re.stricted to 
black and wliite, would not labour under the same 
kind of disadvantage as the architect. He would 
still be free to show his best in monochrome, and in 
spite of the limitation might produce a consummate 
work of art — tlie painter's art ; but there is no 
such possibility open to tlie architect : a consum- 
mate specimen of his art can only appeal to the 
imagination and the emobions, through the medium 
of stone and marble, oak and cedar, gold and 

Again, whatever style may be adopted in illus- 
trating a piece of architecture — whether etching, 
monoclironie, or water-colour — the drawing is 
necessarily in a double sense conventional. It is 
conventional not merely in the sense that painting, 
sculpture, or arcliitecture itself is conventional — 
namely subject to the restrictions which the materials 
employed by the artist impose ; but in the further 
sense that it is a conventional way of representing a 
conventional thing. A painting is not ; it is tlie 
thing itself. So is a piece of sculpture ; so is a 
piece of architecture. But a drawing of any of 
these, however excellent in itself, is after all only a 
conventional representation of them. It is com- 
paratively uninteresting and valueless, and the less 
it does justice to the original the less it is esteemed. 
No one who could paint would dream of resting his 
rejjutation on the j^opular appreciation of such 
imperfect presentments of his art. He, jealous for 
his art, would refuse to exhibit if he had always to 
submit to such misrepresentation ; but the arcliitect 
who exhibits has no alternative — he must, in short, 
submit to be misrepresented. Besides, it must not 
be forgotten that while it is possible to rejjresent 
conventionally, by drawing, sculjjture or painting, 
so completely as to give some adequate conception 
of the whole work, it is impossible so to represent a 
work of architecture. That can only be shown in 
part — probably an insignificant part. The immense 
difference whicli this makes will be readily under- 
stood by artists, but a simple illustration may not 



be amiss. In the Glasgow gallery, among the many 
good etchings, are two by Mr. Alex. M'Gibbon of 
parts of Glasgow Cathedral. Consider liow many 
such drawings would be required to represent even 
in this soulless conventional fashion all the charms 
of tiiat one magnificent work of art ! The lifelong 
labours of a Prout or a David Roberts would yield 
but a sorry substitute for the original, and transmit 
to us not even an echo of its harmonious and im- 
pressive eloquence. So it is in varying degree, but 
unvarying certainty, with e^ery work of architecture. 
The architect, like every other artist, speaks through 
his art, which even in these degenerate days may be 
made the vehicle of a noble language ; but if he 
shoidd masquerade as an etcher or a water-colourist, 
let him use tlie appropriate accessories and the 
appropriate tongue — not an imintelligible jargon ; 
and above all things let him make it perfectly plain 
tliat he is not exhibiting himself as an architect, but 
that he desires his art to be judged by what he 
does in his true character, and by that alone. How 
different would our estimate be of the artistic merit 
of men like Inigo Jones, or Wren, if we had only 
their drawings to guide us ! 

Compared with the painter and the sculptor, the 
architect is always sufficiently handicaped without 
subjecting himself to gratuitous depreciation. Even 
if he confine himself to his own proper work, he 

labours under the enormous disadvantage of being 
hampered by vexatious conditions and limitations, 
so tliat it may almost be said that lie never has an 
opportumty of doing his best. As a rule lie has to 
make the sorrowful confession that he has only done 
as well as he could in the circumstances. This is a 
condition almost unknown to his brother artists. 
As a rule the painter may tiirow his whole soul into 
liis work, and without let or hindrance lavish upon 
it liis wealth of imagination, skill, knowledge, and 
love. How different the arcliitect's unhappy lot, 
tied and bound by inexorable economic conditions ! 
From the very conception of his theme he labours 
under a cruel disadvantage, for which no allowance 
is made in estimating the artistic value of his com- 
pleted work. Hence from the very first he is mis- 
understood, even if he stick religiously to his ' last." 
But since he cannot do his best to begin with, and 
since he cannot exhibit even what he does except 
through the imperfect or distorted medium of a 
conventional representation of it, which is not recog- 
nised as sucli, surely tliere are strong reasons why 
lie should abstain from challenging invidious com- 
parisons, which have always hitherto resulted in his 
relegation to a third-rate jjosition in the world of 
art, and which must inevitably under the same 
conditions always have the same result. 

John Honeyman. 


The New Gallery. — The news that some of the leading pro- 
moters of the Grosvenor Gallery had felt themselves obliged, from 
conscientious motives, to sever their connection with it, was 
received everywhere with interest by Art lovers, when it first came 
out some months ago. This interest increased when it became 
known that a new Gallery was to be opened, for the purpose of 
placing on record what those who had seceded deemed best in the 
art of the season, to the exclusion of the bad elements that had 
crept into Sir Coutts Lindsay's Gallery. It was felt that as the 
Grosvenor had lost its primary characteristics, an attempt to pro- 
vide for these elsewhere was well-timed, and that an opportunity 
had occurred which the developments of recent years had rendered 
even more promising than that which presented itself to 
those who erected the Grosvenor. It is unfortunate, there- 
fore, to find that while, as in the case of the Grosvenor, the 
difficulties of accommodation have been more than sufficiently met 
by the erection of a handsome building, skilfully planned and well 
adapted for the purpose in hand, the main object of the under- 
taking appears to have unaccountably slipped from the hands of 
its promoters. The Exhibition is of works by one or two notable 
men, simply in echo of the somewhat inferior Grosvenor of recent 
years, which in its time had come to be little better than the 
Academy, whose abuses it was formed to protest against. That 
the opportunity has thus been allowed to pass cannot but be 
disappointing to those who have for years perceived the necessity 
of doing something better than repeating the errors of the Academy 
and bolstering up the fictitious reputations created by that body. 
No severer condemnation could be passed than that which the 
Committee have passed upon themselves, by placing in the centre of 

one of their Galleries an absurdly helpless production by Sir John 
Millais, and allocating other important positions to works whose 
chief characteristic is a seeming conventionalism of the tamest, 
but, none the less, of the most pernicious kind. While, however, 
the general effect of the Exhibition is of this usual mixed and 
characterless description, it is the case that a few of the best and 
most complete pictures exhibited in London this season are shown 
here. Prominent among these are works by Signor Costa, Messrs. 
E. Burne Jones, Watts Legros, Mark Fisher, Corbett, Richmond, 
La Thangue, Christie, Peppercorn, and D. Murray. 

The Maris Exhibition. — We have only a few lines to devote 
to this interesting collection in the Goupil Gallery. Nearly 
seventy examples are hung, including half a dozen by Matthew 
Maris, and about a dozen by the youngest brother of the third 
William Maris. The examples of James Maris, which form the 
tenth of the exhibition, vary from one of his very earliest works, 
painted in 1867, which has a decided feeling of Pieter de Hooghe, 
to his most recently executed 'Dutch Port,' which as yet is raw 
when compared with his earlier work, over which the refinement 
of age has thrown a charming quality. Recently James Maris has 
been p.ainting figures both in oils and water-colours, and it might 
almost be said he excels more as a figure-painter than as a land- 
scapist. Matthew Maris' very subtle qualities are scarcely adapted 
for an exhibition room : they are more like jewels to be kept under 
lock and key, and examined alone and at leisure. William Maris 
paints cattle in Dutch landscapes, but he lags somewhat behind his 
illustrious brothers. 






IN dealing with the subject of Local Musical Ex- 
aminations, in our last article, we endeavoured 
somewhat briefly to show that, so far as pianoforte 
playing was concerned, any attempt on the part of 
an examiner coming from a distance to gauge the 
attainment reached by a candidate must of necessity 
be almost valueless. Largely owing to the reasons 
adduced, and possibly also to other minor causes, 
such as nervousness, and in tlie case of singing, 
indisposition, the results of all musical examinations 
are in tlie nature of things more or less unsatisfac- 
tory, both to those who have worked for them, 
and to the public generally. It is an acknowledged 
fact that the most musically gifted, and in every 
sense the best candidates, come off second best, while 
the careless, showy, and altogether inferioi-, manage 
to obtain a first-class certificate ; yet in no way 
would it be just to blame the examiner. In all 
cases we are bound to believe — for we have no 
reason to do otherwise — that the many excellent 
musicians who have been sent from London to per- 
form an irksome and thankless task, have fulfilled 
their difficult duty to the utmost of their ability, 
but we must at the same time remember tiiat they 
were employed by certain institutions, and in this 
capacity were in duty bound to do their work in 
such a manner as would carry out the system iden- 
tified with the body by whicji they were appointed. 
Be the causes, however, what they may, all persons 
interested will admit that the allotment of certifi- 
cates has not been perfectly fair, and the public has 
been imposed upon to tliis extent that it has taken 
for granted that, as a ride, the best has been 
awarded the best, and incomj)etency received its 
due. Some express even stronger opinions, and 
say flatly that nmsical examinations are a popular 
fad — a fashion of the day — and tliat until the 
public begins to tire of its own accord of the 
money-making schemes and hopelessly unsatisfac- 
tory results achieved generally, notliing can be 
done, and it is therefore wisest to adapt one's-self to 
circumstances, and submit with a good grace to a 
necessary evil. Tiiis way of speaking, whicii, we are 
sorry to say, is widely prevalent in the musical pro- 
fession, should, it seems to us, be commented on, 
both on behalf of parents, and of those who are 
anxious to urge the necessity for a centre of musical 
activity in Scotland. 

Tlie outside public is hardly aware to what an 
extent tiiis questionable attitude on tlie part of 
instructors of music exists among us. By ques- 
tionable we mean solely as regards their own 
interest from a professional point of view. To see 
tills, let us take a supposititious case. A parent, 
anxious to do the best his means will admit of for a 
daughter more or less musically gifted, and unable 
to afford the expense connected with musical educa- 
tion in London or on the Continent, naturally has 
recourse to the only alternative on this side of the 
border, and sends his child to a local teacher with 
the express purpose that she be ' prepared ' for an 
examination. The teacher, on his part, altliough 
ready to admit that this is not quite satisfactory 
from an educative point of view, instead of dis- 
couraging a system which is avowedly only promoted 
«.? a substitute Jbr something hcttci\ invariably accepts 
the situation, and thereby does everything in his 
power — unwittingly, it may be — to make the present 
condition of affairs permanent ! The responsibility 
lies especially with the profession to do the best 
possible for musical art ; and as every one admits 
that the best possible in the meantime would be the 
establishment of a scliool of music in Scotland, 
the profession, by doing simply nothing in the 
matter, is ignoring this responsibility. This seems 
to us short-sighted, because only a very small 
proportion of the candidates who succeed in 
obtaining certificates make any effort to pursue 
their musical studies further ; whereas if tliere 
existed in Glasgow or Edinburgh a thoroughly- 
equipped school of music, the hundreds of young 
ladies who go up for examinations would take 
advantage of tlie means of education thus pro- 
vided, and continue their studies possibly for some 
years. There is at present little or no inducement 
for lovers of music, old or young, to study for the 
sake of the art, — more especially does this apply to 
young men. Tliere are evenine; classes, and means 
of education in all departments largely sought after 
by the youth of the present generation, but in tiie 
way of music there is almost nothing. The very 
fact that tlie classes for harmony and counterpoint, 
ably conducted by members of the profession in 
Glasgow, ai'e so well attended shows clearly that, 
were there fin'ther ad\ antages offered, male students 
would turn up in large numbers, to study music in 



the wide and only true way it can be studied. Nor 
are tliese the only reasons why all classes of the 
community, and musicians particularly, should bestir 
themselves on this important (|uestion. Although 
it is true tliat our Orchestral Concert Scheme goes 
on, — by the skin of its teeth, so to speak, — yet the 
time is not far distant when no artist, instrumental 
or otherwise, will risk the attempt of concert-giving 
in Glasgow. Even excellent musicians of European 
reputation know that, if they were to venture to give 
a chamber concert hei-e on their own responsibility, 
they would most certainly have to pay for it out of 
their own pockets. 

The earnest lovers of nuisic in Glasgow have had 
recourse to a praiseworthy stratagem so as to secure 
that we are not left destitute of chamber concerts 
altogether. Now, if there were an active centre of 
nmsic in our midst, it would go a long way towards en- 
suring an audience for any worthy musical enterprise 
attempted ; even the students themselves would make 
this a matter of tolerable certainty, so that local 
musicians might once more venture to give concerts 
on their own account witli some chance of success. 

It would be an easy matter to bring forward any 
number of illustrations showing the unsatisfactory, 
and in many cases unfair, results of musical examina- 
tions, but we prefer to leave the question on the 
broad ground on which all can agree, viz. that Scot- 
land should do something better for herself than to 
calmly rest contented with a system which does not 
provide education, and is promoted for the benefit 
of institutions at a distance. 

The way is well paved in many directions, and the 
present time shows a large and increasing tendency 
towards doing all in its power to further the interest 
that we have so nuich at heart. In all our Board 
Schools the foundation is being securely laid for the 
future edifice which should ultimately be erected 
upon it, and the Tonic-Sol-fa System of instruction 
is also assisting materially in making music an indis- 
pensable factor in tlie training of the young, while 
in private and other schools every effort is being 
made to prepare ]3upils for a liigli -class musical 
training on the same lines as for a university course. 
But it all stops at this point, because, after school 
is finished tlie musical aspirant has no resource left 
except to take a few lessons in pianoforte or singing 
from a local teaclier, or leave the country. The 
local teacher may be excellent in his department, but 
he is most assuredly unable to provide a musical 
education in the full sense of the term. 

This brings us to note a misundei-standing which 
exists in the minds of a large number of people 
reaarding the nature of a musical education. The 
idea is widely prevalent that to study music, or to take 

some music lessons, simply means an attempt to attain 
a sufficient amount of proficiency on the pianoforte 
to enable the student to fumble out a Mendelssohn 
' Song without Words,'' or murder a Sonata by Beet- 
hoven, or, in the case of singing, to gain just enough of 
self-confidence to be able to inflict ' True till Death " 
on a longsuff'erino- audience brought together for 
charitable purposes and mutual appreciation — or 
depreciation, as the case may be. It does not yet 
seem to be at all iniderstood by parents and others 
that the compositions of great musicians afford as 
much scope for study as do the works of standard 
authors in the field of literature, and tliat the 
primary consideration in musical education should 
be, not only to play and sing well, but also to be- 
come acquainted with the works of Bach, Beethoven, 
Mozart, Schubert, Bralnns, and Wagner — acquainted 
in the sense of knowing them from having heard 
them, just in the same way as one knows poems of 
Milton or Tennyson, or the plays of Shakespeare, 
from having read them. The mistaken impression 
that the enjoyment of the great works of the com- 
posers depends upon a profound knowledge of the 
science of music is a totally erroneous one. It 
cannot be too strongly urged that, until tlie majority 
of persons are brought to see this, and to believe 
that the want of interest they feel in listening to 
good music is solely due to the fact that they liave 
not taken a sufficient amount of trouble to put 
themselves in the way of frequently liearing it, the 
apathetic condition of our audiences will remain as 
it is, or grow gradually worse. Again, it is a mis- 
take to suppose tliat, because of the existence of a 
certain musical community, the appreciation and 
desire for the art are in any way on the increase. 
The circle which forms the regular attendance at 
our concerts, taking into account tlie population of 
a city like Glasgow, is a very small one. 

It is true that a large audience meets every 
Saturday evening during the season in St. Andrew''s 
Hall, but this may be taken as a proof of the 
sincere desire among a certain class to learn some- 
thing ; it is not the fashionable West-End circle 
wliich attends on tliese occasions, so niucli as the 
musical contingent just mentioned, augmented by 
a fair sprinkling of artisans and ordinary workaday 
people, who recognise the fact that the hearing of 
a large orcliestra, or chorus and orchestra, is very 
good value for the small sum of one shilling. But, 
be this as it may, it only goes to strengthen our 
case — viz. that there does exist a large section which 
requires direction. Tliis can only be attained by 
focusing all who are sincere in their endeavours to 
know more about music, as well as those actively 
engaged in the profession, who feel that their art 



could be more thoroughly studied, and be of more 
real benefit to the people by their woriving in con- 
cert and helping to establish and keep alive a musi- 
cal centre whicli should include orchestra, cliorus, 
pianoforte, and instrumental instruction of all kinds, 
concerted and chamber music practice, voice training, 
organ, harmony, coimterpoint, composition — and, in 
sliort, everything that is meant by that well-known 
and yet sadly misunderstood word, Music. 

Music, indeed ! It is not to the concert liall 
alone we should look to discover the true state of 
affairs. Let us glance at the homes of tliose who 
might do a little to encourage an art which, besides 
being most purely beautiful in itself, would prove 
an endless source of deliglit and ennoblement to 
all brought under its influence, and might be tlie 
means of brinaina; about a healthier tone in the 
artificial and often aimless existence of the youth 
of both sexes in the present generation. In our 
homes — speaking broadly, of course — we have no 
instrumental trios, duets, or quartettes, only ' Braga's 
Serenade,'' with an obligato out of tune and badly 
played — no fairly interpreted Beethoven sonatas, 
Cliopin nocturnes, or Schumann love poems — only 
' The March of the Mountain Gnomes,' Rubinstein's 
unfortunate melody, and all the jjopular waltzes of 
the day ; we have no beautiful Schubert, Sclunnann, 
Franz, or Jensen songs, only ' Ora pro Nobis,' ' Tlie 
Better Land,' or a host of stuff either unpardonably 
bad, or sung to shreds. And when we do find a 
member of a family wlio, thanks to her teacher's 
influence or her own natural artistic sympathies, 
really shows a genuine appreciation of what is 
good and true in art, her parents and friends take 
no trouble that her home or surroundings slioidd be 
such as to foster and encourage the young aspirant. 
The father must have his Scotch tune, or the 
mother must beg her daughter to stop that horrid 
noise, and come and help with tlie cooking ; or if 

there be a party of friends in for the evening, the 
carefully and sympathetically studied Romance of 
Schumann is accompanied by a jargon of con- 
versation. If a reciter were declaiming a scene 
from Shakespeare, no one Mould dream of disturb- 
ing the speaker by talking, but Beethoven — the 
Shakespeare of music — may be insulted with abso- 
lute impunity by those who have neither the musical 
intelligence nor good breeding to perceive that by 
taking advantage of the licence that Society in 
general allows in treating everything that is beauti- 
ful and refined in music with contemptuous indiffer- 
ence, they are doing a grievous wrong to art. 

The actual experience of the writer has shown 
that it is idle to hope for any real growth in musical 
culture among us, so long as those who show any 
appreciation and soul for music have all their enthu- 
siasm and small flame of artistic fire quickly ex- 
tinguished for want of a congenial atmosphere. 

It is impossible to make any headway in art 
without the sympathy and companionship of tliose 
who feel with us, and understand the longings and 
aspirations, be they modest or ambitious, of our 
inmost nature. If our musically-inclined cliildren 
of to-day could be brought together, their studies 
properly directed, their knowledge of the literature 
of music increased, and all their efforts treated witli 
earnest interest, there is no doubt that by degrees 
our little musical world would become a world to 
itself, independent, and invulnerable to the attacks 
of ionorance or artistic soullessness. It is true that 
a College of Music might be only a very small influ- 
ence at first, and perhaps for some time to come, but 
it would be a step in the right direction ; and until 
every one becomes convinced of the urgent necessity 
for this primary and all-important matter being seri- 
ously considered without further delay, the condition 
of music in Scotland is not likely to improve, but 
will grow worse year by year. Liuka. 


THE strife whicli exists in oiu' various Presby- 
terian communities bet\veen those wjio would 
gladly see more aastheticism in our Church service, 
and those wlio think that any departure in this 
direction savours of ' Papacy,' and betrays tlie cloven 
foot of tlie Tempter, is no new thing. Ritual is not 
confined to the Roman Catholic Churcli ; there 
are bishojis ' in esse ' outside of Episcopacy, and 
just as the 'High' party in the Anglican Church 
surpasses in ritual that of many Romish chin'ches, 
so the services in many of oin- Presbyterian churclies 


surpass those of the 'Low' Church party among 
the Episcopalians. Tliis tlien is a question with its 
own inherent difficulties for each succeeding genera- 
tion. It was by no means settled when our fore- 
fiitliers destroyed so much that was beautiful in 
their fierce hatred of the Cluirch wliich contained so 
much that was objectionable. 

As early in tlie history of tlie Christian Church 
as 363 A.D., we read of an agitation, got up among 
his own congregation, against St. Basil, bishop of 
Neocesarea, for introducing ' innovations and new 



tlevices into tlie service of God.' St. Basil was able 
to refute his adversaries, and to lieal the breach in 
tlie congregation, by referring to the example of 
older churches in wliicli Iiis ' innovations ' had long- 
been established. Unhappily, tlie two parties are 
not so easily reconciled to-day. 

Perhaps a consideration of tlie controversy in its 
past and present aspects may not be out of place 
liere. Before entering on the discussion, however, 
it will be advisable to define what is meant by 
' -Estlietics.' There is no question of an 'absolute 
pitch ' in ritual, or in the proportion of tlie various 
parts of a service. ' Esthetics,'' rightly understood, 
refers to what li fitthis,' in any given circumstances. 
It will not be denied tliat tlie most a-sthetic and 
artistic arrangement, for instance in dress, when 
placed among surroundings utterly out of sympathy 
witli it, becomes inartistic and in bad taste, and 
indeed its inherent a?stheticism is the measure of 
its violation of the canons of art when taken as part 
of an inharmonious whole. 

In the earlier developments of musical science, all 
nuisic was written for the Churcli, and was founded 
on the old ecclesiastical chants. In the search for 
new subjects, musicians, without intentional irrever- 
ence, were driven to select well-known secular, and 
even irreligious, songs, the \\ords of which were in 
all probability occasionally supplied by some 
cliorister during service (inodo siio) for the anuise- 
nient of his colleagues.^ In their efforts to excel in 
variety of musical invention, composers mixed up 
parts of the liturgy and passages from the Gospels 
without reference to their coherence, and so, while 
doing great work for tlie development of the science 
of music, they were yet transgressing most flagrantly 
all the canons of aesthetics in worship. Practices 
of this nature increased to such an extent, and were 
frauolit witli such grave dangers to the Church 
services, that in 1564 it was a question under the 
serious consideration of the Council of Trent 
whether all development of musical science should 
not be forbidden in the Church, and only plain 
unisonal singing of the Gregorian tones permitted. 
Fortunately for art, more moderate counsels pre- 
vailed. A committee was appointed to consider 
and report on the whole subject. This committee 
invited the famous chapel master of St. Maria 
Maggiore to compose representative masses, and 
Palestrina nobly responded to the invitation. In 
the following year (1565), three masses (one^ 

' Thus we have the mass ' L'Homme Arme ' founded on a 
popular French song, which was used as a ' Cantus Firmus ' by 
almost eveiy composer of any note : also the mass ' Red Noses,' 
and 'Adieu, my loves'; all receiving their titles from the song 
which served as their foundation or ' Cantus.' 

- The famous Missa Papa; Marcelli. 

dedicated to Palestrina's old patron — Pope Mar- 
cellus), were performed before the Council and the 
Pope. Their nobility of purpose and beauty of 
form, their fine expression of strong religious feel- 
ing, delighted the judges. They were adopted by 
the authorities, and recommended to all future 
Cimrch composers as worthy models ; and Pales- 
trina's name is honoiu-ed to this day as tlie sa\iour 
of music at a most critical period in its history. 

In this controversy, brought on by tlioughtless 
licence on the part of musicians, intensified by the 
uncompromising attitude of the authorities, and 
settled by an honest and successful attempt to 
arrange a common platform, there is a valuable lesson 
for us of to-day. From it our conservative cliurch 
members ought to learn tliat it is not by blind 
opposition to general tendencies that they will best 
further their own cause ; while those whose sym- 
pathies run in an opposite direction ought to be 
warned not to forget the danger they may jirepare 
for their party if they ignore the arguments of their 
opponents, and allow their love of art to dominate 
their sense of proportion and fitness ; botli may learn 
that a common platform may be reached by a com- 
promise in wliich each side acknowledges the force 
of some of the arguments submitted, and agrees to 
surrender some of its theories. 

At the lleformation, Luther, appreciating the 
effect on the people of congregational singing, intro- 
duced ' chorale' siiig-ing into the Reformed Cliurch. 
These ' chorale ' were in many cases pojiular songs, 
with the secular words scarcely veiled, and the music 
identical. A good example is afforded by a well- 
known Journeyman's song, which, transformed into 
a hymn, has been a favourite in Germany for 

I 'Spruck ich muss dich lassen 
(Innspruck I must forsake thee, 

Ich far dahin mein Strassen 
And on my way betake me 

In fremde Land dahin. 
In - to a distant land.) 

became : — 



O welt ich muss dich lassen Ich fahr dahin mein Strassen In s 
(O world I must forsake thee, And on my way be - lake me, To 

e - wis' Vater - land. 
mine e - ter- nal home.) 



The beautiful hymn, ' Wie scluin leuchtet der 
Morgeusteim,' was derived from a love-song begin- 
ning ' Wie sclion leucliten die Aeugelein, der Schonen 
und der Zarten niein.' The people joined in the 
movement most cntluisiastically ; and tliese grand 
old 'clioralc' have liad an abiding influence in Ger- 
man domestic life, Church history, and literature, 
most markedly, in the development of the musical 
genius of that great nation. When the melody set 
in our hymn-books to ' O, Sacred Head' is in- 
stanced as one of tliese ' secular ' tunes (it being in 
its original form a love-song^) it will surely be 
seen tliat such a precedent cannot be regarded as 
an argument for tiie vulgar secularity which has 
been introduced into many liynui-books, upon the 
plea of api^ealing to tlie ])eo])k', or the children. 

A short digression on tliis widespread jiractice of 
trying to utilise secular elements in divine service 
may best find a place Jiere. First, tlien, it may 
be conceded that, with very few exceptions, no 
melody is incapable of serious treatment. Sometimes 
the change is effected by a metamorpliosis, as in 
the case of the pathetic melody, ' Oft in the stilly 
Night,' wjiicli was originally a straths)iey, the live- 
liest of dances ; but, most frequently, it is by a new 
setting. Too often, however, a secular melody and 
its setting are appropriated for sacred purposes 
intact, thus tending to obliterate tlie distinction 
which should be drawn between music fit for tlie 
Chin-ch and nuisic wliicli only has its proper place 

outside. The most flagrant example of this is pro- 
bably the tune we all know set to 'When Motliers 
of Salem,' a tune familiar all over Germany, and to 
all visitors to German student clubs, as the most 
jovial of the jovial German drinking-songs. I shall 
not soon forget tlie sliock with which I once heard 
a young student — with more sense of the lunnour of 
incongruities tlian of tlie reverence due to sacred 
subjects and to the associations of his own childhood 
— substitute the German refrain, ' Crimbim-bam- 
bambuli, crimbambuli ' for the Saviour's words in tlie 
last line of tliat well-known hynm. The number of 
available tunes is quite large enough to allow us to 
dispense with those whieli, liowever great tlieir ap- 
parent suitability, are familiar in tlie opera,^ or 
amidst other secular surroundings.'' It is,, 
an artistic mistake of the worst kind to appropriate 
melodies from symphonies * and other instrumental 
compositions '•" for sacred purposes. Rut even these 
blunders are not so injurious to a riglit appreciation 
of music suitable to sacred words and occasions as 
are the too common examples of a meretricious 
style of so-called ' popular tunes.' I am tempted to 
quote examples, but it is difficult to select one worse 
than anotlier, and humiliating to contemplate the 
deptjis to which so-called 'sacred' songs have de- 
scended. Those who wish will find only too many 
examples by looking into any 'revival' or children's 



THAT musical composition in the present day is 
becoming a reflex of the nationality of the 
composer is every day more apparent. Recently 
we liad a visit from Tschaikowsky, who is looked, 
upon as the typical Russian composer ; followed by 
one from Greig, whose music breathes the very spirit 
of Scandinavia ; wliile Dvorak, wlio owes the recog- 
nition of his works to this country, is never more 
successful than when lie allows liis inventive faculty 
free play to express purely Slav characteristics. 
Tliis fact receives further confirmation when we 
come to consider the compositions of the young 
Greenock composer, Mr. Ilamisli MacCunn ; for not 
only have the subjects treated been suggested by 
Scottish nature or poetry, but the themes and 
rhythm have quite a distinctively national charac- 

' Harmonised as such in five parts by Hans Leo Hasler as 
early as 1601, the name of the song being 'Mein G'miith ist mir 

- ' Batti Batti,' 1 
' Leisc flehen ' (' Softly Sighs '), Der Freischiit:. 

ter. This must surely be a matter for congratula- 
tion, as, among the immense quantity of music com- 
posed nowadays, one seeks almost in vain for new 
ideas or fresh inspirations — for music, in short, with 
some soul and vitality in it. We have too long 
been conijiosing our music on the lines of our 
favourite composer, quite forgetting tliat by doing 
so originality must be lost. What has been the 
foundation of the music of Reethoven, Mozart, 
Schubert, or Chopin, but tlie folk-song of their 
countries ; and should we in Scotland, who possess 
national songs equal to those of any motherland 
in the world, forget to study that lore, to imbue 
ourselves with its spirit, and thus cast off the 
trammels of the so-called Classic or Romantic 
Schools, and found a distinct national style .? 

' Hofer's Tod : 'Crimbambuli,' ' Ach wie ist's moglich dann,' 
' Now, O now, I needs must part,' and other songs and 

■* Larghetto : (Beethoven's 2il Sytnfhoiiy). 

" Dead March in Saul\ (U.P. Hymnal, No. 237), Schumann's 
' Nachlstuck.' 



Mr. Hamish MacCunn's first introduction to the 
musical world was his Concert Overture, ' Cior 
Mhor,' a work suggested by that peak in the Island 
of Arran as seen under two aspects of nature. This 
composition was followed by another Overture, 
' Land of the Mountain and the Flood ' (a title 
surely suggestive enough) ; an Orchestral Ballad, 
' The Ship o' the Fiend ' ; and lastly, a Ballad for 
Chorus and Orchestra, ' Lord Ullin's Daughter.' 
All these compositions were performed at the 
Crystal Palace, London, under that conductor to 
whom native composers owe so much for the pro- 
duction of their works, Mr. August Manns. It is 
with these compositions that this article will deal. 

The Overture 'Cior Mhor' was looked upon as 
a very talented work, revealing freshness of idea 
and power of orchestration ; but the succeeding 
work, produced a year later, ' Land of the Mountain 
and the Flood,' marked a decided advance. The 
two principal subjects here are distinctly Celtic, the 
first having the characteristic ' snap,' the second, in 
admirable contrast, being more typical of the Ballad. 
A peculiarity in this Overture is the repetition of 
the first portion, a circumstance in the composition 
of the great composers' works in tliis form quite 
without precedent. The working out is very clever ; 
portions of botli subjects being heard as if echoed 
one to another among the mountains, and tlien a 
very powerful passage — a modified and extended 
version of the principal subject being given in its 
rugged fierceness to the trombones, accompanied by 
tlie rest of the orchestra in a manner wildly sug- 
gestive of the warfare of the clans. Tiiis is quite 
the most daring point in tlie Overture, and recalls to 
mind 'The Ride of the Walkyries' of Wagner. 
After the usual recapitulation the work ends with a 
lengtliened Coda, included in which is a passage for 
brasses only — evidently a favourite device with the 
composer, one somewhat similar occurring in ' Cior 

Of ' The Sliip o' the Fiend ' I cannot speak ; 
no opportunity of either hearing it in Scotland or 
of studying the work having been possible. But 
the opinion of a London critic may be noted. 
Writing of a performance of the composition at 
the ' London Symphony Concerts ' the Musical 
Times says : ' The Scottish poem which forms the 
source of his inspiration in the present instance 
bears a resemblance to that of Burger's " Lenore," 

the Bohemian legend on which Dvorak has founded 
" The Spectre's Bride," and to many another story 
of an erring bride and ghostly bridegroom. In Mr. 
MacCunn's work the foundation is nautical, and is 
wonderfully vivid and picturesque, both in tlie treat- 
ment of the themes and the orcliestral colouring.' 
It is hoped that an opportunity of hearing this 
ballad may soon be aftbrded us. 

We now come to the largest effort Mr. Mac- 
Cunn has yet made — ' Lord Ullin's Daughter.' Pro- 
fessor Stanford, in his setting of Lord Tennyson's 
Ballad of the Fleet ' The Revenge,' inaugurated the 
composing of a dramatic work for chorus and 
orchestra alone, and it is natural that Mr. MacCunn 
should follow in the footsteps of one of the pro- 
fessors in his Alma Mater, the Royal College of 
Music, London. We are here once more struck 
with the national colouring so characteristic of 
the composer, the first subject having quite a 
Highland ring about it. As a whole the work is 
exceptionally clever — for a youth of twenty, won- 
derfully so. Its only drawback to popularity may 
lie in the exacting demands made upon the 
voices in some portions ; evidently our composer 
has something yet to learn as to the manner of 
writing for the voice. Of the orchestration nothing 
can be said, as the score is not yet published ; but 
that is Mr. MacCunn's strong point, and judging 
from the pianoforte version it should be most effec- 
tive. Where the composer has not come up to 
expectation, seems to be in repeating the words of 
tlie ballad, for the sake of the music, thereby spoil- 
ing their dramatic significance ; and in failing to 
mark the action of the narrative either by short 
pauses or by the cessation of the vocal parts, the 
nuisic going on from beginning to end with ceaseless 
energy and ever-increasing interest. 

Enough may have been said to induce the 
readers of this Journal to watch with interest the 
future career of Mr. Hamish MacCunn. His forth- 
coming compositions for soli, chorus, and orchestra, 
'The Lay of the Last Minstrel,' commissioned by 
the Glasgow Choral Union for performance during 
the ensuing A\inter, will be eagerly awaited. It is 
hoped it may then be possible to chronicle another 
and still greater success in the Art of Music, and 
possibly another effort to establish a distinctively 
national style. W. T. H. 






WE have seen, then, tliat in whatever sense 
progressiveness can be predicated of art, 
inasmuch as excellence in this department depends 
more than in any other on an original creative 
activity which knowledge and culture cannot pro- 
duce, and the results of which are not, like those of 
scientific research, capable of being antiquated or 
absorbed by tliose of later times, the conditions 
which determine the advancement of science and 
philosophy do not apply to art. 

But not only is art thus incapable of sliaring in 
the progress of science ; there are some considera- 
tions which might seem to favour the notion that 
the capacities which lead to progress in science 
are inimical to artistic excellence, so that as science 
advances art must necessarily decline. An age or 
period of the world's history whicli is marked by 
great scientific advances cannot, it may be held, 
from the very nature of the thing, be one of great 
artistic productiveness. As in the individual life, 
so in the intellectual life of the world, there is a 
period before reflection and rational observation 
liave been awakened, when the only explanations we 
can give of ourselves, and of the world around us, 
are those which imagination furnishes. If it be the 
function of art to idealise the world, the child is 
often an unconscious artist ; for, out of tlie com- 
luon matter-of-fact world of sense and siglit, it 
creates a new and brighter world, or sheds around 
the real world an atmosphere in which ordinary 
objects and appearances are transformed, refracted, 
recombined. To its eyes dead nature becomes 
animate with a life akin to our oivn, fanciful 
explanations are read into its phenomena, and a 
thousand dreams, stories, legends, are woven around 
its ever-changing forms and aspects. So, it may be 
said, there is in tlie general history of human 
intelligence a stage analogous to this, wliich, like 
this, passes silently away when awakening reason 
dissipates the illusions and visionary interpretations 
of things in which the imagination runs riot. When 
that change has come, when the world has out- 
grown its intellectual immaturity, we may still of 
set purpose play with the illusory creations of 
imagination ; but when scientific knowledge has 
obtained a firm hold of human intelligence, any 
other than rational explanations of nature and life 
can only be to ourselves a conscious imposture. 
The charm they once had for us is impossible when 

we must get ourselves into an attitude of make- 
believe in order to feel it. As the sport of idle 
hours they may be permitted to survive, but as a 
genuine form of human experience, the age of 
]3oetry and art is gone, never to be recalled. 

Something like this is the view of the relations of 
art and science, and of the fatal influence of civilisa- 
tion and scientific progress as the production and 
enjoyment of works of art, which has been set forth 
with his usual rlietorical eff^ectiveness by Lord 
Macaulay in a well-known essay. ' We think,' says 
he, ' that as civilisation advances, poetry almost 
necessarily declines. Perhaps no person can be a 
]5oet, or even enjoy poetry, without a certain un- 
soundness of mind. By poetry we mean the art of 
employing words in such a manner as to produce 
an illusion on the imagination, the art of doing, by 
means of words, what the painter does by means of 
colours. Tims tlie greatest of poets has described 
it in lines which convey a just notion of his art : — 

' " As imagination bodies forth 
The form of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothings 
A local habitation and a name." 

Truth,' he goes on, ' is indeed essential to poetry, 
but it is the truth of madness. Tlie reasonings are 
just, but tlie premisses are false. . . . Hence of all 
people cliildren are the most imaginative. They 
abandon themselves without reserve to every illusion. 
Every image which is strongly presented to their 
mental eye produces on them the effect of reality. 
In a rude state of society men are children with a 
greater variety of ideas. It is therefore in such a 
state of society that we may expect to find the 
poetical temperament in its highest perfection. In 
an enlightened age there will be nmch intelligence, 
much science, much pliilosophy ; abundance of verses, 
and even good ones, but little poetry.' 

The gist of this argument is that poetry and art 
produce their effects by an illusion, which advanc- 
ing knowledge dissipates, and tliat they lose their 
hold over society when the scientific habit of mind, 
which rejects everytliing but exact knowledge and 
reality, has begun to predominate. 

I cannot but think, however, that the argument 
partakes of that weakness which its author ascribes 
to art, viz. that its premiss is false. True art does 
not produce its effects by illusion, and therefore the 
progress of science does not tend to subvert its 



power. The progress of science is fatal to folly, to 
superstition, to all kinds of false admiration and 
reverence — to the realm of falsehood and lies in 
general; but I do not think tliat in its furthest 
advances it will ever intrude a hostile step into the 
domain of imagination, or lay rude hands on a 
sinarle fair creation which the true life of art has 
ever inspired. Nature and art, the world of sensuous 
existences in time and space, and tlie world of ideas 
which thought produces, cannot be contrasted as 
reality and unreality. The notion lurking in many 
minds is that tlie external objective world of earth 
and rocks, and streams and mountains, is a reality 
wliich God created, whilst the thoughts about it, 
even of the most brilliant minds, are mere human 
speculations and fancies, devoid of any claim to be 
called real substantial existences. But if it be the 
divine creative power which entitles anything to be 
called real, is there more of it in stones than in self- 
conscious thought ? Have dead rocks and streams 
more of a divine presence and activity in them than 
the ideas of the intelligences which have been made 
in the divine likeness ? The smallest original inven- 
tion in the mechanical arts contains in it something 
which has never yet existed in the world of outward 
realities, and in that sense is unreal, a mere fiction 
of the brain. But even before it has been embodied 
in material shape, shall we say that lumps of iron 
or brass or zinc — inorganic matter, and the forces of 
material nature, — out of which the macliine is to be 
constructed, are realities, and the conception spring- 
ing from the creative realm of thought, that is to 
infuse into them new power, and compel them into 
new relations, has as yet only an existence that is 
unreal and illusory. And when the matter-of-fact 
world of nature and of human life has yielded up 
its most precious content to furnish materials for 
the conception of genius, and they are reproduced 
on the canvas of Raphael or Perugino, or on the 
page of Homer or Dante, or Shakespeare or Goethe, 
in a form of living harmony and beauty, such as the 
eye of sense has never seen or can see, shall we say 
that a lump of clay or a block of stone is a reality, 
that the details of domestic life or the vulgar 
incidents which a daily newspaper chronicles, for- 
gotten ere the eye has ceased to skim them, are true 
and real, and the noble creations of genius whicji 
live in our thoughts for ever are only empty 
phantoms whicli produce an impression of reality on 
us by a childish illusion ? 

But we may go further than this. So far from 
conceding that the creations of art are unreal, there 
is a sense in which it may be maintained that all 
great works of art are more real, certain, and ex- 
press a deeper truth, than the matter-of-fact world 

for wjiicli exclusive reality is claimed. For truth 
or reality is not that which lies on the surface 
of things and can be perceived by every cursory 
observer. What meets the eye or is the object of 
immediate observation is but a chaos of accidental 
and transient phenomena, of facts and occuiTences 
succeeding or crossing eadi other in endless com- 
plexity and multiplicitv. To know the truth of 
things, to have cognisance of that which is real, we 
must penetrate beneath the surface, eliminate the 
accidental and irrelevant, and grasp the principle or 
essence wliich underlies and interprets appeai'ances. 
Now, whilst tliis hidden reality is imveiled to us in 
one way by science and philosophy, it is the function 
of art to reveal it to us in another and, for many 
minds, a more expressive and intelligible way. Art 
does not analyse, or abstract, or classify, or gener- 
alise ; it does not lay bare the mechanism of thought, 
or evolve by the process of a rigid dialectic the secret 
order and system of nature and history. But the 
idea which, gazing on nature and human life, by the 
intuitive force of imagination the great artist has 
divined, he gives shape and expression to in sensible 
forms and images ; he incarnates anew in a represen- 
tation, borrowed indeed from the actual world, but 
closer to thought, more speaking and significant, 
more true tiian nature and life itself. For there is 
a sense in which it may be said that nature speaks 
her own meaning with an indistinct and faltering 
voice, and needs some inspired interpreter to make 
music of her stannnering accents. And thougli our 
common life is replete with spiritual significance, yet 
its pathos, its beauty, its harmony, the secret rhythm 
that runs through it, and the more than tragic 
interest that underlies it, are but too often obscured 
and lost amidst the perplexing confusion of its acci- 
dents and the triviality of its meaningless details. 
Now it is the mission of Art to speak, indeed, in 
Nature's language, but to lend to her a voice more 
clear and articulate than her own ; to represent 
human life, but so to do it that, through the forms 
of tlie ideal world, tlie obscured plot of the real 
world shall unfold itself in its true significance and 

I can only refer, lastly, in briefest form, to one 
other consideration derived from the very nature of 
art whicli has been urged in proof of its unpro- 
gressive character. If there ever was a time when 
art could be a religion, drawing into its own sphere 
all the force of the religious element of man's nature, 
must not that, of necessity, have been the time when 
art reached its culminating-point ? Can we con- 
ceive of a period of human development at which 
religion is the worship of tlie beautiful, when our 
deepest thoughts about ourselves, about nature, 



about things invisible and spiritual, our highest 
liopes, our loftiest admirations, our most exalted 
reverences, can all find adequate expression in the 
beautiful forms of sense ? There may be in man's 
nature that whicli transcends the capabilities of ex- 
pression contained in sensuous form, ideas, emotions, 
experiences, which matter, however moulded, can 
only hint at, or which, from their very nature, are 
at war with and make havoc of material grace and 
beauty. When the human consciousness has become 
receptive of these higher experiences, it is indeed, it 
may be granted, at a more advanced stage of its 
spiritual career ; but is it not one of the penalties 
of such advancement that it has left behind it for 
ever that bright and sunny region where it could 
make a home of art ? In the year's course the 
fruit season may be the most valuable, but when it 
has come, the time of gay-tinted blossoms has passed 
away. On the other hand, can we conceive the race 
as having just reached and not yet passed the point 
at which the mind has indeed awakened to a sense 
of inward freedom, and feels fermenting in it a 
thousand thoughts, desires, ambitions, such as lend 
its joyous fervour and hopefulness to the heart of 
youth, but has as yet never turned inward to brood 
over itself, or felt the shadow of spiritual doubt and 
conflict creeping over and marring its light-hearted 
enjoyment of the bright world without. It has 
become aware of no aims vaster than the finite and 
visible can satisfy, of no aspirations after a limitless 
perfection. In one word, can we go back in thought 
to a time when man's highest ideal neither fell below 
nor yet surpassed what lovely forms of human grace 
and nobleness, only with the stain of human imper- 
fection removed from them, could perfectly express ; 
and therefore a time in whicli the a2sthetic and 
religious elements were inextricably interwoven, and 
man's deepest spiritual susceptibilities could find vent 
in the worship of the beautiful — then must not such 
a time have been, beyond all others, in the history 
of our race, that whose conditions were most favour- 
able to the perfection of art ? Now is it not pre- 
cisely such a stage of human development which was 
realised at a definite historic period in tlie life of 
ancient Greece ? There, for once in man's history, 
art and religion were all but identified. Greek 
religion was the worship of the beautiful. In the 
conceptions of its poets, in the creations of its 
sculptors, in its beautiful temples and shrines, it is 
nearly impossible to discriminate between the 
aesthetic and tlie sacred, the poetical and the mytho- 
logical. It is the poets and artists of Greece who 
are at the same time its prophets, the creators of its 
divinities, and the revealers of its tlieological beliefs : 
and that conception of the divine which the genius 

of Homer and Hesiod originated found its perfect 
embodiment in those sculptured types of human 
beauty and nobleness in which the spiritual motive 
and the exquisite finite form were indistinguishably 
united. Greek thought had reached but not passed 
beyond the stage at which in sensuous form, and 
especially in that form in which soul and sense are 
most closely implicated, the individual human form, 
its highest ideal could find adequate expression. 
No mystic dreams of an ascetic piety had come to 
trouble the tranquillity of its humanistic devotion. 
No sense of humiliation before an infinite standard 
of rio'ht had darkened the bright horizon of tlie 
present and the finite. Tlie spectral form of an 
awful fate dominating all things human and divine 
might lurk in the background, but it did not ob- ■ 
trude itself or mar tlie fairness and completeness of 
that seemly human life in wliicli the spirit found 
satisfaction and rest. Sin and sorrow and pain, 
the hidden overruling presence of inexorable moral 
powers working out in the predestined doom of 
mortals the solution of moral conflicts, may consti- 
tute the main motive of Greek tragedy ; but it 
never interfered with that air of victorious serenity 
which art imprinted on brow and face and form of 
its beautiful humanised divinities. The Hellenic 
ideal is simply that of finite completeness, of a finite 
consciousness in harmony with itself and the world. 
And for the expression of that ideal the resources of 
art were quite sufficient ; in representing it, art 
had its congenial function. A felicity untroubled 
by internal struggles or outward infirmities, a self- 
complacent repose superior to accidents and ills, a 
serene fairness unmoved by passion, or want, or care 
— what more was needed to express all tliat, what 
was there in it that could not be fitly and fully ex- 
pressed by external sensuous symmetry and fairness .'' 
And so, as the modern artist contemplates tliose 
antique forms in which Greek plastic art embodied 
its ideal of the divine, as he notes the free and bold 
yet deUcate modelling of shape and outline, the 
charm of rounded fairness and unworn strength in 
feature and limb, the delicate gradation of curves 
that melt into each other by insensible transitions, 
tlie poise and dignity of attitude, the suppression or 
the subtle hinting of minor details, and finally, the 
exquisite art tliat can suggest, in its colourless 
purity, a nation free from the vulgarising taint of 
passion, or from those sad experiences that grave 
their record deep on mortal face and form — what 
wonder that these monuments of tlie genius of tlie 
past should be tlie admiration and tlie despair of 
modern art, or tliat the modern artist should pro- 
nounce, to use tlie words of one of the most famous 
of the sculptors of our day, that to surpass the best 



works of the Greeks is a hopeless task, to approach 
them a triumph ? 

But now, admitting the force of this argument, 
granting that the Greek of a definite liistoric age 
was endowed with a genius for art wliicli, in one 
point of view, has never been surpassed, the answer 
wliich I can now only indicate is simply tliis, tliat art 
has not exliausted its resources of expression when it 
lias told all that the perfect loveliness of corporeal 
form can express. There are secrets of tlie lumian 
heart, there is a whole world of moral and sj)iritual 
ideas, whicli lie beyond the range of the one art — 
that of sculpturesque beauty, in which tlie excel- 
lence of Greek art is undisputed. Tlirough the rent 
veil of mortal flesh a diviner light has streamed on 
Christian thought than when it was only a seamless 
garment wliich the spirit wore. The art that can 
leave behind it as its ideal the superficial serenity 
that ignores or defies pain and sorrow and unrest, 
to grasp the ideal of a purity that has been won by 
struggle and conquest, and a peace that has known 
and triumplied over temptation and evil, is surely 
nobler far. Even in the one art of sculpture, the per- 
fection which Greek genius acliieved, however admir- 
able, is but a limited perfection. It could print the 
idealised likeness of sensuous bliss on many a fair 
and stately brow ; but if hidden springs of joy 
deeper than pagan thought knew have been opened 
up to the heart of man, if the radiance of a loftier 
hope, the light of a deeper, diviner blessedness, has 
kindled on many a human face since pagan art passed 
away, surely to the art that has that to portray 
grander possibilities of excellence have been afforded : 

' Shall man, such step within his endeavour, 
Man's face, have no more play and action 
Than joy which is crystallised for ever, 
Or grief, an eternal petrifaction ? ' 

And if we turn to that which, in one point of view, 
may be regarded as the highest of all arts, poetry, 
surely the deeper, fuller, more various, more com- 
plex life of the new world supplies materials for 
the creative imagination to work on richer far tlian 
the old world possessed. A religion which strips 
human life of its completeness, which accentuates 
the spiritual in contrast with the material, and 
turns from the pomp and glory of the present and 
visible life to gaze with eager, trembling hope and 
aspiration on tlie future and invisible, can no 
longer wholly identify itself witli art. But for 
that very reason that its ideas transcend the highest 
existing forms of art, they infuse into these forms a 
deeper interest and significance. A richer, deeper 
tone is breathed into lyric song when it is no longer 
the light effusion of sprightly feeling or sensuous 
desire, but tlie utterance of a heart whose most 

transient emotions are touched by the pathos of an 
infinite destiny. And if the interest of the game 
becomes more absorbing when the stakes are incal- 
culably increased, surely tlie materials which human 
life now supplies to the dramatic poet give him a 
power to move our pity and our terror, such as ancient 
tragic art in the period of its greatest splendour did 
not and could not possess. All the passions, situa- 
tions, characters, collisions, out of which genius 
weaves the great work of dramatic art are replete 
with riclier possiliilities, now that on tlie stage of 
life is tlirown back the reflection of the awful mys- 
teries of the world unseen. Love has caught a new 
touch of passionate tenderness ; courage, fidelity, 
generosity, honour, self-sacrifice, the glow of a loftier 
heroism ; hate and fear, and remorse and crime, liave 
in them the capacity of stirring in us a horror of 
moral repugnance such as pagan art has no means of 
awakening ; and the ideas of man's spiritual worth 
and immortal destiny offer, ready to hand, to the 
imagination that can comprehend them, contrasts 
which the most daring invention of an earlier time 
could not have surpassed — contrasts of greatness and 
littleness, of weakness and nobleness, of inward 
essence and outward circumstance, of things infinite 
and eternal, hustled in the crowd by things of the 
passing hour — contrasts which move now our laugh- 
ter at their incongruity, now our terror at their 

The conclusion, then, to which these reflections 
lead us is, that there is nothing in the nature of 
art to exempt it from that character of progres- 
siveness which, as we have seen, belongs to science 
and philosophy, and in general to all spheres of 
intellectual activity. Art is but one of the ways 
in whicli the thought and culture, the spirit of an 
age expresses itself. It is, in one sense, the deposi- 
tory of its richest intuitions, its deepest reflections, 
its purest aspirations. If man progresses, therefore, 
art must progress. But though this be so, tliere is 
one great advantage attendant on the study of the 
productions of ancient art, and especially on the 
study of the poets, orators, historians of classical 
antiquity, viz. that they furnish models of a 
kind of perfection which in modern times we 
cannot hojie to surpass. The ideal of modern 
art may be far in advance of ancient, but in point 
of literary form, in precision, purity and beauty 
of expression, no modern literature can cope with 
the best literature of ancient times. It may be 
that, from tlieir structure and genius, the Greek and 
Latin languages lent themselves to greater perfec- 
tion of form than is possible for our own or any 
other modern tongue. But, apart from that, the exi- 
gencies of modern life lower, necessarily, our standard 



of excellence, and render us less fastidious. We write 
and speak more, and therefore we write and speak 
worse, at least in style and manner, tlian the great 
authors and orators of the past. Not to speak of 
the host of smaller men whose poor thoughts clothe 
themselves on the platform and through the press in 
poorer words, no one can read the speeches of even 
our foremost statesmen, or the novels, poems, essays, 
articles that pour forth with such rapidity from the 
pens of our most notable writers, witiiout being con- 
strained to admit that, in comparison with tlie great 
orators and autliors of the past, we have fallen on 
degenerate times. ' They liad more time to write,' 

says Mr. Mill, ' and they wrote chiefly for a select 
class. To us, who write in a hurry for people who 
read in a hurry, the attempt to give an equal degree 
of finish would be loss of time.' But it will be no 
loss of time for those to wliom, by reason eitlier of 
their special vocation in life, or of their general 
position and exigencies as educated men, the capa- 
city to speak and write well will in future years be 
an invaluable endowment — it will be no loss to 
them to become familiar by patient study with 
those unapproachable models of the art of expres- 
sion which are supplied to us by the literature of 
ancient times. 


VICTORIAN literature commences at the close 
of that brilliant period which boasts the 
great names of Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, Cole- 
ridge, and Landor. It was therefore born to a 
glorious heritage, and it would have been no wonder 
had such a splendour eclipsed it entirely. But 
while it would be impossible to mention so many 
names of the first order in the literature of the 
present age, there is no doubt as to the greater 
living interest it possesses for us. 

Literature is affected powerfully by, as it in 
return affects powerfully, the period to which it 
belongs. Elizabethan literature is that of an age 
when the human spirit, awakened by religion and 
adventure to a consciousness of its dignity and free- 
dom, sought new ideals, and breathed a larger air. 
The literature of Queen Anne's reign, again, is that 
of a time when life and religion had become artifi- 
cial, form taking the place of reality, and scepticism 
that of faith — a time lacking that earnestness which 
is the prime condition of true greatness of life, of 
which literature and art are the ideal expression. 
The literature, again, which immediately preceded 
that of our era, was moulded to a large degree by 
those profound influences which found political and 
social expression in the French Revolution. Burke, 
Southey, Wordsworth, and its other great writers, 
were, each in his own way, so affected, and their 
works cannot be intelligently studied without bear- 
ing this in mind. Literature is no mere spinning of 
intellectual or fanciful cobwebs, but a real, substan- 
tial structure, having its foundations deep down in 
the life of an epoch. Yet while this must always 
be remembered, tlie genius of a literature is a some- 
thing belonging to and springing from itself, and 
not received from without as an inheritance. It 
must, in a word, have a character of its own. Vic- 
torian literature has some of those marked features 

which go to make up character. Self-consciousness 
is one and perhaps the most marked. What a con- 
trast it presents in this respect to that of the Eliza- 
betlian era ! Men were then so young and fresh in 
spirit that they lost tliemselves, as it were, in the 
creations of their genius. The critics of to-day 
laboriously endeavour to trace the man Shakespeare 
in his works with more or less success. The greatest 
poem of our era, ' In Memoriam,' is introspective 
throughout. Autobiography is the most popular 
form of our literature. The inner mind and char- 
acter of an author, as much as his works, are de- 
manded as public property. A Mill and a Carlyle 
are laid before us in the inmost recesses of their 
being, open to the scrutiny of a generation — curious, 
certainly, but perhaps also earnest and reverent 
before true worth and greatness. 

This introspective, self-conscious character of the 
age is fatal to the growth of the higliest form of 
creative genius in literature, viz. the Dramatic, which 
is the outcome or expression of a certain zest in life 
quite unknown to the introspective spirit of our 
time. Hamlet, it is true, is tlie very embodiment 
of the introspective character, but he is always 
Hamlet, an ideal creation, and not a mere personi- 
fication of a certain order of cjualities to which a 
name has been given by the poet. Hamlet lives and 
acts as a man, if not always as a gentleman accord- 
ing- to Mr. R. L. Stevenson's notions of one.^ The 
cliaracters of modern drama are, on tlie other hand, 
so many phases of the poet's mind duly labelled. 
They are like the gods of the heathen, ' the work of 
men's hands,' and ' they that make them are like 
unto them.' 

It was recently well said by a critic, ' The widest 
expansion of mental cultivation does not ensure any 
commensurate growth of creative genius.' Victorian 

^ See Siriliiier's Magazine for June 1888. 



literature is to a great extent an example of this 
truth. For never in the history of our country has 
culture been so wide as it now is, and on the other 
hand never was there so much literature lacking the 
creative element. How much, or rather how little, 
of all that is written in these days has that real, 
jDcrmanent quality which is the soul of all great 
literature ! How little of it deals with life in the 
truest sense, and not with the accidents of life, or 
with mere theories concerning life ! Even some of 
the best work of a writer so great as George Eliot 
is marred by this latter tendency, and the name of 
those writers who are wjiolly given over to it is 
Legion. In some directions, however, real progress 
has been made. In the field of History the Dryas- 
dusts of the past have vanished before such writers 
as Carlyle, Froude, and Green. Historical literature 
has undergone notliincr short indeed of a revolution. 
The old arbitrary landmarks of kings and queens 
have passed away, and more rational, scientific 
divisions have taken their place. The doctrine of 
evolution has been applied to the phenomena of 
history, and where cliance and accident before 
reigned, order and progress are found. 

In no department of literature has more marked 
progress been made than in that of Criticism. When 
Jeffrey reigned supreme, there was no standard 
liigher than the fashion of the day, or the critic's 
unreasonable and unreasoning likes and dislikes. 
All this is now happily altered. The air has been 
cleared of prejudice and conventionality. The work 
done to effect this by such a book as the late Mr. 
Ai'nold's Essays in Criticism cannot be overesti- 
mated. It represents an epocli in the literature of 
criticism, if not indeed the beginning of a real idea 
of criticism. The hasty ' This will never do ' of 
Jeffrey is replaced by such teaching as the follow- 
ing : ' Criticism must be patient, and know how to 
wait ; and flexible, and know how to attach itself to 

things, and how to withdraw from them. It must ]" 
be apt to study and praise elements that for the 
fulness of spiritual perfection are wanted, even 
though they belong to a power which in the prac- 
tical sphere may be maleficent. It must be apt to 
discern the spiritual shortcomings or illusions of 
powers that in the practical sphere may be bene- 
ficent;' and again: 'Criticism must be sincere, 
simple, flexible, ardent, ever widening its knowledge.' 
We have, however, it may be feared, lost some- 
thing in another department, that of the Essay. 
^A'"hat a laboured, ponderous, and intellectual pro- 
duct it has become in the present day, to what it 
was in Bacon's hands, or later in Addison's or 
Charles Lamb's ! The essay then was a dainty little 
dish — a sort of dessert ; now it is a solid meal de- 

manding a powerful digestion, and too often affording 
but a modicum of nourishment. We have no really 
great living essayist, though never did a literature 
possess so many essays. We read strenuously what 
our magazines place before us, and feel we have done 
our duty, but we do not return again and again to 
their pages with ever fresh delight as we do to the 
pages of those we have named. AVe apologise for 
our own inability to write such essays by the most 
careful editing of them. 

The Novel has been put to new and higher uses 
in our era, and has become a medium for the venti- 
lation of social abuses, and the discussion of the 
profoundest problems in philosophy and religion. 
It is not without significance that the novel of the 
present season — Robert Elsmere — is the history of 
spiritual doubt. Nowhere indeed is the intro- 
spective character of our literature more marked 
than in the novel. In such a work as Daniel 
Deronda, the culminating effort of George Eliot's 
genius, it attains quite a painful pitch. The 
development of this bias in the novelist's mind is 
steady throughout her work, and is in proportion 
to the degree in which she came into the full current 
of modern thought. Her ever-growing sympathy 
with the aims and methods of science is another 
phase of the same tendency, science being the 
application of the analytic method to Nature — 

' Considering everywhere 
Her secret meaning in her deeds.' 

In Arnold the effect of science has been tlie culti- 
vation of a lofty, calm fortitude. 

' And with joy the stars perform their shining, 
And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll ; 
Nor self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul.' 

The scientific spirit has, however, affected literature 
in other ways. Its ideas of heredity and environ- 

ent have afforded a new standpoint for the 
literary student of human nature, and it may be 
said that in this respect we are on the borders of 
a land of promise in Literature. 

There have been writers, Iiowever, such as New- 
man and Rossetti, who have looked the scientific 
spirit in the face, and finding nothing 

' In world or sun, 
Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye ; 
Nor thro' the questions men may try, 
The petty cobwebs we have spun,' 

to satisfy the aspirations of their intensely spiritual 
natures, have turned to those primal sources of in- 
spiration from which the great Elizabethans drew, 
when hope was fresh, and faith unchilled by the 
coldly analytic methods of modern science. 



In the case of Rossetti, the origin of the poet, 
and the peculiar bent of his genius, have determined 
that the form should be chiefly based on Italian 
models, which, be it remembered, were also tliose of 
the Elizabethan writers. Characterised alike by 
intellectual power, passionate fervour, and spiritual 
exaltation, taking an expression in which the art 
quality is of the first order, his poems — unique in 
the age in wliich tliey liave appeared — may be taken 
as the first-fruits of that New Renascence of to-day 
which finds voice in the first of the sonnets on Old 
and New Art. 


' Give honour unto Luke Evangelist ; 

For he it was (the aged legends say) 

Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray. 
Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist 
Of devious symbols ; but soon having wist 

How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day 

Are symbols also in some deeper way, 
She looked through these to God, and was God's priest. 

' And if, past noon, her toil began to irk 

And she sought talismans, and turned in vain 
To soulless self-reflections of man's skill, — 
Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still 
Kneel in the latter grass to pray again. 
Ere the night cometh, and she may not work.' 

But another view of the prospects of literature 
has been taken. ' We have passed,' says Mr. Leslie 
Stephen, ' from a land flowing with milk and 
honey into a comparative desert.' No authority 
could be more worthy of our acknowledgment than 
his. Yet it must be remembered that our literature 
is to a large extent that of a transition period. 
Men liave drifted away from the old moorings, and 
liave failed to find new. The leading minds of the 
age seem to iiear the ' melancholy, long, withdraw- 
ing roar of the once full sea of faith ' retreating to 
the breath 

' Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear, 
And naked shingles of the world.' 

But there are not awanting signs that we are 
about to witness the flow of a deeper, fuller tide of 
faitli than we have yet seen. If tliat be so, there 
will be another and a richer literature than any the 
past of our liistory has yet given us. All great 
literatures have been the outcome of ages of belief. 
In such ages only is life felt to be a divine thing, 
latent with untold possibilities, and of such a sense 
of life literature is the flower and fruit. 

William Martin. 

R E ^'^ I E W S. 

A Book of Verses. By William Eknest Henley. 

London : David Nutl. 

To read poetry as a duty, and review it as a task, is neither fair 
to the poet nor to the reviewer. So when A Book of Verses 
by William Ernest Henley was placed in our hands, almost on 
the eve of our going to press, it was intended to hold over the 
hook for review in a later number. But a certain charm of freshness 
and simplicity led us on to perusal, and made a re.iding, which 
might otherwise have proved a task, become in this case a delight. 
And so it is with pleasure we now set down the impression formed 
on a first reading. There is about some of these 'Verses' the 
higher element of true poetry. The book begins with ' In Hospital, 
Rhymes and Rhythms.' Here is a 'rhyme' entitled 'Before': — 

' Behold me waiting — waiting for the knife. 
A little while, and at a leap I storm 
The thick, sweet mystery of chloroform. 
The drunken dark, the little death-in-life. 
The gods are good to me : I have no wife,' 
No innocent child, to think of as I near 
The fateful minute ; nothing ail-too dear 
Unmans me for my bout of passive strife. 
Yet am I tremulous and a trifle sick, 
And, face to face with chance, I shrink a little : 
My hopes are strong, my will is something weak. 
Here comes the basket ? Thank you. I am ready. 
But, gentlemen my porters, life is brittle : 
You carry Ccesar and his fortunes — steady I ' 

There are some exquisite touches of nature throughout, such as 
the following : — 

' White fleets of cloud. 
Argosies heavy with fruitfulness. 

Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows. 
Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds 
Sway the tall poplars. 
Pageants of colour and fragrance 
Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless 
Walks the mild spirit of May, 
Visibly blessing the world.' 

There is a minute, loving observation about these lines that is dis- 
tinctively personal ; and, because the feeling expressed in them is 
sincere, it cannot fail to appeal to the reader. This quality of 
sincerity is essential to poetry. It is no reproach to Mr. Henley that 
some of his passages remind us of Tennyson, not in the sense of 
being mere imitations, but because the poet has experienced moods 
akin to those of the Laureate, and expressed them for himself. The 
sonnets ' In Fisheirow ' and ' In the Dials,' dealing as they do with 
human subjects, are notable for the same sincerity of feeling taking 
here a different direction. The feature of the book is its being the 
work of a living man, and not the mere skilful exercises of a 
versifier. It is tastefully printed and bound. 

Pictures at Play. By Two Art Critics. 
London : Longmans, Green, & Co. 

Since Mr. Whistler, some years ago, introduced into this country 
the exhilarating sport of critic-scalping, at which he is such an 
adept, the lines of the critics have not fallen in pleasant places. 
They have been called in question, made to give an account of 
themselves, in a \^■ay that has tended to exercise a wholesome 
discipline, and even to be a terror to the evildoers among 
them. In this connection it is satisfactory to find two writers 
of acknowledged ability — it is an open secret that they are 
Mr. W. E. Henley and Mr. Andrew Lang — following suit by 
cleverly satirising the minnows among the tritons of criticism in 
the piquant little volume before us. As a skit at those ready 
writers who are a pest to all serious workers, it performs good 
service to Art, showing up, as it does, the thin society patter, 
superfluous knowledge of things in general, and ignorance of the 
thing in hand which have so long been the stock-in-trade of the 
average art-critic. 

As a specimen of the caustic style in which the little book is 
written, here is a remark, put into the mouth of ' One of the Lady 
Portraits,' which hits off the whole situation : — 

' Men are idiots, of course ; and art-critics are (if I may so 
express myself), a kind of men.' 

Eiiinliiirgh : T. and A. Coiistaili, Printers to Her Majesty. 

The Scottish Art Review 

Vol. I. 

AUGUST 1888. 

No. 3. 


ART once an outcast in a wintry land, 
Far from tlie sun-built house where she was born, 
Did wander desolate, and laughed to scorn 
By eyeless men who counted gold like sand : 
Nor any soul her speech would understand — 
A friendless stranger in the city lorn. 
Toil-grimed and blackened witli tlie smoke upborne 
Of human sacrifice of brain and hand. 

Tlien Art, aweary, laid lier down and slept 

Beneath an ancient gate, and, dreaming, smilcil. 

For Hope, like Spring, came full of tidings good ; 

And Labour, huge and free, and Brotherhood 
Led her between them like a little child — 

In time new born, to glad new life that leapt. 



T) OMNEY was born at Beckside, near Dalton le 
JLli Furness, Lancashire, in December 1734. His 
father seems to have been tolerably well to do, 
and gave his children good educations. George, 
however, having shown a turn for mechanics, was 
apprenticed to a cabinetmaker. He began to draw 
in a rough-and-ready style, and his productions 
having attracted some attention, his father bound 
him, at the age of nineteen, apprentice for four 
years to a wandering and disrej^utable artist of the 
name of Steele, who happened tlien to be liv- 
ing at Kendal. At twenty-fi\e llomney married, 
and set up as a portait painter. Before long he 
was attracted to London, where success speedily came 
to him, and he was soon recognised as the most 
popular portrait painter of the day. His income 
from his profession was sometimes nearly i'4000 per 
annum, and he lived in good style, leading his family, 
whom he had deserted, to console tliemselves for liis 
absence with the money he sent to them to keep 
them from poverty. 

The prominent passages in Konmey's public life 
are his two years' stay in Italy for the piu-pose of 
study (1773-1775), his friendships with the sickly 
poet Hayley and a coterie of female ' Muses," 
his connection with the famous ' Shakespeare 
Gallery' of Boydell, and his long years' devotion 
to Emma Lyon, one of his models, afterwards the 
notorious Lady Hamilton, llomney was undoubtedly 
a weak man, yet he had the knack of keeping 
about him troops of friends, of whose injudicious 
Hattery he never seemed to sicken. The one man 
in London \\lio held aloof from him and aU his 
ways was sturdy Sir Joshua Reynolds, who used to 
speak contemptuously of his rival as ' tlie man in 
Cavendish Square.' It must have been owing to 
this enmity that Romney never exhibited at the 
Royal Academy, and therefore received no honour 
from that body. After a most prosperous career 
he retired from active work in 1798. Broken 
down completely both in body and mind, he at 
last remembered the affectionate wife whom he had 



so cruelly neglected. He returned to her loving 
care, and she welcomed him. He gradually sank 
into ' helpless imbecility,'' and died at Kendal on 
15th November 1802, nearly sixty-eight years of age. 
Romney's is altogether a curious story, and none 
of the excuses put forward by liis biographers can 
make us think of liim as other than a selfish, heart- 
less man. 

The high reputation Romney acquired from his 
contemporaries, as a portrait painter, has not been 
fully maintained to the present day. He lias left, 
liowever, some beautiful work, of which 'Lady 
Derby,' belonging to Sir Charles Tennant, Bart., 
and now on loan in the Glasgow International 

Exhibition, is an admirable example. He excelled, 
it may be mentioned, in females'' portraits. There 
are fine ease and grace in the portrait of Lady 
Derby, tlie colour is sweet, and the painting of 
botli textures and flesli tints exceedingly true. 
Ronmey, of course, essayed to be an historical 
jjainter in tlie classic style as well as a mere maker 
of portraits. ' His best finished work is probably 
his Infant Shakespeare.' In this ' note '' on Romney, 
a long list of tlie portraits he has left would be out 
of place. Tliey nearly all possess one valuable 
charm : the faces and figures are not so idealised as 
to have obliterated out of them all the character 
and fashion. Robert Walkkk. 


TO speak of Corot is to speak of style in paint- 
ing, and yet no one was less of a pedant, and 
no one more in sympathy witli his subjects. Few 
men in any art have seen so clearly what they 
wanted to do, and have done it with so little sign of 
labour, fuss, and pretension. His serene and well- 
balanced mind, liis fine judgment, his exquisite per- 
ception, and his delicate sense of measure proclaim 
him a countryman of Moliere. It is pleasant to 
look from amidst Teutonic vagueness of ideal and 
technical blundering at the Grecian clarity and 
elegant accomplishment of Corot. We, indeed, 
love to mystify ourselves in this island, to wrap our 
ideas in enthusiastic fogs of high-falutin, that we 
may deceive ourselves into accepting feeling for 
imagination. We willingly remain in the visionary, 
unrealising state. We fear to find our fervour 
inexpressible in the terms of any art. We turn 
rather with disgust from the very idea of feeling- 
made concrete in some artistic medium. Yet real 
imagination is no other than the creation of an 
image of our sentiment in some arrangement of 
material stuff — something as material, definite, and 
capable of gradation and climax as words, musical 
intervals, colours, or marble. 

The elements of form and colour, mere orna- 
mentation, in fact, even when used to imitate 
nothing, display intrinsic cjualities to the man 
gifted with percejstive powers. Every interval in 
music, every fragment of a phrase, has its character. 
So has every line, every pattern, every arrangement 
of colours. You may emjiloy the elements of music 
to produce a symphony with a distinctly marked 
individuality. You may recognise in it a unity of 
feeling as definite as the smell of a flower, and just 
as little representative of anything in the world. 

Thus, apart from wliat it may represent, every 
picture makes a certain statement in virtue of the 
character of its decorative pattern. This voice you 
cannot suppress by the clamours of pretended 
symbolism or literary story, and no true artist would 
try to cry down what holds as important a place in 
art as piu'e symphonic music. An artist, like any 
other man, j ust gets a vague sentiment from looking 
at a scene. When he would represent it on canvas 
his imagination conjures uji an image. According 
to the man''s nature, form, colour, tone, etc. enter 
into this conception in varying proportions of im- 
portance. Taste in style and a special feeling for 
the intrinsic characters of forms and colours then 
enable him to carry out his design in keeping with 
the sentiment of his original impression. He makes 
the pattern of his picture to suit tlie scene. 
Imagination, treatment, and technique should all 
co-operate in a general ensemble of feeling. 

Sometimes, when you know a picture well, and are 
not consciously thinking of the scene it represents, 
it appears to you as a rebarbative collection of 
mechanically laid spots, wires, and spikes. People 
are apt to call you a materialist if you object to 
such a careless use of material. The word seems 
sadly out of place as a term of reproach in this con- 
nection. It is the particular office of imagination 
to materialise. Those who wish to keep in the 
more abstract regions of thought — who, in fact, 
dislike the sensuous— should pretend to no love for 
art. The Teutonic visionary too often disdains 
the eye and ear, and regards them as slaves to be 
brutalised in the service of liis whims. He is a 
moralist, a philosopher, what you will, but it is 
doubtful whether he is often an artist, keenly alive 
to the cliaracter and capabilities of the material he 



is using. One doubts of a race and an age that 
tliinks it fitting and reasonable to preach Schopen- 
liauers philosophy on a trombone and teach 
morality with a double-bass. Tliey must be 
wonderfully careless about artistic beauty, and 
equally unconcerned about explaining their philo- 
sophic ideas with clearness. 

Corot had no need to whip up dull wits and blunt 
perceptions witli long words and vague pretensions 
to symbolism, to profundity, to divine missions, and 
to superior morality. Looking at tlie good works 
of the past, his fine taste sliowed liim how much they 
owed to consistency and beauty of style, to tliat 
general harmony of design which never wearies, to 
that beauty of aspect which slowly penetrates the 
spectator even when he has become indifferent to 
the subject. The general aspect or pattern of a 
picture does not always strike tlie uneducated ob- 
server at first sight ; but it is the most persistent 
and durable of its effects. The impression that a 
canvas makes on the eye unbeknown to the looker 
returns in fact again and again with increasing 
strengtli, and, having once gained a place in tlie 
consciousness, cannot be easily dispossessed. When 
we feel tired or dreamy, we cease to send literary 
meanings into a work of art. We become receptive, 
and, if we ha\e nerves fine enough to sympathise 
with the gradations and finesses of art, we absorb 
the aspect of the picture like so much nourislnnent. 
After fancying one's-self occupied witli other things, 
liow often one catclies one's eye in the act of being- 
worried by something inartistic in the arrangement 
of a picture which one had never before perceived. 
This may be seen even with wall-papers, and by 
most people perhaps more readily than with pic- 
tures. A feeling for style is the gift which enables 
an artist to make his canvas speak with this har- 
monious voice, and it is a faculty quite as valuable 
in painting as in literature. 

You may count Corot the most complete stylist 
of this century. This it is which makes his work so 
finished, and yet so free from troubled and embar- 
rassed detail. His canvases seem empty only to 

those who call nothing a fact that is not enclosed 
in a hard line of contour, who turn a deaf ear to 
suggestions of atmosphere and the third dimen- 
sion of space. The magic of art lies in modelling 
or the science of giving the illusion of depth on a 
flat surface. Every inch of a Corot is full of subtle 
gradations of air and effect. Tliese are facts, and 
more important facts tliau can be got from the dots 
and lines of the niggling school. Corot ever souglit 
a larger and a larger view of nature. From sparkles 
and speckles lie passed to the great moods of the 
weather, from grasses and reeds to big and aerial 
plains, from twigs and leaves to vaporous and rust- 
ling trees, and from spots of local colour to the 
general envelope of atmospheric tone. Before him 
no one suggested with so much art a multiplicity of 
detail subordinated to a mass. You may niggle and 
niggle, but you will never make the thousands of 
leaves on a tree or the myriads of wrinkles on the 
face of the sea. Through a lack of feeling for style, 
or sense of measure, you are trying for the impos- 
sible clumsily and mechanically instead of aiming at 
the possible with ease and elegance. Inevitably 
your art speaks of pettiness, of failure, and of 
inadequacy more distinctly than of anything else. 
These judicious and parsimonious touches of Corot's 
make an artist despair. They are so beautiful in 
themselves, and they so aptly sinn up and explain 
his masses. Floated on a vaporous liaze of paint, 
they stimulate the imagination till it perceives the 
whole underlying mass instinct with suggestions of 
similar forms and details. Nowadays we are open- 
ing our eyes ; we are beginning to study the 
Japanese ; we are almost about to accept decora- 
tion for the basis of painting as melody is tlie 
basis of music. Wlien we do so we shall find 
Corot supreme ; we shall find the quality of his 
decoration not only fine but appropriate. His style 
is used with intention ; it befits, it explains, it 
enhances his poetical view of nature. It is like a 
tune, beautiful in itself, and used to good dramatic 
purpose in an opera. 

R. A. M. Stevenson. 


THERE is no artist about whose methods of work 
there is more discussion amongst painters 
tlian Corot. His effects are apparently so easily 
obtained, the results of his labour are so light and 
airy, and the completeness of his compositions is 
achieved with so little seeming trouble and anxiety, 
that it is constantly being asserted, by those who 
consider finish must mean ' niggle,' that tliere is no 

difficulty in making pictures in the fashion of the 
celebrated French landscape painter. 

But the practised artist very soon finds out that 
Corot's success does not lie on the surface. Never 
was a painter's life-work more accurately set forth 
than in the words of Sir Joshua, ' God does not give 
excellence to man save as a reward of labour,' and 
this can be literally and strictly applied to Corot. 



The long and inglorious early training he went 
through, the discouragement of his father, the want 
of appreciation by the public, and the many weary 
years he had to wait before he was admitted to be 
a master in his art, all tended to impress on him the 
necessity of study ; and even up to within a com- 
paratively short time of the end of his nearly eighty 
years, he drew fi-om the nude at night every winter, 
so tliat his hand might retain its power of drawing 
correctly. Those, too, who have seen the earliest 
work of Corot ^ will remember that it is laboured 
and ' tiglit,' and even ' niggled,' tliat the drawing is 
severe and the composition almost servilely classical. 
And later, his pictures were sincere echoes of his 
master, Aligny, and the well-known picture of 
this artist, now hung in the dark at Fontainebleau, 
shows many points of similarity with Corof s works. 
Indeed when one examines the relation of Corot 
to Aligny in his youthful pictures, no pupil need 
be ashamed when he is accused of following his 
teacher, for Corot simply accepted his master's 
style until, after several years, he found he could 
improve on it. 

It is always an interesting question to those 
practically engaged in painting to know what 
methods of work and what colours were on the 
palette of the great artists tliey admire. Some 
painters are absurdly jealous of their palette being 
known ; these are they who, having learned a trick 
in painting, and profited thereby, are meanly 
afraid to tell it to any one else. There are 
painters who, for such reasons, refuse to allow any 
one into their studios while they are engaged on 
their canvases ; but great artists, witli becoming 
magnanimity, will tell anything that they know, for 
the sake of helping others. That wonderful if 
sometimes weird artist, Matthew Maris, told a 
visitor the other day tliat tlie chief colour he used 
was black, that he never used any of the umbers, 
and he showed his palette, with which he was work- 
ing on a very tender and exquisite landscape, and at 
the time it contained only black, white, cobalt blue, 
and a touch of vermilion. 

Corot showed his palette to many people, and 
although little has been written about it, there is 
enough to show how he worked, and what pigments 
he employed. Corot mixed his colours on his pal- 
ette ; he always used the definite tones in each 
colour, and in commencing his pictures used black, 
white, and raw umber. As the writer has men- 
tioned in another place,- Corot preferred half- 
primed canvas, sometimes toned, and never strained 
too tightly, as he could knock up the ' keys ' after- 

^ In the Louvre, for example. 

- The Magazine of Art for April 1888. 

wards. Mattliew Maris, too, it may be mentioned, 
also prefers half-primed canvas. Corot put in the 
composition of his pictures in the method of tlie old 
masters, blocking them in with the three colours 
mentioned, and heightening them witli the siennas 
or yellow ochre, if necessary. He thus got his high- 
est lights and deepest darks, and toned them with 
transparent colours afterwards. It is worthy of 
remark that, as a rule, Corot and others of the 
French School worked from dark to light — that is, 
they laid their colours in at first heavier than they 
required, and in their painting gradually caused 
them to become lighter in tone. One famous sunset 
sky by Tlieodore Rousseau was laid in with black at 
first, and gradually worked up into its present golden 
russet colour. 

Corot seldom painted a picture right off. He 
began it one day, put it away for a time, took it up 
again, carrying it forward to get the effect, put it 
aside once more until it dried, and then took it up 
and painted it several times until it was completed. 
When young at his painting, Corot walked back- 
wards after he liad painted a bit to see the eff^ect, 
then he would return and again paint, and again 
walk back, until, as he used to say, 'My first pic- 
tures have caused me to take so many paces back- 
wards and forwards, that eacli one represents over a 
hundred miles.' But after much practice Corot was 
able to paint at liis pictures without rising, and late in 
life he said, ' I could mention certain pictures which 
truly I never really saw until they had been signed, 
framed, and paid for,' meaning that he had been 
seated so close to his canvas, and felt so certain of 
the value of his touches, that it never was necessary 
for him to step back to look at his work as a whole. 
This, however, is not a commendable practice until a 
painter's knowledge is as extensive as was Corot's. 

At another time Corot spoke to a friend about 
his difficulty in sky-painting in a very interesting 
monologue which is worth repeating in entirety. 
' At first,' he said, ' I often felt sorely tried when 
wishing to paint a sky from nature. I found the 
clouds stealing off" too quickly. Stop ! said I, trying 
to do as Joshua did with the sun ; but Joshua had 
a command over the firmament whicli evidently I 
had not ! My clouds continued to drive along the 
sky, changing in colour and form, and setting one at 
defiance by the rapidity of their alterations. One 
morning,' he goes on, ' I went to tliem, calling in 
my vexation, Norn d'une pipe ! remain there for a 
minute before me, for I do not want to paint you 
wrongly ! It is with shame I confess these trans- 
ports, for after all a sky standing still is no sky at 
all. The talent of the painter consists in rightfully 
rendering the changing tints and majestic move- 



ments of tliese luminous masses in light and shade 
which float in the atmospliere driven gently or 
strongly according to the state of the wind." 

Then when Corot was painting out-of-doors he 
would rise and observe carefully what he wanted to 
represent, and re-seating himself before his canvas, 
would touch here and there to complete his picture. 
All the while he was humming and singing, ' Let us 
put that there, tra-la-la-tra-la : A little boy ! ding- 
dong, ding-dong,' and as the brush called into being 
le petit garpn, at the same time he completed the 
air he was singing. Then again, to use the freely 
translated words of one of his literary friends, ' Oh, 

a little boy ! he wants a cap, la-di-da-tra-la ; the cap 
is tliere, voila ! tra-la-la-tra-la,' and the cap too was 
flnislied by this time. And so Corot went on almost 
all the day, ever happy and bright and cheerful, his 
heart running over with joy and good-fellowship, a 
thoroughly good man, with a full fountain of love 
for all humanity. A man adored by all who knew 
him, a friend to the poor, an example to the ricli ; 
one of the finest characters in private, and a splendid 
proof that a man may be an artist of the greatest 
power while he remains modest, lovable, and kind, 
and makes no exactions of superiority over his less 
gifted neiglibours. David Cuoal Thomson. 

*^* THREE PLATES are issued with this 
number of The Scottish Art Review. The repro- 
duction of RoMXEv's 'PoRTRArr OF Lady Derby' 
we are enabled to give by the kind permission 
of Sir Charles Tennant, Bart. To Mr. J. Forbes 
AVhite we are indebted for kindly allowing ns to 
reproduce an important work by Corot now in the 

Foreign Loan Collection at the Glasgow Inter- 
national Exhibition, the ' Pastorale Souvenir 
DTrALiE.' The etching of Corots 'Evening in 
Normandy,' by AVilliam Hole, is illustrative of 
a Review of the ' Memorial Catalogue of the Edin- 
burgh Loan Collection of French and Dutcii 
Pictures.' — Ed. 


Dumfries: Kirkcudbright Fine Art Association Ex- 
hibition. — The executive of tliis young Society is to be congratu- 
lated on the interesting collection of works of art lately opened 
in St. Mary's Hall, Dumfries. Minor exhibitions previously held 
at Kirkcudbright and Castle-Douglas received encouraging support. 
It is, therefore, likely that this really important gathering of 
pictures now placed within reach of the public in the south of 
Scotland, will be even more successful. The loan pictures are 
sufficient to indicate the enlightened counsels which have guided 
the executive. For the most part they are examples, small, in- 
deed, but of high quality, of the great landscape painters of the 
early days of this century. Two lovely Constables, a superb 
Turner, a Richard Wilson, two Miillers, a Dawson, an Old Crome. 
There is a most dainty Gainsborough, and at least one fine Sir 
Geo. Harvey 'The Schule Skailin', ' while in the Water-Colour 
room are examples of David Cox, Girtin, Copley Fielding, and 
other masters in the art. To Dr. Porteous of Crofts and Mr. 
Dudgeon of Cargen the committee are indebted for the loan of 
the majority of these. Other pictures of note are Orchardson's 
tender ' Ballad,' a very original MacTaggart, and works by many 
of the younger men, such as Geo. Henry William Kennedy, Alex- 
ander Mann, A. Roche, A. K. Brown, Geo. Pirie, Tom M'Ewen, 
James Paterson, J. M. Nairn, E. A. Hornel, T. C. Morton, J. B. 
Docharty, R. M. G. Coventry, C. Steadman Hartrick, Mouncey, 
Martin Hardy, W. D. Mackay, and others. The Faeds, being 
local men, are fully represented. John Faed, Tom Faed, James 
Faed, and several Faeds of a younger generation, all contribute 
typical examples. The exhibition, which will remain open till the 
end of August, ought to be successful, if its success prove pro- 
portionate to its merits as a collection of works of art. 

Munich. — The International Exhibition of the Fine Arts is 
now complete with more than 3000 works, occupying eighty-eight 
rooms. This admirable collection will of course require and 
receive special reference, but now we shall confine ourselves to 
noticing its principal characteristics. The subjects show upon the 
whole a most decided leaning towards pesiiinisiii ; crimes, acci- 

dents, illness, famine, poverty, decrepitude, contribute a large 
contingent : an Italian artist goes so far as to pierce with a large 
blood-stained poniard — a real one — the frame of his picture, which 
shows us the rigid form of the corpse of a murdered man covered 
with fresh-fallen snow ! A Spanish picture represents the corpse 
of a traitor, whose gory head is comfortably placed between his 
own legs ! And these amiable pictures are not the only ones of 
the kind. Even in the landscape, gloomy skies, agitated seas, 
storms, and rain, are in the majority. Humoroiis subjects are 
conspicuous by their scarcity, if not absence. Animal painters are 
few and far between. Portrait painting, on the other hand, is 
largely and admirably represented, and, by common consent, the 
English are in the fore. The Spanish section is the only one in 
which Historical painting is represented in that grand effective 
style which it comports. Battle painting is but scantily repre- 
sented, and here it is curious to notice that the great German 
victories have not inspired German artists to any very great 
efforts, though hundreds of them have fought in the ranks of 
tlie victorious army. On the other hand, a number of eminent 
French painters — to mention only Neuville and Detaille have 
produced battle-pieces of a high order. 

As regards School and Style, the victory of the I/npressionists 
and '■ pleinair ' painters over the old school is everywhere apparent. 
It is most markedly so in tlie noble collection of works by 
James M'Neil Whistler, which are so striking a feature of the 
Exhibition. The German artists who were the last to submit to 
the new fashion of aerial lighlsomeness of colour are now its 
most fervent partisans ; not so the German public, who take up 
almost an antagonistic position against the more extreme disciples 
of the new creed and its prophet, F. Uhde. 

Exhibition of Pastels at the Grosvenor. — The holding 
of an Exhibition of Pastels at the Grosvenor is a commendable 
step on the part of Sir Coutts Lindsay. The Exhibition, contri- 
bution to which is by invitation, will open on Saturday, October 20. 
The receiving days will be Monday and Tuesday, 1st and 2d 





AT the present time, after the French the Eng- 
lish school ranks decidedly next in importance. 
If we do not find in it the quick fancy and modern- 
ness of the Parisian, there is not the heavy Grseco- 
romantic sentiment of tiie German, nor the trivial 
prettiness of tlie Italian sculptors of millinery. 

In the art of England, as in the people, there is 
that wise reserve and valuable strain of judicious- 
ness which avoids alike the shallows of realism and 
the barren rock of conventionality, and may be 
expected to win sucli victories as will be worthy of 
the national poetry. 

With such young men as Thornycroft and 
Gilbert as precursors, there is e\'ery liope for the 
sculptors of the coming generations. In the works 
of those men and one or two others we have for the 
first time true sculpture distinctly national in 
character, bearing the culture of the art, but in the 
following of no foreign school. 

At the Glasgow Exhibition recent English 
sculpture is to be seen at its best. Its strength 
and character may be estimated from the works 
shown by Thornycroft, Leighton, and Woolner ; 
its variety from the exhibits of Bates, Lee, Birch, 
and Tinwortli. 

Of all these, Mr. Hamo Thornycroft is the most 
important exhibitor, and we feel prompted to 
examine his work searcliingly, to seek behind his 
armour of art and learning for some weakness other 
than fault of form or error of j udgment. In his work 
generally we should be pleased to find a little more 
of the abandon of life and a little less of that classic 
calm by which it is distinguished ; but would we be 
more satisfied ? Is it not this very cliaracter of 
balance, this freedom from aught of eccenti-icity in 
form or sentiment, wliich gives it permanent value ? 
It has nothing fleeting, nothing of the electric effect 
of A. Boucher''s group of runners, which takes us 
by storm, and goes whirling past to forgetfulness. 

In the Fencer we have a motive demanding 
fire and activity, and allowing an opportunity for 
the dramatic ; but the instant selected for repre- 
sentation has been perfectly calculated, and its 
expression realised with mathematical precision in 
a fine form like a regular crystal. Here, it may be, 
lies the direction of defect. Mr. Thornycroft's 
work, in its well-understood parts, balance of form, 
and rhythm of line, is like architecture, more a pro- 
duct of the intellect tlian the lieart, and deficient in 
the expression of that ' fine frenzy ■■ wliich gives to 
great imaginings in art their soulful element of 

suggestion and mystery. But after all, this is a 
very fine kind of hair-splitting and somewliat hyper- 
critical. Hamo Thornycroft is the first of Englisli 
sculptors, and his work is worthy of careful study 
and the highest appreciation. 

The work of Sir Frederick Leighton in Sculpture 
has a certain grace of line and expression peculiai-ly 
its own, partly no doubt the outcome of the artist's 
study in the lighter freer medium of painting. 
Needless alarms is specially cliaracteristic of this 
quality. It is a dainty statuette, full of niceties of 
movement, and as airily poised as a butterfly on tlie 
tip of a flower. Sculpture is not in fashion, else 
surely this little gem now exliibited for the third 
time would ere this have found a purchaser. Tlie 
Sluggard is a work of marked distinction in style, 
intended to represent a noble youth wlio has fallen 
a prey to slothful ease. He stands lazily stretching 
his graceful limbs after a too prolonged siesta, and 
treads underfoot, symbolically, the laurels he might 
have won. Although affording a fine opportunity 
for movement and line which lias been ably treated 
in a most dignified and chaste manner, the pose 
selected is insufficiently determined in action ; it is 
too transient and trivial in character to be worthy 
of expression in a life-size bronze. This fine figure 
of a liandsome young fellow about to yawn, even 
with the help of trodden laurels, fails adequately to 
express wliat is to be inferred from the title of wasted 
hours and golden opportunities lost. For all it says 
to tlie contrary it might represent instead of a 
sluggard a sleepy victor retiring to his tent con- 
temptuous of fleeting honours. 

Mr. T. Woolner's large panel entitled Virgilia 
heicailing the banishment of Coriolanus is clearly ex- 
pressive of its sentiment, and breathes of the Greek 
spirit well understood. Virgilia mourns over the 
arms of lier absent lord, and, in tlie background, in 
low relief, he is seen cliarging in the thick of battle as 
her higli -wrought imagination has conceived. The 
^\'ork is of classic, monumental simplicity, and shows a 
thorough perception of the limitations of the medium. 

The panels of Mr. Harry Bates are very fascinat- 
ing. The breadtli and strength of handling in the 
Mneas and Dido are quite remarkable. The Homer 
is also very fine, but shows a slight overbalance to- 
wards decorative arrangements of mass and line, 
which jars somewhat on the realistic detail in the 
figure of Homer. In the spacing and placing of 
parts of the composition, the element of calculation 
is just a little too apparent, and tends to detract 



slightly from works which are the best of their kind 
recently produced in this country. 

In Mr. Lee's work in bas-relief, we find a seeking 
after the suggestion and mystery which belong 
more properly to the atmospheric envelope of the 
painter. His marble relief, No. 1519, might be 
styled impressionism in sculjitm-e, and is as futile as 
if reversely tlie painter souglit force by modelling 
on paint in likeness to the round. We sympathise 
with the vague and subtle in art, but believe that 
the strength of sculpture demanding the grasp 
of tlie master hand lies in definite form and clear 
pure idea. Shorn of all vagueness and indecision, 
tliere can be no higher test of a thought than 
sculptured form. Mr. Lees' Dmon of Womanliood 
has a certain fancifid response to its very complex 
title, such as might be found in a wordless song of 
Mendelssohn's. It is a reclining figure of a young 
girl near to womanhood. The eyes are closed, but 
the ecstatic expression of her upturned face is not of 

sleep — ratlier of consciousness ; the left arm lying 
by her side, inertly, and the right, raised to the 
head, seemed to betoken the moment of awakening 
— from the dreams of girlhood into the dawn of 

A Slave Girl, by Mr. J. Havard Thomas, is a 
life-size figure of a woman in marble ; the work is of 
the character of a materialistic study, laboriously 
careful. It is a portrait of the particular, without 
the value of a photograph as a scientific fact. It is 
naked, without a vestige of that beauty which is the 
vita] necessity of the nude in art. We cannot 
define beauty, but it is a pleasure to behold, and 
this is not. It is a pity that this artist's evident 
desire after truth and simplicity should be so per- 
verted in its expression, and so oblivious of the fact 
that what men most expect from the artist is some 
permanent expression of the swift and changeful 
life and thouglit that play around them. 



The Proposed Wallace and Bkuce Monument in Edin- 
burgh. — A sub-committee of the Edinburgh Town Council had 
under consideration yesterday a remit with reference to the 
erection of a monument to Sir William Wallace and Robert the 
Bruce, the cost of which is to be defrayed by a legacy of ^2500 
bequeathed for that purpose by Mr. Hugh Reid, a citizen of 
Edinburgh. The legacy has been accumulating, as the testator 
desired, for twenty-five years, and the proposed memorial has 
been more than once under discussion in the Council, The 
committee resolved to recommend the Council that it should be 
gone on with, and that the matter should be recommitted to 
them, to report upon the site, design, and cost. In this connec- 
tion it may be mentioned that on page 56 we publish an account 
of what has been done about the Chambers iMemorial Statue. 
We have also much pleasure in reprinting, from The British 
Architect of 20th July, part of an excellent article on the Gambetta 
Monument, from which it will be seen that 'they manage these 
things better in France.' 

At Aberdeen, on the i6th ult., there was unveiled a bronze 
statue of General Gordon, executed by the late Thomas Stuart 
Burnett, A.R.S.A. It was his last work of importance, and is 
distinguished by its expression of frank and manly character. 

In the same city the statue of Sir William Wallace, by Mr. 
W. G. Stevenson, A.R.S.A., was unveiled on the 29th ult. The 
statue is of bronze, 16 feet high, on a granite pedestal 17 feet high. 
The figure weighs about six tons, and there are upwards of two 
hundred tons of granite in the pedestal. The work has occupied 
about four years, and the artist has received ;^30oo. If not a 
successful realisation of the character of the heroic patriot, the 
statue has yet a certain decorative effect, for which the sculptor 
deserves credit. He has also overcome no inconsiderable amount 
of technical difficulty in carrying out a work of such proportions. 

The tower of the new city hall, Philadelphia, which is to be 
five hundred and thirty-five feet high, will be surmounted by a 
bronze statue of William Penn thirty-six feet high, and surrounded 
by four other figures twenty-five feet high. Than this last, it 
would be difficult to imagine anything more ridiculous. A bronze 
statue of William Penn thirty-six feet high, in seventeenth century 

costume, with its head among the clouds at an altitude qf nearly 
six hundred feet, can only be a monster oddity, useless as a por- 
trait, and without decorative beauty of form. The tower, archi- 
tecturally the main feature of the design, we may suppose, will 
have its expression of height destroyed by the figure of a man, the 
natural unit of proportion to the eye, being placed on its top on 
such an exaggerated scale. 

'Making them Look like New.' — The fine bronze group 
of a lioness and cubs in the Glasgow West End Park, the most 
artistic if not the only work of the kind in Scotland, has been 
spoiled of its effect for years to come. Only a few days ago 
we admired on it the beautiful silvery-grey and green patina 
which only time can give, and which is so much desired in all 
bronzes, and now the thing is shining in black paint and varnish 
like a new grate. It is really sad to think that the vaunted second 
city, with an International Exhibition of art in its midst, is yet in 
a position to have its best public monuments defaced by their 
keepers and almost ruined in a night. To black-paint or varnish a 
noble bronze like M. Cain's Lioness and Cubs is a vandalism 
which we would have hardly thought possible in the back settle- 
ments of America. But here it has been perpetrated in our midst, 
black and bright enough to mirror the visages of the vandals who 
did it. Doubtless we may expect suddenly to find the statues in 
George Square following in black suit, and the new municipal 
buildings to be painted before the coming of Her Majesty. But if 
they spare the hoary grey of time on the walls of the ancient 
cathedral we won't mind. 

Sculpture in America.— Sculpture is rapidly gaining ground 
in America. The erection of statues to Farragut, Lincoln, and a 
dozen other northern heroes in New York, Boston, Chicago, and 
Philadelphia, with those of Lee, Jackson, and other Confederate 
leaders in Richmond and Charlestown, has been attended with all 
the sentiment and enthusiasm that need be desired ; and just now six 
monuments of special prominence are projected or under way. One 
of the mother of Washington at Fredericksburg ; a monument to 
President Harrison ; one to Francis Scott Key at Fredrick ; one 
for Valley Forge ; and one for the battle of Point Pleasant in West 
Virginia. It is also proposed to give Brooklyn a revolutionary 
monument that will cost about ;^25,000. 





THE Town Council of Edinburgh, with a laud- 
able desire to encourage sculpture in Scotland, 
invited sixteen Scottisli sculptors to enter the com- 
petition for this Memorial. A bronze statue of the 
late Dr. William Chambers, 10 feet 6 inches, on a 
granite pedestal 15 feet high, cost not to exceed 
^1250, was specified in the invitation ; and it was 
stated that the Town Council would have tlie aid of 
an 'artist' in judging the models sent in. It might 
have been well to call in the ' artist,' not only after 
the designs came in, but before the invitations were 
sent out. Had that been done, possibly our good 
Councillors would have specified less material and 
more art for their money. 

As it is, to have the work well done may be cal- 
culated to involve an actual outlay to whoever under- 
takes the memorial of about =£"1000. Few eminent 
sculptors would take in hand a piece of work of such 
magnitude without meaning to expend on it the 
best part of a couple of years. ^^125 a year would 
therefore appear to be sonietliing like the valuation 
thus placed on art work that is to stand the criti- 
cism, not only of to-day, but of the centuries. Yet 
a leading paper bemoans the character of the work 
sent in by the six sculptors who competed. ' In 
the submitted designs,' it says, ' a plentiful lack 
of invention is displayed.' Inferences are drawn as 
to ' sculpture — or sculptors in Scotland.' 

Five of the six models sent in showed the late Dr. 
Chambers in court dress — which he probably never 
wore more than once or twice in liis life. The treat- 
ment thus indicated a timidity, or inability, to leave 
the beaten path of classical prejudice, and cope with 
the difficulties of present-day costume. Yet these 
difficulties are not insuperable, as has been demon- 
strated by the French in their recent monuments — 
the new Gambetta, for instance, and in such statues 
as St. Gaudens' Abraham Lincoln. 

That which is natural, familiar, and agreeable in 
everyday life should not, surely, be unfit or unworthy 
of representation in sculpture. It is an absurd 
fashion, this of handing down to posterity the image 
of a plain good man, wrapt in the incidental gown 
of a Lord Provost, and not in his liabit as he lived 
and moved among us. The coat and trousers cos- 
tume, marked by the action of the wearer, is not 
ineloquent of the character of the form beneath. 
But it is as difficult to model and treat as the nude 

itself: notliing short of the highest ability can give 
living interest to those stiff, dry forms. 

It has been rightly suggested that ' less material 
bulk ' would have been vehicle enough for the art 
in this case. It is preposterous to spend four-fifths 
of the price of a work of art on mere material and 
mechanical processes. The frame is important, but 
it is not the picture. It is more particularly art 
we invest in when we commission a statue, not 
blocks of stone or tons of metal. Quantity is not 
ciuality : and, notwithstanding precedent, we think 
memorial committees would in future do well to 
order no more of those huge bronzes, which are 
ratlier feats of engineering than creations of fine 
art. Even as architectural adjuncts statues from 
ten to thirty feet high are questionable things ; but 
as portraits of great men they utterly fail to strike 
that chord of human sympathy and love for which 
they are produced. 

It may be observed that when a colossal statue 
is set up, the people feel that they have discharged 
their duty to the great departed in a visible form, 
and all further interest ceases with the unveiling. 
They do not come again and again to view the 
lineaments of tlie liero and liberator, and, considering 
what manner of man he was, allow his image to jjlay 
its part in ennobling the common mind. Why ? 
Because such exaggerated forms are unhumanly big, 
and unlovable as the face of the Spliinx. 

AVhatever form numicipal connection witli art 
may take, it is right tliat in all undertakings 
of this kind the public should get the worth of 
their money. Such monuments should therefore 
be examples of the best art tliat can be got, and 
nothing less than the best. Thus they would not 
only commemorate the virtues of our citizens but 
would also record to posterity the highest level of 
art in the time and place where they are produced. 
This can never be the case until our municipalities 
seek the best art guidance available in all matters 
connected with public buildings, monuments, and 
purchases of works of art. But tliey will never do 
this unguided. It is the clear duty of artists and 
those who have knowledge of art, in some practical 
way to make their influence felt. It is the supine- 
ness and lack of public spirit of those who know 
better tliat makes possible the triumph of bourgeois 
ideals of art. 




THE statue erected to the memory of Gambetta 
in the Place du Carrousel, Paris, was unveiled 
on Saturday, 14th July, in presence of immense 
crowds. We have pleasure in calling attention to 
the following interesting and instructive remarks 
about it, which appeared in The BrU'tsh ArcMtect 
of 20th July :— 

'A model erection, it was also preceded by a 
model competition. One well fitted to fill our 
hearts with envy to hear of. Let us re-sketch an 
outline of that contest, which, it will be remem- 
bered, took place in 1884. The nation, having 
gathered an offering of some ^f'lSjOOO to the 
memory of Gambetta, designs were invited, and 
eighty-two came in. What a contrast to the 
miserable fiasco for the statues we asked for ! 

'The eighty-two projects were then publicly ex- 
hibited, and in an apartment right worthy of them 
— the great hall at tlie Ecolc des Beaux-Arts. There, 
no mere handful of journalists went to discuss them 
as a dreary task, but every lover of art in a country 
of lovers of art. Again, what a contrast ! 

' Then came the arrangements for an assessorship. 
One solitary professional man granted .'' One man, 
as a great favour, after much supplication, and on 
the sole condition that his award shall not in the 
slightest degree bind the committee of wealthy city 
butchers and bakers at the head of affairs ? No, 
no, not so. The assessorship settled upon was none 
less than the following fifteen uninipeacliable experts, 
and empowered to act with a veto supreme and 
binding : — MJ\I. Cliarles Gamier, Bailly, Guillaume, 
Paul Dubois, Chapu, Dreyfus, Spuller, Adrien 
Hebrard, Paul Strauss, Ranc, Antonin Proust, Paul 
Bert, Joseph Reinach, Castagnary, Isambert. Again, 
what a contrast ! 

' These gentlemen were then set to work, and they 
terminated the first act of the concours by a selec- 
tion of six designs for a second epreuve. They were 
those by MM. AUar and Dutert, Falguiere and 

Pajol, Aube and Boileau, Dalon and Faure Dujarrie 
Coutan and Lambert, Injalbert and Dalou. Observe 
that every one of these are partnerships, and com- 
posed, respectively in every instance, of one architect 
and one sculptor, working in combination. In no 
case a sculptor found working without his proper 
helpmate, an arcliitect. In no case (as in this 
unfortunate country) the sculptor found fancying 
himself a Michael Angelo mixture of both one and 
the other, resulting in an infatuated state of mind 
wliich has caused our squares to be filled witli 
statues stuck on to architectural accessories which 
are abortions. Again, what a contrast ! 

' And tlien, finally, came on the second round of 
tlie battle, and tlie eventful awarding of the palm 
to MM. Aube and Boileau, whose masterful idea 
was, last week, unveiled to the public. 

' One parting glance before we return to grimy 
London. We remember saying, at the outset, that 
there were some trifles about it we — with an egotism 
singular to our calling — fancied we could have done 
better, but we beg to say tliat these do not include 
one single line of the central figure of Gambetta 
himself. We have heard complaints that his podgy 
limbs, his styleless " go-to-meeting " coat, and other 
ungainly characteristics, jar on the e7isemble. We 
differ. Thirst for genuine truth of the ancient 
artists, so scantily responded to by the moderns, 
has been MM. Aube and Boileau's inspiration, and 
we have here Le'on Gambetta, represented as we 
actually knew liim in tlie flesh, to the very ungain- 
liness of his ungainly necktie. It will go down to 
posterity an actual plastic photograph of tlie actual 
man. No graceful clothes (which he never wore) 
nor finely proportioned bones (which ' he never 
possessed) have been availed of for a grand effect, 
which has, nevertheless, been obtained without any 
of these cheap and false means. 

' We wish we could say the same of many another 



R. HONEYMAN, in his able article on ' The 
Exhibiting of Architectural Drawings,' has 
struck deep at the root of the lack of interest in 
such exhibitions. If this lack of interest were 
confined to architectural drawings it would be a 
matter of comparatively little regret, as an architect 
would no more desire to have a final judgment 
passed upon his art work from a conventional 
drawing representing his building from one fixed 
point of sight, than he would desire to have his 

deportment judged by a 'carte de visite' repre- 
senting his person in one single aspect. He could 
equally well afford to dispense with both representa- 
tions, or, if you prefer it, 7?;ij-representations. The 
indifference of true lovers of art to architectural 
drawings is an unpleasant fact that architects must 
admit, with more or less reluctance, according as 
they feel it, touches their art ; but they might 
endure this neglect with calmness did it measure 
the full extent of the indifference. I fear, however. 




the evil is a deeper and more serious one — that it is 
not limited to architectural drawings, but extends 
to architecture itself. 

Before we can accept the theory that the deserted 
condition of the architectural gallery is to be wliolly 
accounted for by the absence of the buildings them- 
selves, we must be persuaded that, viere it possible 
to have them present, they would be studied by all 
true lovers of art with an interest and an affec- 
tionate regard equal to that bestowed upon the 
paintings in the adjoining galleries ; or that, in the 
places ichere they stand they are so studied and 
lingered over. I am not sanguine enough to believe 
that they are so. Do tlie various buildings that 
are within the grounds exercise this attractive 
influence ? And I seek to apply the question to 
two buildings only, which are most favourable to 
that view of the question. Is tlie Bishop's Castle 
regarded with that loving interest that a local 


building called back into life from the grave of 
past centuries might be expected to excite, were we 
to accept Mr. Honeyman''s theory ? Is the clever 
reproduction of a Dutch House, in which Van 
Houten's cocoa is dispensed, studied or lingered 
over with one tithe of the affectionate regard 

bestowed on a single picture of Maris or Israels .'' 
And yet these have much in them to attract the 
curious, a more numerous multitude than true 
lovers of art. But it may be urged that these are 
not real, that they are but representations, neither 
cleverer nor better than many of the arcliitectural 
drawings, and equally false as far as true art is 
concerned. Then surely the University Buildings 
on Gilmorehill are sufficiently real ; and how many 
of the refined and cultured men who enter its gates 
daily, study or think of it as a work of art, though 
seeing it just where it stands .'' The Royal Exchange 
is sufficiently real ; and how many of the wealthy 
merchants who pass under its noble portico regard 
it, or think of it, as a work of art ? Yet many of 
these men are art patrons, with worthy sculptures 
in their halls and exquisite paintings in their rooms, 
and who shall say they are not, many of them, true 
lovers of art ? And what shall we say of gifted 
and successful painters who are content to live in 
houses innocent of architectural art .'' or of Royal 
Academicians voting for the election of Architect 
Associates on hearsay, without a knowledge of or 
opinion concerning their art work ? Surely this, that 
even true lovers of art do not love all the arts equally ; 
and there are many reasons, technical and other, 
why architecture must always have fewer admirers 
than the sister arts of painting and sculpture. 
Architecture is their elder brother, more practical 
and hard-headed tlian they, and less lovable than 
the softer, fairer sisters. 

There seems, then, to be a weightier problem re- 
quiring solution than that Mr. Honeyman has dealt 
with, and which bears much the same relation to 
his that the substance does to the shadow. Will 
modem architecture bear the test of attractiveness 
which Mr. Honeyman applies to the exhibition of 
architectural drawings ? And if it will not, is the 
inference inevitable, ' it is falsehood that inter- 
venes '' .'' If the test and inference are true as applied 
to architectural drawings, can we escape them when 
applied to architecture ? Or, is the test unfair and 
the inference untrue in one or both cases ? 

It appears to me tliat the lack of interest taken 
in architecture, outside the profession, whether it 
be in conventional drawings or in the buildings 
themselves, is due in large measure to the absence of 
any personal identity of the arcliitect with the art- 
work he produces. The personal identity of the 
artist with his work, of the producer with the thing 
produced, is a special characteristic of modern life 
and thought. The value attached to a picture, 
attributed to a great master, is determined rather 
by the presence or absence of an authentic signature, 
than by tlie intrinsic merit of the picture itself. 



The personality of tlie architect is seldom thus 
identified with his buildings, and this has much to 
do with the lack of interest taken in them by lovers 
of art as well as by the general public. Add to this 
that a building is not the work of the architect's 
own hands in the immediate and direct sense that 
a picture or a statue is the handiwork of his brother 
artists of the brush and cliisel, and his personality 
becomes more obscure, and the interest in his work 
diminishes proportionately. "Wliy sliould not the 
architect inscribe his name on his building as the 
painter does on his canvas, or the sculptor on his 
marble and bronze ? It is done in France, and the 
French take a deeper and more real interest in 
architecture than we do. How many of those mer- 
chants or students we spoke of know the name of 
the architect of the building they frequent, or would 

be interested in remembering it though they heard 
it ? Yet one never looks at a painting or a statue 
without asking, ' Who is it by ? ' Erase the names 
from the canvases in tlie picture galleries, and how 
much of the interest vanishes with them ? 

Let me not be understood to say that by inscrib- 
ing the arcliitecfs name upon the corner of our 
buildings, general interest would at once be excited 
in architecture. The interest would not be im- 
mediate, and I have already indicated my belief that 
interest in architecture will never be so general nor 
so deep as in painting and sculpture. But I submit 
that the absence of a personal identity of the archi- 
tect with his work has much to do with the lack of 
interest in this important department of art. 




-■•«k;«3., - 

THE critic of architecture must ever have regard 
to the limitations, economic, practical, and 
constructive, under whicli the subject of his remarks 
has been produced. This is especially true in the 
case of such a work as the Exhibition buildings, 
where the temporary character of the structure, and 
the brief time available for working out the design, 
form hindrances to its artistic completeness alto- 
gether abnormal. In passing, it may be remarked 
that the first of these limitations has to a large 


extent been disregarded, the necessarily short 
existence of the building has been overlooked, 
and the design has been invested witli so much 
of a serious arcliitectural character as to consti- 
tute in itself an architectural fault. 'To what 
pui'pose is this waste ' of brick towers, painted 

arches, and plaster capitals (for once in such a cry 
the economical public and tlie architect may agree), 
seeing that wooden struts and iron ties would in 
many cases have served as well constructionally, and 
artistically would have been more consonant with 
the character of the work. 

Be this as it may, in the design and execu- 
tion of the Exhibition buildings Mr. Sellars has 
undoubtedly furnished fresh proof of his ability 
as an architect. Grave faults there are, faults 
of judgment in planning, of artistic perception 
in decoration, yet, alike in the selection of the 
style, in the general conception of the design, and 
in the elaboration of the details, the Exhibition 
shows itself the work of a clever artist. The selec- 
tion of the Oriental style of architecture as one 
which naturally lends itself to gay and fantastic 
treatment, and the logical use of it throughout all 
parts of the design, give the Exhibition a marked 
character thoroughly in keeping with its pur)30se, 
and differentiate it from all previous efforts in this 
country. At the same time, the facility with which 
its forms can be imitated in wood is a snare which 
has been only too readily fallen into to the sacrifice of 
constructional beauty and truth in design. Witness 
the great arches under the dome, which but serve to 
mask the horizontal iron girders upon which the 
whole is carried. 

The general design and grouping are in every 
way admirable ; each of the three elevations has 
been made interesting, while each has a charac- 
ter of its own. As regards the details, a very large 
amount of credit is due to the architect for the 
variety and interest with which he has treated them. 



especially when ^ve take into account tlie limitations 
of time already referred to, and the natural tendency 
in such circumstances to make one or two designs 
serve as far as possible throughout. The main 
entrance is especially well studied, with the excep- 
tion of the square blocks which serve as capitals to 
the engaged columns, and which look curiously bare 
as compared with the richness of the arch-mould- 
ings ; and the interest of this central is fully sus- 
tained by the two semi-octagon porches which 
support it on either flank. The lines of the dome 
are fine, especially when we remember that in this 
case, there being no possibility of an outer and inner 
dome, the proportion must be made to suit both. 
Tlie various minarets are characteristic 

and good. 

ferred to become regular cids-de-sac. Owing to this 
want of circulation, while this corner of the buildincr 
IS a struggling mass of people, courts in out of the 

In the interior 

we have similar evidence of study,- 

in the squinches of the dome, in the balconies placed 

in each of the brick towers, in tlie reception rooms, 

and indeed wherever detail is admissible. 

The main defect of the building we take to be its 
plan. Much has been said in favour of the grand 
longitudinal and transverse avenues as forming the 
ideal j)lan ; experience has shown, however, that such 
an arrangement inevitably produces congestion of 
traffic, and in the present instance this defect is 
heightened by the Grand Hall, itself too limited in 
accommodation, being placed at one end of the longi- 
tudinal avenue, witli direct entrance to it from the 
street, and without any adequate independent exit to 
the rest of the building — passage through the Picture 
Galleries and Women's Industries Section counting 
for nothing in a crush. For the same reason the hall 
is of little use as a passage-way, and the sections re- 

way corners lie deserted save for the attendants ; and 
if the wayfarer grows weak in his wanderings, he has 
need of a ship's compass to find the dining-rooms. 

This, however, is an architectural fault, not an 
artistic one, such as is mifortunately furnished by 
the scheme of decoration. What should liave been 
the finishing touch to a beautiful design has to a 
large extent proved its ruin, and the dome, which 
siiould have been the crowning beauty of the interior, 
is its crowning defect. Tliis may seem exaggerated 
language, but that it does not go beyond the truth 
must be felt by every one who had the opportunity 
of seeing the dome before it was touched by the 
painter, and comparing the effect it then had with 
its jiresent appearance, its ajDparent size reduced by 
one-half, its beautiful lines disguised, its dignity 
extinguished. But, we are told, it is in the style, 
as if, even were this true, it would be any excuse for 
its vulgarity and crudeness. That it is true is more 
tiian questionable ; we have never yet seen chrome 
yellow and prussian blue form the basis of an Eastern 
scheme of colour, witliout at least a larsre groundins 
of white. Moreover, where there are cool deep 
shadows to take the edge off, blazing, blurring sun- 
light to suffuse, and, over all, the flickering reflec- 
tions from the polished tile surfaces to modulate 
and vary them, colours such as these have a very 
different effect from what they produce when 
tattooed, in an uninteresting series of patterns, of 
huge scale, with ordinary oil paints, on dead dull 
boards, over a surface many hundred yards square, 
the whole rendered more emphatic by a clear un- 
interesting top light, or the glare of a ring of electric 



lamps. This exaggerated scheme of colour runs 
through nearly the whole building, and the dis- 
tressing effect is largely increased by everything 
being ' picked out ' to the last degree, so that Kiosks 
and gables and towers, which once looked beautiful 
by reason of their graceful outlines and play of 
light and shade, are now commonplace and tawdry. 
By way of contrast with all this, note tlie charming- 
effect of the main vestibule, where the tones, though 
warm and briglit, are tones and not crudities, and 

where the medium used gives a pleasant play of 
reflected light, instead of the uniform flatness 
characteristic of the rest of the painting. 

In conclusion, it may be said tliat the excellences 
of this design are many and evident : he who runs 
may read tliem not only in the building itself, but 
in the many descriptions of it in the press ; but it 
may be a good thing for architects and the public 
to recognise that we have not yet reached perfection. 

AxDEEw Hat.i,. 

Mr. JAMES SELLARS, Architect. —In the record of 
modern architectural design Glasgow has held a prominent posi- 
tion for the quality of work executed there and the ability of her 
architects. Amongst the latter we could hardly name a better 
representative than the designer of the Glasgow International 
E.xhibition Buildings. Mr. Sellars was born at Glasgow. He 
entered the office of Mr. Hugh Barclay, Glasgow, about thirty 
years ago, and there served his apprenticeship. Early in his ex- 
perience he became known to the public by the selection of his 
design for the Stewart Memorial Fountain, out of over fifty others 
from all parts of the country. This work, which commemorates 
the introduction of Loch Katrine water to the city, stands in the 
Kelvingrove Park, near the present International Exhibition, and 
has been illustrated in the Britisli Architect. It is a clever 
Gothic design of good outline and proportion, exhibiting much 
thought and careful effort. About this time Mr. Sellars entered 

the office of Mr. Campbell Douglas, and subsequently became his 
partner. In conjunction with Mr. Douglas he has carried out a 
number of important works, which have given the firm a leading 
provincial reputation, not confined to one special branch of practice, 
but including public and domestic, commercial and ecclesiastical 

We have not been slow to point out examples of modern skill 
which, to our thinking, \x\dac?At. progressive quality in architectural 
art, for in the leading these may give to contemporary students we 
must look for hopes of better things. In England we have every 
day practice of a high order in Chester, Liverpool, and Manchester, 
which places provincial work on a level with the very best which 
can be found in the metropolis, and in Glasgow and Edinburgh 
the best work is of an equally encouraging sort for the future de- 
velopment of architecture. In this development Mr. James Sellars 
has made a distinct and valuable record. — British Architect, 


The New S. S.C. Library. — ' Notwithstaiiding the reports 
and information received from professional gentlemen consulted, 
the Council of the Edinburgh S.S.C. Society have unanimously 
resolved that in their opinion the plan bearing the motto 
" Wisdom, Health, and Beauty " is entitled to the first place in 
the competition, and that the plans bearing the mottoes 
"Scottish Seventeenth Century " and "S.S.C." are entitled, the 
former to the first, and the latter to the second premium. The 
author of the plan "Wisdom, Health, and Beauty" is Mr. James 
B. Dunn. The second design is by Messrs. M'Arthy & Watson, 
and the third is by Mr. G. Washington Browne.' The fore- 
going is the account given in the newspapers, with a trifling 
alteration of our own (italicised) which makes the facts of the 
case a little clearer. The interest in architecture would appear 
to be growing-^at an alarming rate — when learned gentlemen of 
the law thus sit in judgment on the merits of art designs. 
The criticism which these learned gentlemen thus pass upon 
themselves, especially when they make awards counter to the 
awards of professional experts on art, is the aspect of the affair 
which people will notice, a legal dictum on an art question being 
a matter of no consequence. Want of space compels us to hold 
over, till next month, an article dealing with the whole subject. 

BiGGAR Parish Kirk. — Scottish art lovers and antiquarians 
have reason to be thankful for the recent decision of Lord Eraser 
in the Court of Session granting perpetual interdict against a pro- 
posed extension of Biggar Parish Kirk. The collegiate Church of 
Saint Mary was founded in I545i though parts of the structure are 
said to date from as far back as 1164. Spared by the Reformers, 
it was attacked by Vandals of later times in 1795 and 1S34, and 
has lost a west porch, sacristy, and lych gate, as well as the gilt 
oak chancel roof and organ loft. It still retains, however, its 
original cruciform disposition, with low central tower and belfry 
turret, crow-stepped western gable and embattled choir with 

trigonal apse. Scarce indeed in Scotland are such architectural 
relics, but this did not hinder a doubtless well-meaning minister 
and kirk-session, under the direction of a 'local architect,' from 
proposing to knock down the greater part of the north wall of the 
nave and the west side of the north transept in order to secure 
additional sittings. The opposition of Mr, Ralston of Loaning- 
dale and a minority of the heritors having proved ineffectual, 
recourse was had to the law-courts, and with success. It is true 
that Mr. Ralston, the champion of antiquarianism, was himself at 
first prepared with a rival set of plans, and that the decision of the 
Court seems to have been given solely on the ground of possible 
danger to the stability of the church, and not because of the 
intended barbarous interference with an ancient monument. But 
perhaps, after all, this latter circumstance is not an unmixed evil. 
The bare imagination of the ' legal mind ' setting itself to form an 
artistic judgment, is enough to make one shudder. It is not from 
Parliament or Law Court, but at the hands of artists themselves, 
that the future will require an account of those artistic relics which 
we are happy enough to possess. 

Glasgow : The Panorama of Bannockburn. — For the 
credit of Glasgow it is satisfactory that the piece of ground, in 
Sauchiehall Street, to the west of the Corporation Buildings, has 
been reclaimed from the chaotic and unsightly condition in which 
it had been standing for so many years. The building which now 
occupies the site is pleasing, both in form and colour. The colour, 
of rich red, is refreshing to the Scotch eye, too much accustomed 
to blues and greys. The style of the architecture is of the 
Renaissance, and the detail is as refined as the work always is 
which is designed by Dr. Rowand Anderson. Taken as a whole, 
the ten arcades, with their balustrade coping, and the large Pano- 
rama building proper rising behind, form a most interesting group. 
We only wish ourselves more often privileged to see such an honest 
treatment of a public building destined for a peculiar use. 




SO far as is known, the art of glass-working was 
introduced into Italy in the days of the Early 
Empire, sometime during the first century of the 
Christian era. The antique Roman civilisation was 
then in its latest and most gorgeous blossom ; it 
was the time of the banquets of Vitellius and the 
o-olden house of Nero, when every land was vexed, 
and all invention exhausted, to give a new relish to 
the pleasures that began to pall. Among the tliou- 
sand appliances of luxury it was hardly possible that 
one so obvious and delightful as the use of glass as 
an art material should be forgotten. Forgotten 

assuredly it was not ; indeed it seems to have been 
even more widely recognised and taken advantage 
of than at the present day. The Romans of tlie 
Empire, we know, had cups, basins, and platters of 
glass — they formed glass into armlets, beads, brace- 
lets, and rings. These, however, were the least 
important uses of the material, from an artistic 
point of view. When we examine the Portland 
vase, and determine, so far as possible, the enormous 
difficulties overcome to produce it, we shall more 
readily conceive the high development which, even 
at that distant period, the art of glass-working had 

This celebrated work of art was found in the 
tomb of Alexander Severus, who died in the latter 
half of the third century. The vase is composed of 
two bodies of differently coloured glass : first was 
formed a ball of blue glass, on that was imposed a 
layer of white enamel glass, then the whole was 
fashioned into a vase, as yet entirely without decora- 
tion. At this stage it was merely a vessel of white 

glass with an internal surface of blue. But the 
glass-cutter, with his rapidly revolving wheel, carved 
away the glass from the surface, and as the white 
layer was removed, the blue beneath began to appear, 
and thus was produced an elaborate gradation of 
light and shade. JosiaJi Wedgwood, referring to 
this vase, said, ' It is apparent the artist has availed 
himself very ably of the dark ground in producing 
the perspective and distance required by cutting the 
white away nearer to the ground, as the shades 
were wanted deeper, so that the white is often cut 
to the thinness of paper, and in some instances quite 
away, and the ground itself makes a part of the bas- 
relief — by which means he has given to his work the 
effect of painting as well as sculpture ; and it will 
be found that a bas-relief, with all the figures of a 
uniform white colour upon a dark ground, will be a 
very faint resemblance of what this artist has had 
tlie address to produce by calling in the aid of 
colour to assist his relief^ It is needless to say that 
the mere production of two bodies of glass, which 
would coalesce firmly without subsequent fracture, 
would require a glass-maker thoroughly cognisant 
of his art. 

But the Portland vase is not the only relic of its 
kind and age. In the National Museum at Naples 
are many fragments of cameo glass ; and besides we 
have the Auldjo and Alexandrian Vases, botli of 
similar fabrication. No doubt the skill displayed 
in these and like fabrics was largely acquired by 
antecedent practice in the carving of chalcedony, 
onyx, and rock crystal, whicli were lavishly used by 
the Romans in mural and other decoration. Rock 
crystal, in particular, prior to the general introduc- 
tion of glass, was cut, carved, and polished into 
vessels possessing remarkable whiteness and great 

Roman glass in its outline possesses all the charac- 
teristic feeling of classical art ; if we compare it 
with Venetian ware we at once perceive how distinct 
and dissimilar are the forms. In the Kelvingrove 
Museum, Glasgow, may be seen a small case of 
Roman glass consisting of amphora;, basins, cups, 
lachrymatories, and bottles. The amphorae are so 
much corroded, that to a casual observer they have 
more the appearance of clay or stone, than of glass. 
There is a small basin partially corroded, but where 
the surface is intact it shows the beautiful pearly- 
iridescent lustre so peculiar to old glass. The 
lachrymatories are entirely corroded. This case of 
glass is peculiarly interesting, but it is hardly 
admissible to compare it with otlier ware, or assume 
it as a standard. A more valuable collection 



is the one made in the neighbourhood of Rome 
by the Earl of Northesk, and presented in 1877 
to the Museum of Science and Art in Edin- 
burgh. This museum also contains the valuable 
collection of antique glass formed by M. Piot of 
Paris. From an examination of all extant remains 
of antique glass we are permitted to conclude that 
the Romans were adepts at staining, enamelling, 
glass-cutting, blowing, and casting ; they had glass 
in their windows, they walked on pavements of 
mosaic glass, their walls were empanelled with glass. 
The majority of amphone distributed throughout 
the country show great beauty of form, while 
lachrymatories and smaller vessels are delicately 
wrought and not inartistic. But, when Rome from 
the brilliant and luxurious period of the empire 
descended into a state of semi-barbarism, the art of 
glass-working was lost, and revived in Italy only 
with the Renaissance. 

TH£ OVKE of- 

In Venetian glass is breathed throughout the true 
spirit of the great art revival of Italy. In it we 
find embodied that harmony and simplicity, the 
first expression of an awakened sympathy for the 
beautiful. Glass-working is peculiarly an Italian 
art, and the Venetians are entirely its masters. In 
their hands it is sometimes simple, plain, and light 
as air ; at other times rich, bold, and brilliant, 
trained and woven into a thousand adventurous 
shapes. Various theories have been put forward as 
to the exact period at which glass-working began to 
be practised in Venice ; but it was in tlie thirteenth 
century that it first attracted attention, as is 

evidenced by decrees of the Council of the Re- 
public. The sixteenth century, however, is the 
period marking the real rise of the art. The glass 
of this period is remarkable for lightness and 
purity of material, for delicacy of treatment and 
beauty of form. In the liands of the skilled artist 
its plastic and pliable nature permitted him to 
fashion it into the most intricate lines witli facility. 
In earlier times, on the other hand, it was some- 
what difiicult to obtain glass of absolute purity, 
and beauty of outline therefore is the only merit 
tlie early glass lays claim to. But as the art pro- 
gressed, like the old heraldic shields in wliich 
bordures, bars, and bosses, while playing their 
heraldic part, at the same time strengthened the 
shield — so the glass of Venice blossomed out into 
ornamental handles, flowers, rosettes, masks, etc., 
but all primarily affixed for strength. 

Venetian glass possesses various distinct styles 
and methods, though often in one piece all styles 
are combined. Of these various types mille-fiore 
began to be produced in Venice about the end of 
the fifteenth century. In this process long ' canes ' 
of glass are formed, in the centre of which there is 
a pattern, and when the cane is broken, the pattern, 
running all through the length of it, becomes 
visible. Small cubes are then broken from these 
coloured canes, and enclosed within two surfaces 
of glass ; the air between is exhausted ; the whole 
is reheated and rendered homogeneous and finally 
fashioned into a vase or bottle. Examples of this 


type may be met \\ith, in almost any stationers, in 
the round polished paperweights, in the interior of 
which are clustered little groups of flowers. There 



is every reason to believe that niille-fiore was derived 
from a study of the Roman ware. Specimens of 
botli Roman and Venetian mille-fiore are to be seen 

in South Kensington Museum. 

\'itro-di-trina was produced about the beginning 
of the sixteenth century, and, like the preceding 
process, has a Roman origin. Vessels of this 
method are laced with lines of white or coloured 
glass, dexter and sinister-wise, and between the 
intersections of these lines a tiny bell of air is 
confined. The ware is fashioned after this manner : 
first is formed a cup of glass, on the surface of 
which are raised lines or threads of glass running 
slanting from right to left. Another cup is 
fashioned in tlie same manner, but it is turned 
inside out, and then placed over the first cup. The 
raised lines running in opposite directions prevent 
the two surfaces of glass coming together closely, 
the air also becomes heated and expands between 
the intersections, and the ware has the appearance 
of being studded all over with drops of dew. 

Latticinio, or filligrane, is but a simpler form 
of vitro-di-trina. Tliis ware has white or coloured 

Uowvrt. ?^r\f. 

lines, spiral, plaited, etc., winding through the 
body of it ; dexterity and skill never overpower the 
character of 'fineness' expressed in the purity and 
delicacy of the glass. 

Crackle ware has the appearance of being 
' frosted.' The mass ere it is fashioned is dipped 
suddenly into cold water, the hot glass is instantly 

cooled and becomes cracked throughout its mass. 
It is then carefully reheated and becomes again 
homogeneous, the surface alone being crackled. 

Sanded-gold ware has the surface powdered, as it 
were, with gold. The glass, ere it is fasliioned, has 
a leaf of gold applied to the surfsice, and the whole 
is suddenly distended; the gold being drawn asunder 
expands with tlie glass, and the space between each 
molecule is increased, giving the vessel its poudree 

Avanturine glass has a sparkling iridescent lustre, 
obtained by the reduction of the copper and iron 
oxides added, tliough in the earliest specimens 
metallic copper alone appears to have caused this 

Schmelze is an opaque coloured glass, and is often 
a mixture of various colours. The intention in 
Schmelze was originally to imitate chalcedony and 
otlier hard crystals, but the term is now applied to 
any opaque coloured glass. 

The foregoing are the most common of the early 
processes, but the mille-fiore, vitro-di-trina, and 
latticinio are the methods on which all the marvels 
of dexterity are based. The beauty of sixteenth 
century glass is due to a great extent to the con- 
sonance of form with the character of the material. 
The glass is light, thin, ductile, and pliable, and all 
these qualities are expressed in the form of the ware. 
The lines are delicate, winding, and sinuous, and ■ 
the whole form is generally expressive of lightness 
and ease. In the seventeenth century, however, 
the true feeling of the art was lost, and artists 
devoted their attention to displaying skill and dex- 
terity alone, putting these in tlie place of beauty of 
character. The simplicity, lightness, and delicacy 
of the early ware were abandoned, and in the 
eighteenth century England, France, and Bohemia 
drove the glass of Venice from its own market. 

To Dr. Salviati belongs tlie honour of instituting 
tlie revival of glass-working in Venice. The modern 
art is based entirely on a study of the best examples 
of early glass, and in many cases surpasses its model. 
Dr. Salviati recognised the fact that the form of 
the glass was its principal beauty, as by its means 
colour and thinness were alone displayed ; so col- 
lecting specimens of the best early glass he en- 
deavoured to accustom the eye of the workman to 
the best types of beauty, and with no mean measure 
of success. Oscar Patekson. 




THIS accomplished etcher and true artist, who died 
on <)th June last, was born at Dijon in 1S42. 
His artistic sympathies manifested themselves at an 
early age, and, while still quite young, he left Dijon 
and studied in Paris. His genius was not long in 
discovering for itself the direction in which it could 
best develop its powers. About 1865 he took up 
etching as the serious employment of his life, and his 
success as an etcher has been so great as to quite over- 
shadow his power as a painter. But those who have 
seen examples of his skill in both oil and water-colour 
painting know well that his own original work pos- 
sessed all the qualities of distinction that are the 
outcome of artistic feeling, added to cultured judg- 
ment and taste. 

Rajon first appeared in the Salon in 18()5, with a 
drawing — ' Portrait of Mdlle. C But it was his first 
important plate, ' Rembrandt,' etched after Meissonier, 
that made his reputation. Critics recognised at once 
the seriousness, the simplicity, and the power of his 
work, and his position as one of the best aqua-fortistes 
of the day was gained at a bound. At the Salon he 
gained two medals in 186".Q and 1870, and in 1873 a 
medal of the second class for his ' Fumeur flamand,' 
after Meissonier. In the great Paris International 
Exhibition of 1878 there was a collection of his 
principal plates, and for these he was awarded another 
medal of the second class. 

In 1872 Rajon paid his first visit to England, and 
was afterwards frequently in London. He engraved 
many admirable plates for the ' Portfolio,' whose editor, 
Mr. Hamerton, has always been a warm admirer of his 
genius. Induced by the appreciation shown of his 
work across the Atlantic, Rajon of late years made 

several visits to the United States, but his permanent 
home was at Anvers sur Oise, where he loved to dwell 
amid the soothing sounds and sights of Nature. 

Rajon also paid a visit to Scotland, and with his 
friend, Mr. George Reid, R.S.A., went to Edinburgh 
and Aberdeen. Among his chalk drawings and pastels 
are his fine head of Sarasati — a mastei-piece of skilful 
drawing — and a portrait of the daughter of Mr. Forbes 
White of Aberdeen. 

Rajon was devoted to his country and fought bravely 
in the army of defence during the first siege of Paris. 
His nature was generous, fi-ank, and spiritual. Charm- 
ing in manner, unaffected and kindly, he well deserved 
the success that crowned his earnest labours. For 
some time his health had not been of the best, but his 
death (on yth of June) was quite unexpected, and was 
the direct result of an attack of acute pleurisy. 

There is a fine simplicity in Rajon's work — a simpli- 
city and directness that flow from consummate know- 
ledge and from complete command of all the resources 
of his art. His etchings are absolutely free from 
vulgarity and from all forced effects. He was a master 
of light and shade, and understood well the power of 
the line. He threw- himself into entire sj'mpathy with 
his originals, and endeavoured to interpret faithfully 
their meaning and spirit. His work is the result of an 
artist's hand, guided by an artist's brain and heart. 
He is one of the most notable of the great etchers 
whom the latter-day revival of the Art of Etching has 
produced in France. 

Rajon's fine collection of works will, by his express 
desire, be sold in London, and his old friend Monsieur 
Thibandeau will prepare the catalogue. 

Robert Walker. 


MEMORIAL CATALOGUE op the French and 
Dutch Loan Collection, Edinburgh Interna- 
tional Exhibition, 1886. Edinburgh: Printed 
at the University Press by T. & A. Constable, 
and published by David Douglas, 1888. 

This book is a worthy memento of a noble Art 
Exhibition. Dealing with Art it partakes so thor- 
oughly of the spirit of its subject that, as a book, it is 
itself a work of art. It is beautifully printed on heavy 
hand-made paper. The folio page admits of the con- 
venient insertion of numerous etchings and sketches, 
which are thus done full justice to by handsome mar- 
gins. The book consists of A Note on Romanticism 
short Biographies of the Painters, and Descriptions of 
the Pictures, by William Ernest Henley ; six Etchings 

by Zilcken, and eight by William Hole, with the addi- 
tion of one by B. J. Blomraers, all on full-page plates. 
Fifty-four Sketches are printed in the te.xt. 

All the Etchings are good, and some of them ai'e 
specially fine. We are enabled to give our readers a 
specimen in one of the plates issued with this number of 
the Scollish Art Review — Corot's 'Evening in Normandy,' 
etched by Mr. William Hole. It shows that sympa- 
thetic and intelligent power of translation so vital to 
good etching. The spirit of Corot's work has been 
caught and feelingly rendered. Mr. Hole's etching of 
'The Hunt,' by Rousseau, is particularly fine, impressively 
conveying the very spirit of the small but yet great 
picture which it represents. The plates from the 
works of Jacque and James and Matthew Maris are 
also specially noteworthy ; while the one after Monti- 



celli is surpassingly fine, interpreting, as it does, with 
a success one could hardly have hoped for in an etch- 
ing, the wealth of colour and peculiar glamour of that 
remarkable painter's work. The plates by M. Zilcken 
show power in dealing with the resources of etching as 
etching. Their technical grasp is effective in the pre- 
sentment of certain works — for instance, the picture 
by Mauve. But on account of Mr. Hole's frank self- 
surrender, and evident desire simply to render sympa- 
thetically the qualities of works in which feeling is the 
dominant molif, his etchings have a subtle charm tran- 
scending all technicalities. Alike in inception and 
execution, therefore, they are thoroughly in sympathy 
with the spirit of Romanticism in Art. 

The focusing of so much good work of this kind in 
the volume under notice not only forms a peculiarly 
satisfactory memorial of the exhibition the book 
commemorates, but it should also stimulate others to 
emulation, and result in turning the efforts of some of 
our artists into a useful and beautiful direction. The 
poor we have always with us, in art as in life ; in the 
nature of things the comparatively few fine pictures 
the world contains cannot be the property of many 
persons, nor can they be continually accessible. 
Therefore art can perform no kindlier office than in 
adequately transfusing the spirit of such works into 
foi-ms that bring them within general reach, thus mak- 
ing possible the gracious presence of art of a high 
order in the homes and in the lives of many. No less 
for their intrinsic worth than for this reason these 
etchings are therefore especially welcome. 

The sketches printed in the text show Mr. Hole's 
efforts in another direction, wherein he has not been 
so successful as with the copper. Tlie work in these 
sketches is mostly ' tight ' — as if the artist had been 
troubled in using his material. Going beyond mere 
outline translation of the works sketched, they attempt 
to give light and shade without suggesting the tonality 
of the pictures from which they are taken. As line 
sketches they go too fai-, and as light-and-shade 
sketches they are not treated in a way to make suc- 
cess possible. With a few exceptions — notably that 
of an excellent sketch of a picture by Israels, on 
p. 103, — they fail to catch the spirit of the works they 
are intended to indicate. An etching by M. Zilcken, 
printed in the text on p. 130, is also a good example 
of slight treatment adequately conveying the spirit of 
the picture sketched. 

Turning to the letterpress, Mr. Henley's Note on 
Romanticism introduces the subject to the reader. It 
is chiefly the Romantic movement in literature that is 
dealt with. The field surveyed is a large one. As 
the result of wide research a myriad of facts are col- 
lated and compared, and deductions are made from 
them. The whole is presented to the reader in a 
well-ordered way, and in a literary style admirably 
lucid and pointed. Yet having regard to the wealth 
of noble works of which he required to treat in dealing 

with the Loan Collection, it is disappointing that Mr. 
Henley should thus linger on the threshold of the 
subject. Especially is this felt when, after peiiisal of 
so much information more or less gennane to the 
matter in hand, it is found that there has not been 
laid down in the foi-m of a handy definition a clear 
statement of the nature of Romanticism in Alt. This 
would have been practically useful in entering on con- 
sideration of the pictures of the Romantic Painters of 
France and Holland, which formed the collection under 
notice. It is precisely by such means that Literature 
may throw upon the sister arts that side-light which is 
the only raison-d' etre of any writing on art. In this 
respect Mr. Henley's thirty-six folio pages contain less 
of practical value than do the following pregnant 
sentences by Professor Sidney Colvin on the distinction 
between Romantic and Classical Art : — 

It is a distinction much less of subject than of treatment, 
although to some subjects the one mode of treatment may be more 
appropriate, and to some the other. ... In classical art every 
idea is called up to the mind as nakedly as possible, and at the 
same time as distinctly ; it is exhibited in white light, and left 
to produce its effect by its own unaided power. In romantic art, 
on the other hand, all objects are exhibited as it were through a 
coloured and iridescent atmosphere. . . . The temper, again, of 
the romantic artist is one of excitement, while the temper of the 
classical artist is one of self-possession. No matter what the 
power of his subject, the classical artist does not fail to assert his 
mastery over it and over himself, w'hile the romantic artist seems as 
though bis subject were ever on the point of dazzling and carrying 
him away. On the one hand there is calm, on the other hand 
enthusiasm : the virtues of the one style are strength of grasp, with 
clearness and justice of presentment : the virtues of the other style 
are glow of spirit, with raagic and richness of suggestion. 

Mr. Henley says that craftsmanship is the strong 
point of the romantic artists. The opposite is surely 
the case, both in literary and pictorial art of this 
school. Byron, whom Mr. Henley justly places in 
the front rank among romantic writers, produces his 
effects not because of good, but in spite of indif- 
ferent technique. Gainsborough in his day was a 
romantic painter as compared with classical Sir 
Joshua, par excellence the stylist of English art. Yet 
untutored Gainsborough produced works that evoked 
Sir Joshua's admiration for the very fact that, in 
spite of technical deficiency, they achieved results 
quite equal to those of the accomplished Sir Joshua. 

Passing from the Note on Romanticism to tiie rest 
of the literary part of the book, the sense of disappoint- 
ment felt on concluding the Note is all but wholly 
counteracted by the admirable character of the short 
Biographies of artists. Mr. Henley's comprehensive 
grasp of facts and felicity of literary presentment have 
here produced excellent results, in the way of succinct 
narrative in which much is related and more suggested. 
But, besides this, in these Biographies fine discrimina- 
tion and judgment are shown in 'placing' the various 
men. Here is a specimen from the note on Millet, 
of which we would gladly quote the whole did space 
permit : — 



Millet left Paris for Barbizon (1849). ... He returned to the 
ideals of his youth, and became, by swift and easy stages, the epic 
painter of rusticity. At Barbizon, where he laboured till his 
death, he produced that long line of masterpieces in which the 
new capacities of landscape, the conquests of Rousseau and 
Diaz and Constable, are found in combination with an heroic 
treatment of the figure. This development was Millet's work, 
and remains perhaps his chief contribution to pure art. ... To his 
fellow-craftsmen his work must always present extraordinary 
interest ; for, while his gift was immense, and his accomplishment 
in its way unrivalled, there have been few whose study of reality 
has been more searching and profound, and few the record of 
whose observations is so charged with brain-stuff and so pregnant 
with significance. But he did not work for his fellow-craftsmen 
alone. He has touched the scenes of that ' epic in the flat,' which 
was his legacy to time, with a dignity, a solemn passion, a quality 
of fatefulness, a sense of eternal issues, which lift him to the 

neighbourhood of Michelangelo and Beethoven, and make his 
achievement, like theirs, the possession of all mankind. 

Until this Memorial Catalogue appeared, it was 
not generally regarded as possible to do such book- 
work without going to Paris or elsewhere for it. But 
the book itself attests what can be done by determina- 
tion, enterprise, and good taste among ourselves. It 
is in its own line the finest thing of the kind yet pro- 
duced in this country. Indeed it is more than merely 
that, for it is a new departure altogether. It is worthy 
to take rank with the best art books produced on the 
Continent. Its get-up reflects honour on all who have 
had to do with it. M.-vc aulay Stevenson. 


The National Association for the Advancement of 
Art. — The first meeting of 'The National Association for the 
Advancement of Art and its Application to Industry ' will be held 
in Liverpool in November of this year, and it is contemplated to 
hold future Congresses in other great centres of industry and manu- 
facture. The Congress will be divided into sections, dealing with 
Painting, Sculpture, Applied Art, History and Museums, and the 
National and Municipal encouragement of Art. This last, but 
most important section, is to be under the presidency of the Right 
Hon. A. J. Mundella, M.P., with P. H. Rathbone, Esq., as 
secretary. Messrs. Alma-Tadema, Alfred Gilbert, and Walter 
Crane preside over the sections devoted to Painting, Sculpture, 
and Applied Art. On the immense power of such an influential 
association to promote and further the interests of Art in this 
country, it is not necessary for us to make any comment. Steps 
should be taken to secure its holding a Congress in Scotland at as 
early a date as is found suitable. For we feel certain that a meeting 
here would be productive of benefit. As is now pretty generally 
known, the idea of such an association emanated from the Liverpool 
Art Club, and, as it received great encouragement from the Mayor 
and many of the most influential citizens of that city, a public meet- 
ing was held in the Town Hall, and an executive council appointed, 
with the object of holding an Art Congress in Liverpool, for the 
purpose of bringing together those interested in the subject, and 
the furtherance of schemes likely to promote the interests or diffuse 
a knowledge of Art. At a later meeting in the Duke of West- 
minster's house in London, there was formally inaugurated a per- 
manent Association for the advancement of Art, somewhat on the 
lines of the British Association for the advancement of Science. 
Looking at the influence which the British Association has exerted 
on the development of Science and Inventions, we cannot but 
expect a future of great usefulness for the new society. 

A Practical School for Ilujstrative Artists. — It is 
proposed by the directorate of the Graphic to found a school for 
artists, who will be instructed in the different methods of produc- 
ing black and white drawings, most suitable for engraving on 
wood, or for the different processes now employed for illustrations 
here and on the Continent. Candidates for admission to the school, 
who must not be more than twenty-five years of age, will be required 
to submit a set of original sketches of figure subjects ; consisting 
either of scenes of actual events, portraits from life, drawings from 
animals, or humorous sketches. Studies from still life, the 
antique, or landscape sketches will not, however, be received. 
No premium will be required, but the students will be chosen 
according to the merit of the drawings submitted, and after selec- 
tion they will have a fortnight's trial before being definitely 
accepted. The instruction from capable masters will be free, but 
the students must find their own materials and share the expense 

of models. We trust this new educational undertaking may be 
productive of good results. 

The National Gallery, London. — The Annual Report 
for the year 18S7 has been issued as a Parliamentary paper. 
The Trustees and Director have renewed their application to the 
Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty's Treasury, urging them to 
reconsider the question of restoring, either wholly or in part, the 
annual Parliamentary grant to the National Gallery for the pur- 
chase of pictures (suspended since 1885), and suggesting that at 
least the yearly sum paid by the public for admission on students' 
days (which may be estimated at ;f 1200, as well as the profits 
derived from the sale of catalogues, might be placed at the dis- 
posal of the Trustees for the purpose above mentioned. Although 
their Lordships were unable to accede to this request, they under- 
took to sanction an advance of ;^2000 from the Civil Contingencies 
Fund for the purchase of pictures in 18S7-88, should an oppor- 
tunity occur of expending that sum with advantage to the Gallery. 

The Panorama of Bannockburn, Glasgow.— A panorama 
of this kind is a novel thing in Scotland. It is so much beyond 
any panorama that has been shown here — indeed, it is so entirely 
difl'erent — as to approach, if it does not reach, certain of the 
qualities of a work of art. The best part of it is the landscape. 
The figures of the opposing hosts battling with each other are not 
quite satisfactorily enveloped in the same atmosphere as the land- 
scape. This detracts from the sense of naturalness. While the 
scene appears real, the warriors look like the painted men they 
are. Nevertheless the action is good, and a fine idea of the 
memorable struggle is conveyed by the representation. From an 
art point of view it is specially on the landscape we have to com- 
ment. At the present time there is a great deal of nonsense talked 
about men * painting with a foreign accent,' because many of the 
more earnest of the younger artists of this country go abroad, to 
Paris and elsewhere, to be disciplined in the craftsmanship of their 
art, where teaching is done thoroughly, and at moderate expense. 
Wiseacres tell them to look rather to the noble examples of 
the Scottish or the English School, as the case may be — our 
artists are to be ' national,' and 'individual,' etc. Well, here, in 
this Panorama of Bannockburn, is a Scottish scene — a ' national ' 
scene — painted by a foreigner, who, we are bound to say, has 
surpassed in sense of naturalness the work of men who are popu» 
larly supposed to be the leading landscape painters of the day in 
our own country. There is more truth of feeling in Mr. Flei- 
scher's panorama than there is in many of the works of Mr. Peter 
Graham and Mr. Vicat Cole. Why? Because, having been well 
trained in the painter's craftsmanship where training is thorough 
and not left to hap-hazard, Mr. Fleischer has been able to come to 
this country and beat our popular painters on their own ground. 




' He whose deepest feelings are not touclied by the power of 
music can never hope to arouse the sympathies of others with his 

' A performer can never get near to the hearts of his hearers if 
his own heart be not truly in his performance.' — C. Ph. E. Bach. 

WHEN on one occasion Lablache, the celebrated 
singer, was asked what he considered abso- 
lutely essential to the formation of a great artist, 
he replied, 'Each of these three qualifications is 
indispensable, viz. firstly, voice ; secondly, voice ; 
thirdly, voice." Although this answer may be 
regarded as only a witticism, yet it is not without a 
considerable measure of truth. Like Lablache, who 
merely desired to express that without a genuine 
foundation of voice no one could become a great 
singer, no matter how musically gifted and educated, 
one might reply, if asked tlie question, what are the 
essentials of a good accompanist, firstly, he must be 
genuinely musical ; secondly, he must be genuinely 
musical ; thirdly, he must be genuinely musical. 
But as neither the reader of these pages nor the 
editor would be satisfied with this laconic answer, I 
will look at the question a little closer, and try to 
make a few suggestions on the points I consider to 
be most important, as it would be impossible to 
exhaust the whole subject in this paper. In the 
first place, it is scarcely necessary nowadays to 
refer to tlie necessity for a good technical education, 
as good piano executants are becoming so general 
that even Schubert's 'Erl Konig' or Lowe's more 
difficult ballads would present no insuperable diffi- 
culty to the average player. On the other hand, 
the art of transposing is not sufficiently studied. It 
is as indispensable for the accompanist to be able to 
transpose as it is for him to possess the requisite 
execution, as he may at any time be called upon to 
play a song a tone lower on account of sudden indis- 
position or temporary embarrassment on the part 
of the singer. When it is only required to trans- 
pose the song half a tone lower or higher tlie diffi- 
culty is not great. For example, transposing from 
E Flat to E Major may be accomplished by substi- 
tuting four sharps for three flats, and reading, dur- 
ing the course of the song, a sharp for a natural, a 
double sharp for a sharp, and a natural for a flat. 
Should there be little modulation this is compara- 
tively simple, but, in tlie case of transposing a whole 
tone or a tliird, certainty can only be attained by a 
clear knowledge of harmony, coupled with self- 
possession and natural aptitude. The public, as a 
rule, has very little idea of the difficulties which 
have been successfully overcome by the pianist, or 

' Jiights of translation and repr 

some of its applause might be reasonably vouchsafed 
to him, instead of being reserved entirely for the 
singer. Those who are quite familiar with the alto 
and tenor clefs will find the following suggestions 
of some assistance : — In order to transpose a whole 
tone higher, suppose we substitute the alto clef for 
the G clef, and play an octave higher. Taking an 
example from Scluibert's ' Morgengruss.' 




In order to transpose from C Major to D Major, let 
us adopt the method, and read thus : — 


This gives the following result : — 

To transpose a third lower we can substitute tlie 
tenor clef, and in like manner read an octave 
liiglier, thus : — 


r i 

\\ith the following result : — 

XT p ■ I 

With the bass it is only necessary to use the alto 
L-lef, and play an octave lower thus : — 





' tower 

For the sake of practice other examples may be 
thought out by the student anxious to gain pro- 

■oduction of this article are reseii'ed. 



ficiency in transposing. Tliese accomplishments, 
liowever, are of a pui-ely technical nature, and 
although absolutely necessary to the acquirement 
of the art of accompanying, do not in themselves 
confer the power of sympathetic playing any more 
than the possession of a thorough knowledge of 
liarmony, and the laws of composition will enable 
one to produce great compositions. The indifferent 
manner in which even successful virtuosi accompany 
songs has often been a subject of remark, and for 
this reason I will now consider some of tlie more 
subtle requirements of the art. 

In the first instance, the pianist should have a 
thorough understanding with the singer as to his 
reading of the song, especially in regard to changes 
of tempo and dramatic effects, in order that in his 
accompaniment he may furtlier ex23ress the sentiment 
to be conveyed, and assist in emphasising the 
emotional expression of the words. 

An accompaniment whicli is only an unobtrusive, 
shadowy undercurrent of sound, varying from piano 
to pianissimo, instead of assisting the singer in the 
expression of the emotional feeling and dramatic 
significance of the song, only hampers and weakens 
him. An artist chooses tones and colours in har- 
mony with the subject of his painting ; be the 
motive bright and gay, or sad and sombre, the sur- 
roundings and background are treated in sympathy, 
and in like manner the accompaniment should 
reflect the varying sentiment of the song. A clear 
and sure harmonic support, with distinct funda- 
mental bass, is necessary throughout. Take, for 
example, the simple accompaniment of Mendelssohn's 
' Auf Flligeln des Gesanges.'' Here it is of primary 
importance to render the rising arpeggios softly and 
smoothly, so as not to make the changing of the 
hands apparent, and yet with sufficient subdued 
fulness of tone to afford a perfectly solid support to 
the voice part. A monotonous whispering accom- 
jianiment gives no assistance to the singer, but 
rather renders him nervous, and is quite as objection- 
able as a continual hammering forte, which is, of 
course, barbarous. Where tlie composer has given 
practical indications of expression, the player must 
follow these implicitly, and where these fail, his 
own knowledge must suggest where tlie piano part 
requires special emphasis, even in some cases to being 
more prominent than the voice. In addition to this 
the player should make himself thoroughly con- 
versant with the words of the song, so that he may 
be ready to almost anticipate the varying shades of 
feeling expressed by the voice. When there are 
several verses set to the same melody, the accom- 
panist must exercise great care to vary the expres- 
sion of the accompaniment in keeping with the words 

of each verse. Taking again the song ' Auf Flligeln 
des Gesanges,' in order to render impressively the 
words, ' Heimlich erziihlen die Rosen,' I would reduce 
the accompaniment to the most perfect /)m«m-.$w«o 
which the piano can produce, whereas, at the begin- 
ning of this same verse I would not play very softly. 
At the words, ' In der Feme rauschen des heiPgen 
Stromes WelFn,' a peculiar but subdued impression 
on the low note in the bass is most effective, and in 
bars six and seven from the end, the E flat in the 
right hand should have a deep, dreamy effect. An 
accented minim will not do this alone, and ' der 
selige Traum ' must somehow be embodied in this 
one note. Taking another example in Lowe's 
ballad, the ' Niick,' the arpeggio C major chord after 
the words, ' Komm wieder Niick ! und singe schon,' 
must not be a sharp, rhythmical prosaic chord 
played anyhow, but the performer must convey in 
these little notes all that tlie poet says in the 
words — 

' Da tont des Nocken Haifenschall, 
Und weiter stelit der Wasserfall, 
Umschwebt mit Schaum und Wogen 
Den Nock im Regenbogen.' 

I remember well the first occasion on which I 
accompanied this song at sight, finding myself in a 
dilemma as to how these notes were to be played. 
Not until I afterwards discovered what Lowe really 
meant by these three bars, did I clearly conceive 
how they should be rendered. They sliould be 
played on the piano so as to give as nearly as 
possible the impression of a tender pianissimo C 
major chord on the horns, accompanied by an 
equally soft arpeggio on the harp. A good accom- 
panist must also clearly understand how to bring 
out the small points of tone colour, which a com- 
poser often introduces into his accompaniments. 
In Lowe's ' Heinrich der Vogler,' at the ninth 
bar, the notes must be played in such a manner as 
to suggest the lark and the nightingale, while the 
passage, ' da schwenken sie die Fiilinlein bunt,' 
must be rendered in quite an opposite way. At 
this latter point also the composer has written a 
'forte,' and further on a 'crescendo.' This effect 
will best be obtained by short accented chords, 
played in such a way as to bring them out in relief 
from the other notes. Here also the pianist must 
exercise great caution in the use of the pedal, taking 
care that the harmonies in no way interfere with 
the progression of the voice part. I would suggest 
as an excellent study of accompaniment Lowe's 
' Ballad Cyclus '— ' Der Mohrenfurst,' ' Die Mohren- 
furstin,' and ' Der Mohrenfurst auf der Messe.' In 
these songs the immense wealth of Oriental imagery, 
the rich glowing colour and variety of poetic simile. 



rccjuire Lliat the jilayur must exert tlie full j)()vver of 
his imagination to interpret the composer's inten- 
tions. The loud clang of the cymbals, the low soft 
light of the glow-worm, the mighty tusk of the 
elephant dasliing the hunter to the earth, the roaring 
of the desert lions, the distant battle-call, the wild 
whirl of the flying liorsemen, have all been expressed 
liy the coinposer\s wondrous nuisica! colour. The 
player, however, nuist enter fully into the spirit 
of the compositions, and be able to bring out the 
battle-call on tlic piano while keeping in perfect 
sympathy with such a jjassage as ' Augen und 
Blumen schliessen sich zu,' and ' Ihr Busen schwillt 
vor Angst empor.' I shall not take it amiss if this 
last piece of effusiveness be read with a smile and 
a sh.'xke of the head. Some persons will be sure to 
tiiink it fanciful, and even ridiculous, to s])eak about 
imitating the clang of cymbals or tlie song of the 

nightingale on the pianoforte ; but those who have 
heard Liszt, Rubinstein, or Blilow, will be inclined 
to admit that these artists have succeeded in 
bringing more than pian()forte effects out of their 
instrument. To a large extent one may suggest 
the clianmter, though not the tone, of different 
orchestral instruments, and it is of great importance 
to bear this in mind when accompanying on the 
piano songs which have originally been written for 
orchestral accompaniment. In conclusion, however, 
I repeat that he who would be a proficient in this 
art must make music his mother-tongue. Nay, 
more, — he must understand the language of music 
better than any other language in the world, and 
besides this, he must be possessed of genuine poetic 


VM\vzK,,July 9, iS 

Cahi. Rkinkcke. 



Oi'EiiA AT Munich, on Friday, 29tii .June 1888. 

IS it desirable or not that the juvenile works of 
the great masters of our period be produced 
on the stage .? This question has been the subject 
of earnest — nay, passionate — -discussion here and 
elsewhere, in so far as it applies to Richard 
Wagner's two early operas — Das L'lebesverbot, 
which, written in 1834, only lived through one 
performance, and Die Feen (The Fairies), composed 
in 1833, which up to Friday night tlie 29th of 
June 1888 was never performed at all. The great 
composer himself certainly has negatived the above 
fjucstioii ; when his endeavours to obtain a hearing 
for his ()j)eras at JA'i])/.ig had failed, he threw them 
aside, and stormed onward to liiglicr aims and 
loftier results. 

Only Ihirty-two years later the bulky score of 
Die Feen, most carefully and neatly written, 
but almost obliterated by the slow operation of 
time, was taken from its shelf, and presented 
by the author to his friend and royal patron, 
Ludwig II. of Bavaria, with the following self- 
reproaching dedication, dated Lucerne, Christmas 
1866 :— 

' Ich irrtc einst und mocht' es nun verbiissen, 
Wic m.'ich' ich mich der Jugcndsiinde frei ? 
Ihr Wcrk Icf;' ich demiithig, Dir zu Fiissen, 
Uass Ueinc Gnade ihiii Erliiser sei.' 

(Once did I err, now penance do I offer, 
How for my youthful sin can 1 atone .' 

Its product now to thee 1 humbly proffer. 

For thou canst send me grace, and thou alone !) 

Thus tlie score was found among the papers left 
behind by the King, to whom alone Wagner had 
confided this product of ' his youthful sin.' 

But, it niay well be asked, were loe to be deprived 
of the knowledge of his early work simply because 
its performance appeared undesirable to him ? 
The ])erformance of Fritlay night has answered 
the question in a way very complimentary to the 
enterprising management of the Munich Royal 
Opera, to which we owe this most interesting old 
novelty. I am certain, had ' The Fairies ' been 
produced fifty years ago, the opera would have 
maintained itself on the stage to the present day — 
as many much less meritorious works have done — in 
spite of its shortcomings and immaturities. 

The text is by AVagner himself, who borrowed 
his subject from Gozzi's fairy tale. La Donna 
Serpente and, though inexperienced and unripe, the 
youth of twenty betrays the powerfid dramatic talent 
of the man to be. The plot is simple enough : — ■ 

' Ada, a fairy, has fallen in love with and espoused 
Prince Arindal, on condition that he ask no ques- 
tions as to her origin, etc., for eight years. (This 



reminds one of Elsa and Lohengrin, only that tlie 
sexes are reversed.) The queen of fairies is displeased 
with Ada's match witli a common mortal, and desires 
a dissolution, whicli is refused. Before the expiry of 
the eight years, Arindal, incited by his companions, 
puts to Ada the fatal question, and the latter 
returns to Fairyland. After many vicissitudes, 
Arindal again finds his wife, who agrees to return to 
him, and to sacrifice to him her immortal fairy 
nature, if he swear tliat, whatever she may do, he 
will never curse her. By way of a first trial, slie 
throws his two lovely children into the fire ! He 
curses her not ; but wlien he learns that Ada has 
led to victory his own country's foes, lie succumbs to 
his patriotic rage, and heaps his maledictions on her 
head. Thereupon Ada is turned into a stone, and 
condemned to remain in tliat inert condition for a 
lumdred years, but Arindal succeeds by a number of 
brave deeds, and by a mellowing song, in raising tlie 
spell, and both are again admitted into Fairyland, 
where they live happily together ever after.' 

The music is, if I may so express it, all tln-ough 
a struggle for truth ; the youth of twenty is still 
under the influence of the old masters, and of his 
contemporaries ; his wings are not full-grown yet, he 
tries to reach the lofty regions whicli his genius 
covets, but, weighed down by the conventional and 
traditional forms, he descends to tlie ground only to 
try again, now timidly and now boldly. 

Tlius in the first act, by far the weakest of the 
three, tlie vague shadows of Beethoven, Weber, 
Meyerbeer, and even Verdi appear, intermingle, 

vanish, and re-appear in fanciful succession. The 
long recitatives are awkward and laboured. Very 
much higher stands Act ii., every scene being lit up 
by flashes of genius ; it contains many treasures of 
original and independent tliought, magnificent en- 
semble effects, a beautiful aria for soprano, a most 
catching duet in buffo style, and a grand finale. 
Act III., though marking perhaps a sliglit falling-oft", 
contains a most dramatic solo-scene (Arindal), and 
the pearl of the opera, a quintett with chorus, with- 
out orchestral accompaniment (a capella),a piece for 
tlie like of which I look in vain in the whole reper- 
toire of the operatic stage. It is of surpassing beauty. 
Tlie overture, \vhicli has occasionally been heard 
in the concert-room, is more melodious than power- 
ful : it tells the love-story of Arindal and Ada in 
sweet accents, but loses itself at times in tedious 
reflections, closing, however, with a short but strik- 
ing movement, suggesting strongly the Tannhiiuser 

The opera has been put on the stage with a mag- 
nificence which simply baffles description, though I 
cannot help associating with this extravagant dis- 
play of the decorative arts my reminiscences of the 
'cave' and the transformation scene of an English 
pantomime. All the parts were filled in a manner 
worthy of the high artistic reputation of our Munich 
Opera, and the orchestra, under the baton of Herr 
Fischer, was, as it always is, perfect. The house 
was crowded, enthusiastic, and grateful. 

Emit. Clauss. 

MUiNICH,/«/)' iSSS. 



TWENTY-FIVE years ago it seemed as if the 
Beetlioven literature, already voluminous and 
extensive, must in biographical detail have exhausted 
all available material, and in critical comment liave 
done its best and also its worst. The accounts of 
eye and ear witnesses, the reminiscences of Beet- 
hoven's contemporaries, many of whom were at 
that time still living, and the traditions of the 
older generation of musicians, all combined to 
furnisli what appeared at the time to be a complete 
and reliable record of Beethoven's life and manner 
of working. As regards the outward events of his 
career this was actually the case, and the story of 
his life, overshadowed but never crushed by a 
terrible doom, had in it none of those elements of 
mystery and complication which in the lives of 
poets and artists are found to be so fascinating to 
the public and so profitable to the book-maker. 

The mass of evidence gathered in the interval by 
Thayer, Nottebohm, and otliers, has, however, 
thrown new, and in some ways unexpected, light on 
Beethoven's method of working, on the circum- 
stances which sometimes determined the character 
of his compositions, and the process by which these 
came into existence, points on which, prior to the 
publication of this evidence, the world had remained 
profoundly ignorant. 

Most remarkable of all is tlie fact that the informa- 
tion on the subject now provided, made universally ac- 
cessible by the publication of the sketch-books,come to 
us direct from Beethoven's own hand. It is signifi- 
cant, moreover, that Beethoven, tlie strong hater of 
shams and mock sentiment, should in this way also 
project his influence into the future, and scatter to the 
winds some of tlie most cherished popular delusions 
whicli had gatliered around his memory. 



The material collected with such indomitable 
industry, and edited witli sucli scrupulous regard 
to accuracy, by Gustave Nottebohm, is more valu- 
able to tlie student of music than all tlie bio- 
graphies, commentaries, and criticisms of the earlier 
writers put togetlier. For the narratives even 
of Beethoven's personal friends have proved to be 
in many cases misleading and fallacious, founded 
at times on erroneous impressions of what actually 
took place, and at others on a misconception of 
artistic aims and purpose whieli at one time 
no doubt were new and startling. Thayer, the 
most uncompromisingly truthful of biographers, 
did his best in an essay, published eleven years ago, 
to expose the folly of the extensively-circulated 
anecdotes, which pictured Beethoven as a kind 
of ecstatic visionary, whose works were the out- 
come, not of labour, reflection, and thought, 
but of a kind of electric mental shock which 
evolved, by some magic agency known perhaps 
to the narrators, a symphony or sonata whole and 
complete at one stroke of the pen. 

Unfortunately absurdities of this sort were believed 
and countenanced, not by ignorant men and silly 
women only, but by some who should have known 
better. Popular fiiUacies as to music, however, are 
peculiarly inveterate, a result probably of the astonish- 
ingly widespread ignorance among educated men 
of the nature and history of the art. It is still the 
exception, not the rule, to find among laymen wlio 
busy themselves with music, one who knows what a 
sonata or a symphony actually is, or who can dis- 
tinguish and appreciate the difference in kind and 
quality between the music of Chojjin and Scarlatti. 

So long as this form of ignorance subsists, there will 
be found people ready to believe that Beethoven was 
a rhapsodical sentimentalist, whose compositions may 
be as fitly and justly interpreted by a pianist infant 
prodigy as by thoughtful artists of mature experience. 

Among musicians, Beethoven is the only one who 
had incessant recourse to note-books, and for his own 
use carefully treasured their contents. Mozart and 
Schubert wrote with a facility sometimes dangerous, 
at others fatal, to the quality of the work pro- 
duced. In his last years, Schubert, probably influ- 
enced (though he did not admit it) by the example 
of Beethoven, in practice acquiesced in the necessity 
for a more strict revision of his work. Had he 
applied a more rigorous self-criticism at an earlier 
stage of his career, he would have been less open to 
the criticism of posterity. That criticism neither 
spares nor amends, and finds in the mass of inspired 
music a comparatively small number of works which 
can be regarded as models of artistic workmanship. 
Mendelssohn, a less richly endowed, but more 

fastidious musician, revised with minute care, and 
frequently rewrote and altered the plan of his 
works. But Mendelssohn's life lias not yet been 
fully written : evidence as to his particular way of 
working is to be gathered from statements contained 
in his own letters and from the testimony of friends ; 
and preliminary sketclies for his work, if they ever 
existed, have so far not become public property. 

It was well known to Beethoven's friends that he 
was in the habit of making frequent and copious 
entries in his note-books, but it is only now when, 
one after another, these strange storehouses of 
thought have been explored and their contents 
arranged, that the full significance of tliese random 
jottings, and the important bearing they have on 
the finished compositions, has been fully realised. 
For the first time the student has the opportunity 
of seeing tlie infinite pains and patience of the great 
musical genius at work, at times recording ideas 
which come with inconvenient profusion, at otliers 
reshaping and altering, and always carefully storing 
his material for reference and future use. 

Of the patient laborious industry bestowed in 
turn on each of the great works which yet retain 
tlie air of most perfect spontaneity, and which are 
flooded with the full light of inspiration, the world 
had till recently no cognisance. The care taken in 
the development and modelling of tlie themes, here 
adding a note or pause, there taking away, — the 
indefatigable attention to detail which, but for the 
sum-total of effect that we know, appears in itself 
trifling and unimportant, are the most powerful of 
all protests against hasty, ill-considered work, and 
that shallow form of conceit which thinks that 
talent can afford to dispense with honest labour. 

The germs from which the thematic material 
of the Symphonies, Sonatas, and Concertos grew 
are often, in tlie first instance, insignificant and 
unpromising, and rarely take at once the exact 
shape finally fixed on. In the sketch-books the 
dift'erent stages of development may be clearly 
traced, and it is curious to see liow greatly the 
general aspect of the themes changes, without their 
original intrinsic character being departed from. 
On the contrary, we find tliat every fresh change 
and modification adds force, energy, and terseness to 
the idea as first expressed. For it has to be 
remembered that Beethoven was not merely casting 
about for ideas, nor was he coquetting with an 
unresponsive spirit of inspiration, but earnestly 
searching for the best possible expression of ideas 
which clamoured strongly for utterance. 

The first of the sketch-books appeared probably 
in 1865, though the date is not attached to the 
brochure published under the title 'Ein Skizzenbuch 



von Beethoven, beschrieben unci in Ausziigen darge- 
stellt, von Gustav Nottebolim.'' In this earliest of 
the important additions to Beethoven literature 
contributed by Nottebohm, the editors annotations 
and comments are more cojoious and explicit than in 
the volumes since published. We are warned at the 
outset to expect outline sketches and detached frag- 
ments only ; notliing cither fully planned or carried 
out ; further, that the sketcli-book contains many 
passages unsuitable for quotation because tliey refer 
to compositions begun but never finished. It has 
also to be borne in mind that the extracts contained 
in the first published ' Skizzenbuch ' overlap and 
run parallel with other sketches published in some 
cases only a year ago. In all the sketch-books we 
find, side by side, and sometimes intermingled, pas- 
sages belonging to compositions of quite different 
character. In a communication made to Wegeler 
in 1800, Beethoven himself says that ' one thing 
is scarcely finished before another is begun, and I 
have sometimes three or four compositions in hand 
at tlie same time.'' 

Beethoven kept to this particular way of woi-k- 
ing to the very end, and the fact explains to 
some extent the habit of fixing at once on paper, 
as it occurred to him, eacli new idea and eacli 
modification of older ones, and also the striking 
affinity of certain themes which belong to essentially 
different compositions, but wliich were evolved 
from the same rhythmic germ. The extracts given 
in Nottebohm^s first ' Skizzenbucli ' ai'e taken from 
a note-book belonging to tlie years 1801-2, and the 
circumstances of the entries having been made in 
ink has led to the conclusion that they belong to 
a time when Beetlioven was ill and confined to tlie 

The preliminary sketclies of this period bear the 
same relation to the sketches of a later date as the 
finished compositions of the first bear to those of the 
second period of Beethoven's creative activity. The 
entries are more copious, the corrections fewer, the 
material is less closely knit together, and the process 
of condensation less obviously at work. As a con- 
sequence, there is not the same concentrated force 
and energy which, a few years later, cliaracterise 
alike the rough draft and the finished work. As an 
example, we may refer to the lengthy outline 
sketches for the last movement of the D Major Sym- 
phony, quoted in the ' Skizzenbuch,'' and to the pre- 
liminary sketch for the introduction and first allegro 
of the same symphony, extracted from a note-book 
of still earlier date, tlie contents of wiiicli, with 
other additional sketches belonging to the same 
early period, were published last year in Nottebohm's 
last instalment of research, the ' Zweite Beetlio- 

veniana.'' Tlie three outline sketches for the finale 
are interesting as showing liow Beethoven alternately 
interpolated and eliminated plirases, parts of phrases, 
and e\en whole sections, without deviating from the 
first conceived central idea with which the movement 




starts so boldly, which is the mainspring of action 
to the whole movement, and so much more charac- 
teristic of Beethoven than the Mozartean phrase 
which follows. In tlie first sketch this more conven- 
tional phrase 


docs not appear ; and in the second, the first 
theme quoted above is omitted, though, pro- 
bably, not witli the intention of its being finally 
discarded. That remarkable theme recurs in due 
course in its proper place in all the outline sketches. 
The first outline contains a passage which has no 
place either in the subsequent sketches or finished 
score ; and the third sketch, which incorporates all 
the thematic material, shows its distribution accord- 
ing to the last preliminary design to have been dif- 
ferent to that finally adopted by Beethoven. 

The early version of the first movement,on the other 
hand, though capable, as Beethoven has shown, of 
considerable improvement, is so much more concise, 
that it has led to the conclusion that it must have 
been preceded by other not known preliminary 
sketches. This refers, however, to the subject- 
matter of the allegro only. The thin outline for 
the introduction is a very faint foreshadowing of 
that lovely movement. The first section of the 
melody is jotted down as follows : — 






Tlie relation of this first tentative sketch to tlie 
finished composition needs no coinment. The 



opening plirase of the allegro, on the other hand, 



four bars in leng-th, is repeated, as the quotation 
given shows, three times on different degrees of the 
scale, a repetition which weakens and does not 
enforce its effect, and was of course eventually struck 

Tlie ' Skizzenbuch ' brought to light a mass of 
interesting material referring among otiiers to 
the Pianoforte Sonata, D Minor, Op. 31, to tlie 
sonatas for pianoforte and violin Op. 30, and the 
pianoforte variations in E Flat, Op. 35. The most 
interesting sketches are those referring to the piano 
and violin sonata in C Minor, and the solo piano- 
forte sonata in D Minor, tlie latter especially show- 
ing how completely in some cases Beethoven was 
from the outset master of his own purpose. Though 
the means by which he attains his end may not be at 
first perfectly clear, the essential characteristics of 
that remarkable sonata, its strongly dramatic effects 

and intensity of language, are as clearly stamped on 
the first preliminary sketch as on the printed page. 
In the C Minor violin sonata sketches we are made 
witnesses of a process of development at work in the 
artist's own mind, as again and again he erases from 
his notes traces of influences from which his own 
strong originality was so soon to free itself. The 
extracts are too numerous and also too lengthy for 
(juotation. Moreover, the ' Skizzenbuch ' has been 
twenty-three years before the public, and tlie matter 
it treats of is more or less familiar to all earnest- 
minded students of the art. 

The ' Beethoveniana ' and ' Zweite Beethoveniana,' 
on the other hand, which each contain much valu- 
able material, are yet, for lack of translation, com- 
paratively little known in this country. The first 
of the two volumes was published so long ago 
as 1872, but it is only now, since the publication 
of the second volume, that any complete or com- 
preliensive view of different sketches relating to one 
time and to the same compositions has been rendered 
possible. What is more, the sketches published in 
these two volumes give us a tolerably complete 
picture of the whole of that period of Beethoven''s 
career in which the works we recognise as specific- 
ally Beetlioven were produced. 

Leonoka Youxg. 


BETWEEN October 17 and Febiuaiy 18 last,— four months' 
time, — there were ninety-three performances of German 
Opera in two tlieatres in New York City, si,\ty-four in one, and 
twenty-nine in another; and, in the whole season of 1887 to 
188S, only two brief efforts at Italian and English Operas, as 
such, both of which were disastrous failures. The twenty- 
nine representations at the Thalia Theatre were, of course, of 
a lighter character than the sixty-four given at the Metropoli- 
tan Opera House, but were all in German, and by German 
artists, and adhered closely to the old favourite operas of Verdi, 
Flotow, and Meyerbeer. It must not be forgotten that number- 
less other renderings of lighter comic operas took place in other 
places throughout the city. Of the sixty-four representations at 
the Metropolitan Opera House, thirty-six were of Wagner's own 
composition, four of Beethoven's FiJclio, four of Gounod's Faust, 
four of Weber's KitryaiUhe, four of Spontini's Ferdinand Cortex, 
three of Haleny's Die Jiidin, seven of Nessler's Troinpcter von 
Sdkkingen, and two of Meyerbeer's Der Prophet. Of pieces never 
given before in America, Nessler's Trontpeter had seven repre- 
sentations, Wagner's Siegfried eleven, his GotterdSmtncrnng seven, 
Spontini's Ferdinand Cortez four, and Weber's Euryanthe four. 
The production of five such grand works for the first time, within 
less than three months, is an achievement in itself, almost pheno- 
menal, and indicates clearly how nearly exhaustless the energy and 
zeal of a management may be. When one adds to this that the 
enterprise of sustaining German Opera in New York is at the sac- 

rifice each year of from two to three thousand dollars apiece on 
the part of three or four score shareholders, it may be conceived 
what the interest in its success is. 

Probably because of the furore created by Josef Hoffman's 
appearance, most of the musical ventures of the year were, financi- 
ally, far from successful. Hoflman played three, four, even five 
times a week, for eight or ten weeks, with but small attendant ex- 
penses, and reaped a fortune. A species of insanity took posses- 
sion of the American people, and the healthful progress of musical 
taste was entirely broken up for the season. Individual performers, 
whether in singing or playing, must be content with the proceeds of 
their vocation, as a livelihood, and not presume to appropriate all 
the earnings of the occasion to their own purses. Public perfor- 
mances, requiring a large number of participants, and a large outlay 
of money, time, and trouble for preparation, must liave large audi- 
ences at a low rate of admission, and must remunerate the per- 
formers at a proportionately low rate apiece, to cover all the outlay. 
To do this, the taste of the millions must be brought up, and the 
financial ambition of tlie few performers brought down. General 
culture in music and in singing has reached a higher point, and 
there are hundreds, even thousands, in private circles who sing the 
highest class of opera and oratorio music to very great perfection. 
We expect on the dramatic boards, with the fine performance of 
voice, the full assumplion of the part ; we wish this luxurj' without 
the aid of Government treasuries or Stockholders' purses, and we 
think that in some measure we have attained it. Worte. 




FAR down upon the plain the large round moon 
Sank red in jnngle mist ; but on tlie heights 
The cold clear darkness burned with restless stars : 
And, restless as the stars, the grim old King- 
Paced with fierce choleric strides the monstrous 

Of boulders piled to make the city wall. 
Muttering his wrath within his cloudy beard, 
He moved, and paused, and turned. The starlight 

The huge bent gold that ringed his giant head. 
Gleamed on the jewel-fringed vast lion-fells 
That clothed liis stature, ran in dusky play 
Along tlie ponderous bronze that armed liis spear. 
He fiercely scanned the East for signs of da^\n ; 
Then shook his clenched hand above his head, 
And blazed with savage eyes and brow tlirown back 
To front the awful Presence he addressed : 

But answer came there none froni cloud or star. 
Then cried the aged King' : 

' A curse consume 
Tliy blind nigiit fevered with the glare of stars. 
Wild voices, and tlie agony of dreams ! 
Would it were day ! ' 

At last the gleam of dawn 
Swept in a long grey shudder from the East, 
Then reddened o'er the misty jungle tracts. 
The guards about the massive city gates 
Fell back with hurried whispers : ' "Tis tlie king ! ' 
And forth, with great white beard and gold-girt 

Huge spear, and jewelled fells, the giant strode 
To slake his rage among the beasts of prey. 

' Slay and make end ; or take some mortal form 

That I may strive with Thee ! Art Thou so strong 

And yet must smite me out of Thine Unseen ? 

Long centuries have passed since Thou didst place 

Thy mark upon me, lest at any time 

Men finding me should slay me. I have grown 

Feeble and hoary with the toil of years — 

An aged palsy — now, alas ! no more 

That erst colossal adamant wlicreon 

Thine hand engraved its vengeance. Be Thou just, 

And answer when I charge Thee. Have I blenched 

Before Thy fury ; have I bade Thee spare ; 

Hath Thy long torture wrung one sob of jjain, 

One cry of supplication from my moutli ? 

But Thou hast made Thyself unseen ; hast lain 

In ambush to afflict me. Day and night 

Thou hast been watchful. Thy vindictive eyes 

Have known no slumber. Make Thyself a man 

That I may seize Thee in my grips, and strive 

But once on equal terms with Thee — but once. 

Or send Thine angel with his sword of tire — 

But no ; not him ! Come Thou, come Thou Thyself ; 

Come forth from Thine Invisible, and face 

In mortal guise tiie mortal Thou hast plagued !"' 

The race of giants, sunk in heavy sleep 
Within the cirque of those cyclopean walls. 
Heard as it were far thunder in their dreams ; 

The fierce white splendour of a tropic noon ; 
A sweltering waste of jungle, breathing flame; 
The sky one burning sapphire ! 

By a spring- 
Within tlie shadow of a bluff of rock 
The hoary giant rested. At his feet 
Tlie cool green mosses edged the crystal pool, 
And flowers of blue and gold and rose-red lulled 
The weary eye witli colour. As he sat 
There rose a clamour from the sea of canes ; 
He heard a crash of boughs, a rush of feet ; 
And, lo ! there bounded from the tangled growth 
A panting- tiger mad with rage and pain. 
The beast sprang roaring, but the giant towered 
And paslied with one fell buffet bone and brain ; 
Then staggered with a groan, for, keen and swift. 
At that same instant from the jungle flew 
A shaft which to the feather pierced his frame. 
Shrill cries of horror maddened round the bluff: 
' O Elohini, "tis Cain the King, the King ! ' 
iVnd weeping, tearing hair, and wringing liands. 
About him ra\ed his lawless giant brood. 

But Cain spoke slowly with a ghastly smile : 
' Peace, and give heed, for now I am but dead. 
Let no man be to blame for this my death ; 
Yea, swear a solemn oath that none shall harm 
A hair of him who gives me my release. 
Come hither, boy ! ^ 



And, weeping, Lamecli went 
And stood before the face of Cain ; and Cain 
Who pressed a hand against his rushing wound 
Reddened his grandson's brow and i<issed his cheek : 
' The blood of Cain alight on him who lifts 
A hand against tliy life. My spear, boys ! So. 
Let no foot follow. Cain must die alone. 
Let no man seek me till ye see in Heaven 
A sign, and know tliat Cain is dead.' 

He smiled. 
And from the hollow of his hand let fall 
A crimson rain upon the crystal spring. 
Which caught the blood in glassy ripple and whirl, 
And reddened moss and boulder. 

With gold-girt brow 

Swift of stride, 

thrown back to front the 


The hoary giant through the jungle waste 
Plunged, muttering in his beard ; and onward 

Through the deep tangle of the trackless growtli 
To reach some lair, where hidden and unheard 
His savage soul in its last strife might cope 
With God — perchance one moment visible. 

A sweltering tract of jungle breathing flame ; 
A fiery silence ; all the depth of Heaven 
One blinding sapphire ! 

Watcliing by the cliff", 
The giant brood stood waiting for the sign. 
Behold ! a speck, high in the blazing blue. 
Hung black — a single speck above the waste ; 
Hung poised an hour ; then dropped through 

leagues of air. 
Plumb as a stone ; and as it dropped they saw 
Through leagues of high blue air, to north and south, 
To east and west, black specks that sprang from 

And then long sinuous lines of distant spots 
Which flew converging — growing, as they flew, 
To slanting streams and palpitating swarms ; 
Whicli flew converging out of all the heavens, 
And blackened, as they flew, the sapphire blaze, 
And jarred the fiery hush witli winnowing wings ; 
Which flew converging on a single point 
Deep in the jungle waste, and as they swooped 
Paused in the last long slide with dangling claws. 
Then dropped like stone. 

That Cain was dead. 

Tiius knew the giant brood 

Beside a swamp they found 
Hoar hair, a litter of white colossal bones. 
Ensanguined shreds of jewelled lion-fells. 
The huge gold crown and ponderous spear of Cain, 
And fixed between tlie ribs the fatal shaft 
Which Lamech shot unwitting ; but against 
The life of Lamech no man lifted hand. 

"William Canton. 


PERHAPS the most significant feature of the 
struggle over the Scottish Universities Bill, 
and tlie measure for founding a College in the East 
End of Glasgow, is the fact tliat wliile the forces of 
attack are drawn from tlie non-academic laity, those 
of resistance are mainly the teaching staff' of the 
Universities themselves. On the one hand, there are 
the men of business — merciiants, lawyers, and physi- 
cians — all graduates of the Universities, but all 
settled in the booths or chambers of Gath and Ekron ; 
while on the other, with some auxiliary parsons, 
there is the Senate. It is true tliat here and there 
an exception to this broad antithesis may be dis- 
covered. A stray Professor sometimes inexplicably 
finds his way into the tents and councils of the 

assailants, though he generally Jiui'ries back again to 
the fortress at the first indubitable blast of war. 
But such exceptions are perhaps the strongest of all 
jiossible confirmations of the rule. And without 
injustice it maybe said that the struggle for Reform 
is essentially a town and gown battle, in which tlie 
o])pidans are for breadth and liberty, while tlie 
collegians are for restriction and privilege. 

It is no object of this paper to discuss the present 
proposals of Reform. To most unbiassed people 
these will seem to err only on the side of extreme 
lenience, if not, indeed, of ludicrous inadequacy to 
the end which is sought to be attained. But the 
spirit in which they have been encountered, the 
bitter and tireless, though studiously covert opposi- 



tiou with \\hicli they have been met, provokes con- 
sideration of the habitual academic attitude in face 
of progress — an attitude whereof this is nothing- 
more than a normal instance. The strenuous resist- 
ance which tlie Universities have offered to the 
present and every former measure for their own 
improvement, is not simply to be dismissed with 
contempt as tlie mere natural selfishness of a body 
corporate. It is rather a cumulative and culminat- 
ing illustration of that very vice which more than 
all others provokes the Reformers'" onslaught. We 
accuse the Universities of being, above all things, 
antiquated — of failing adequately to minister to the 
necessities of the time. AVe charge them with the 
worst faults of Conservatism — with narrow aims and 
outworn methods ; and for answer they raise a shriek 
of horror at remedies to which the plain symptoms 
of the sickness are as earthquakes are to pills. 
Could there possibly be a clearer confession of back- 
wardness.? Surely we may clincli our philippics 
with an ex ore tuo. Surely the Lord hath delivered 
tliem into our hand. 

There is a coarse common-sense about Dr. John- 
son's ideal of the University as a place where every- 
thing should be tauglit, from Persian prosody 
upwards. But in all rational education there is 
implied an art of ignorance as Avell as an art of 
knowledge.' Not all things are to be known, or even 
taught ; but the best ideas, the truest and the most 
fruitful are to be published. And in a rough way, 
and for all practical purposes, the newest ideas are 
the best. I am not pleading tlie cause of every 
premature intellectual birth, or every wandering 
wind of doctrine ; thougli, in nine cases out of ten, 
that unctuous text is simjjly a libel upon progress. 
But, after all, a living heresy is better than a dead 
ortliodoxy : the coinage of Decius might be unim- 
peachable in weiglit and fineness, but after their 
age-long coma tlie seven sleepers found that it would 
no longer buy them bread. 'Hang the age!' said 
Charles Lamb, ' I will write for antiquity,' and the 
Professors have done in earnest what he threatened 
to do in jest. Rightly interpreted, the past is little 
other than a beacon, but to the Universities it has 
been a will-o'-tlie-wisp, and so, for the most part, 
they lie floundering. Within the limits of our own 
island, how much have the Universities done for 
furtherance of the national intellectual life ; how 
far, in any age, have they been on a level with the 
best thought of the time, or in sympathy with its 
foremost thinkers .'' It has always been the boast of 
Oxford and Cambridge that they give England its 
politicians and its pastors ; but it should be remem- 
bered that the Church is accessible only through the 
college, and that hitherto, at least, our governors 

have been drawn from those classes to whom a 
University education is as much matter of routine as 
an eight o'clock dinner. As regards our statesmen, 
indeed, it is very questionable if the Universities 
liave not done them positive harm. Oxford gave 
Charles Fox his store of Latin quotations, which he 
could very well have wanted, but it also gave liim 
his contempt of political economy, which nothing 
could redeem. And of the two greatest politicians 
of our own time, it is notable that the one was 
never at public school or college, while the other 
reckons among the number of his disadvantages the 
spirit which he inhaled at Christ Church. 

In imaginative art again, the impotence of the 
Univei-sities has been long notorious ; the forces of 
literature are not of tlieir guidance or begetting. 
It is tedious to iterate the stock instances of Burns 
and Shakespeare — to tell again how Pope was 
educated privately, and how Shelley left Oxford in 
disgrace ; but one may be permitted a reference to 
that latest of literary developments, tlie novel. 
Alike the founders of fiction and their most 
distinguished successors have been men who owed 
everything to the outside world and notliing 
to the Universities, save perhaps the impetus 
which was born of revolt against tliem. It is 
mere impudence to answer, as is often done, 
that the Universities have no power over artistic 
genius, and make no pretence to foster it. If 
that be true, why then this perpetual teaching 
of the classics, why is the best part of a student's 
time devoted to works proposed as the eternal 
archetypes of literature.? Not that the study of 
Greek and Roman antiquity is unprofitable, but it 
sliould be a study which will qualify for some better 
task than the sterile one of editing and emendation. 
We owe to Bentley the discovery of the digamma, 
and to Porson the truth about the Three Holy 
Witnesses. But tlie Decline and Fall is the work 
of one who scorned and hated his alma mater, and 
it was left for the unacademic Grote to write the 
first tolerable history of Greece. 

In the world of speculation too, the Universities 
have for centuries back been the main forces of 
resistance. One has only to read the sharp sayings 
of Bacon, or Hobbes, or Locke, to see how these 
recognised in tlie holders of college endowments the 
most powerful champions of routine in thought. 
Of Descartes' system Hallam says that it had no 
chance of acceptance in the Universities, because 
these were bigoted to tlie authority of Aristotle. 
Locke and Newton were introduced to the Continent 
by Voltaire ; and the name of Voltaire reminds us 
that the brilliant band of eighteenth-century j[7^ifo- 
sophes, undoubtedly the most potent of all modern 



popular forces, was arrayed not more against 
ecclesiastical or political authority than against 
scholastic. And to-day, while our professors are 
still mumbling drowsily over Hegelian, or even pre- 
Kantian philosopliies, the whole world outside their 
class-rooms is ringing with noise of the great theory 
which will be for ever associated with tlie ' horsey 
undergraduate ' of Edinburgh and the pupil of the 
provincial schoolmaster at Derby. 

It is true that a general charge of this nature 
must not be made without some modifications. In 
Germany tlie Universities, for very good reasons, 
have long been an honourable exception to the pre- 
vailing rule. In France, like everything else there, 
they have been vastly bettered by the Revolution ; 
and even in England it would be impossible to find 
nowadays a state of matters quite so bad as that 
described by Gibbon. The measures of reform 
there carried have borne at least some fruit ; the 
Victorian and Durham Universities liave not been 
without their influence ; and in the rise of a school 
of English philology at Oxford there are promising 
sisns of life. But in Scotland the work of reform is 
still practically all to do. Our Universities, indeed, 
are by common consent the very worst in Western 
Europe outside of Spain. It is enough to allude 
merely to their disgraceful attitude towards the just 
claims of women. And for the education of men — 
it is possible for a student here to take his degree 
in classics and yet be ignorant of the work of 
Niebuhr and Mommsen ; in philosojihy, and yet 
know nothing of Spencer ; in literature, and yet be 
unable to construe a line of Layamon's Brut. Save 
Switzerland, there is no otlier country with so small 
a population and so many universities ; and yet we 
confess ourselves unequal to the task of educating 
our own youth. Our students go to Oxford for a 
decent knowledge of Latin, and to Cambridge for 
an adequate notion of mathematics, while even our 
clergymen have to betake themselves to Bonn or 
Jena before they can learn enough heterodoxy to 
keep their congregations from sleep. 

What is the cure of all this ? Not, certainly, a 
mere increase of endowment, or even the erection of 
a few more chairs. There are tliose who think that 
our professors are, many of them, far too comfort- 
able already ; and in an atmosphere where so many 
studies have languished, it is not likely that new 
plants will take vigorous root. What our Universi- 
ties need is not a sop but a stimulant ; and probably 
the best metiiod of reform in all cases is that which 
the abuses themselves most fear. One may get 
some guidance from ancient history — a scliool where 
only fools and politicians decline to learn. Altliougli 
for some centiu-ies back the Universities have as a 

rule been laggards, yet there was a time when they 
were in the very forefront of thought. In the 
twelfth and thirteenth centuries the great schools 
of Paris and Bologna, and to a less extent those of 
Oxford and Cambridge, were the intellectual guides 
of Europe. They furnished not the teaching only, 
but also the original thinking of the age ; they were 
tlie birthplace of new systems, the home of heresies, 
the battle-ground of belief It is to the Montagne 
Latine tliat we owe the first and forgotten Renais- 
sance, tlie new birth of the intellect in Europe, as 
its slow successor was of the arts. The scholastic 
philosophy, with all its subtleties and daring, was 
tlie indubitable issue of the Universities, its ex- 
ponents were their teachers, and the discussion and 
development of it constituted their daily work. 
Peter the Lombard, William of Champeaux, above all 
the arch-heretic Abelard, were among the founders 
of the fame of Paris. To get a modern parallel, 
we must imagine the Evolution philosophy taking 
rise from Oxford, and Herbert Spencer the Dean of 
Christ Church. But the Oxford nineteenth-century 
movement is represented by Tracts for the Time-i. 

Tlie most significant thing, however, about this 
vigour of the Mediaeval Universities is that it 
went along with a certain type of structure, which 
has since been lost. Nowadays the very mention 
of the word ' extramural ' is enough to freeze a 
professor's blood. But in tliat time the word would 
have had no meaning, for as yet there were no 
privilege-giving walls. Locally the University of 
Paris meant simply a quarter of the town, in which 
by a natural process of segregation the students had 
come to settle and the masters to teach. As Savigny 
puts it, ' A teacher inspired by a love of teaching 
gathered round him a circle of scholars eager to 
learn. Other teachers followed, the circle of listeners 
increased, and thus by a kind of inner necessity 
an enduring school was formed.' There were no 
colleges, and even no definite class-rooms ; the 
masters tauglit principally in their own houses, and 
the students lived wliere tliey liked. Nay, strangest 
of all, there was actually no sacred circle of pro- 
fessors, lounging aloft, like the happy gods of 
Lucretius, .wcurum agrre acvian. ' At first each 
man who had it in him, or thought he had, began 
to lecture, and took his chance. As a lecturer he 
was called " magister " or " doctor " in the generic 
sense. As the Universities gradually hardened 
down into definite self-governing organisations, the 
Chancellor, on the presentation of the " masters '' or 
" doctors," as the case might be, formally granted a 
licence to competent students after examination."' 

' Laurie, /^ise and Early Constitution of Universities, 1886, 
p. 228. 



In other words, the degree of master was a Iwentiu 
docendi, and any student bv taking it might himself 
become a teaclier. It was indeed a great free- 
competitive system, with as little monopoly as 
might be : among some hundreds of qualified 
masters the student was left to liis own unfettered 
choice. And, incredible though it may seem, this 
choice on the wliole was used wisely,^ — the popular 
teachers of those days were the men whom the world 
ronembers still. Abelard had three thousand 
students, and when he was driven from Paris they 
followed liini into the wilds. Tliere is no more 
startling picture in history than that of the Para- 
clete, with its oratory of reeds and tliatch, and 
around it the mud huts of innumerable students 
contenting themselves with the simplest rustic fare. 
Is it Utopian to look for something like a revival 
of the primitive academic type 't But after all the 
only feasible Utopia is liberty. Surely the ideal 
University is a self-governing community of teachers 
and sti idents, wherein there shall be perfect equality 
of status, and the utmost possible freedom. There 
is no necessary connection between teaching and 
despotism, any more than there is between service 
and slavery ; in each case the one party possesses 
something whicli the other lacks and desires. I 
know it is the firm belief of pedagogues that their 
pupils have neither a love nor a discerning of know- 
ledge ; but this is a delusion akin to that whicli 
in politics presupposes the people to be essentially 
anarcliic. In truth it is always the governors that 
are to blame, — the people have no interest in 
disorder, tlie students are naturally curious and 
insatiable of lore. And in the long run the one 
has not a surer eye for the riglit statesman than 
these others have for the right master, and perhaps 
it is just a lurking suspicion of tliis which makes 
our governors in school and state so fearful of every 
relaxation of restraint. We here in Scotland 
are exhorted to look with pride upon our Univer- 
sities because they alone continue the true medifeval 
organisation. But it is little good to keep the 
organ when once its function has been forgotten — 
to preserve a Council that does not govern, and a 
Rector who has ceased to rule. At one time the 
Rector was in reality what he now is only in name 
— the most powerful officer in the University — 
and through their election of him tlie students had 
a material though an indirect share in the uovern- 
ment. It is difficult to see how a return to some- 

thing like this system could be productive of anything 
but good. For one thing it would give our under- 
graduates, what they sorely need, a sobering sense 
of dignity and responsibility, as the free citizens of a 
great educational iwlls. 

But however that be, it is certain that any 
measure of University reform worth the name must 
strike first of all things at the monopoly in teach- 
ing. There are other and crying abuses to be 
remedied, among them the examination system, — 
but, first, as tlie groundwork and the guarantee of 
reformation, we must have liberty and breadth. It 
is surely superfluous in this country to preach the 
evils of monopoly. In no other profession do we 
give exclusive privileges as we do in teaching ; the 
licensed clergyman may preach in any pulpit, the 
qualified physician may stand at any bedside. ^Ve 
simply ask of each candidate that he shall show 
himself ordinarily competent to his work, and there- 
after he takes his chance, and the public judges 
between him and his fellows. And why should our 
higher education be the only exception to the rule 'i 
Is it, to quote the current cant of sciolism, because 
competition is degrading to the finer activities 'i 
But surely that which is the law of life sliould be 
ffood enouffli for the Universities. Or is it, as the 
professors confidently tell us, because the vulgar 
cannot discern their intellectual needs aright ? But 
whatever the professors have managed to monopolise, 
it certainly is not the Zeitgeist. The truth stands 
plain to every one that while the Universities were 
free they flourished, and when the liberty of teach- 
ing within them was restricted they declined. The 
schools of Germany are to-day the most active in 
Europe, and in the privat docent system they pre- 
serve the principle of free teaching. Our Scottish 
Universities are tlie most jealous of close corpora- 
tions, and the names of them Iiave become to all 
men a hissing and a scorn. 

There is, of course, only one conclusion to this 
argument. The original import of the degree as a 
Ucentia docendi must be revived. Not certainly the 
degree — or at least the Arts degree — as it now 
exists, but a qualification adequate in some measure 
to the intellectual necessities of the age. To this 
all approximations are good in tlieir way, however 
imperfect ; but this itself is the ideal, for it is the 
embodiment of liberty, and in liberty is the secret 
of the higlier life. 

R. A. 




While these pages are passing into the hands of our readers, the 
Pope Commenroration ceremonies will be in progress at Twicken- 
ham. They begin with a water pageant on the Thames ; and on 
the 31st of July Professor Henry Morley opens a Loan Museum of 
relics of the poet, which will close on Saturday the 4th of August. 
The catalogue is under the supervision, among others, of Mr. 
Austin Dobson. One of the most conspicuous and characteristic 
of the relics exhibited will be four volumes of libels upon Pope, 
collected, bound, and annotated by the poet himself — perhaps a 
superfluous reminder of the weakest and most unlovable side of 
his character. For all time Pope is likely to remain the standing 
exemplar of the foibles of the literary temperament — of its jealousy, 
its vanity, and its preternatural thinness of skin. But by us he is 
more profitably to be studied as the outcome of certain social con- 
ditions, and the representative of an answering cast of culture. 
He is the poet of the age of courts in Western Europe, as dis- 
tinguished from that of kings on the one hand, and of the people 
on the other, —an age when aristocracy grafted on royalty had 
issued in the strange florescence of manners. It is scarcely too 
much to say of Pope that he is the petit-mat tre of our literature, or 
that the equipment of his poetry is summed up in ' talon-rouge, 
falbala, queue.' But of course these also are poetic, and one could 
have no reasonable grudge against Pope, if it were not for his 
translation of Homer. By that he made his fortuue and perilled 
his fame. 

In opening the pages of his Review to the Celt and Teuton 
controversy, Mr. Harry Quilter is doing good service to the cause 
of a rational ethnology. There is no delusion more baseless or 
more pernicious than that which assumes the English to be an 
essentially Teutonic people. We laugh at the Greeks and their 
three eponymous patriarchs, while at the same time we hold to 
our preposterous legend of the three ancestral keels. Perhaps in 
all questions of national parentage the most pious and decent 
course is a discreet suspension of the judgment, for, ethnically as 
well as individually, it is a wise child that knows its own father. 
Besides, in most current race-theories, there is the radical defect 
that they assume coincidence of likeness in language with kinship 
in blood — a coincidence which we have no right to look for, and 
which we often find awanting. Viewed in this light even the Celt 
and Teuton question is made ultimately futile by the initial error 
of its terminology. Nevertheless we are grateful to Mr. Grant 
Allen for his brilliant sally of iconoclasm, and not less to Mr. G. 
A. Smith for the support he unconsciously gives his opponent. 

One of the most readable, and by far the most good-humoured 
article in the new number of the Universal Seviao is the ' Qiiis 
desiihrio. . , . ? ' of Mr. Samuel Butler. The author of Ereivhon 
and the champion of Lamarck as against Darwin, is a man of 
exceeding versatility. He confesses that he is by a good deal a 
creditor of the public, for he has published many books, and all of 
them at his own expense. Less worthy authors have succeeded in 
running a big balance on the other side. ^ Qtds desiderio. . . . ?' 
is a comic narration of how Mr. Butler for a dozen years or so 
used, in the British Museum, Frost's Lives of Eminent Cliristians 
as a sloping desk to write upon. Here it may be presumed he 
wrote Ltick or Cunning, and the delightful bits of description in 
the Alps and Sanctuaries of Piedmont and the Canton Ticino, 
Here also, doubtless, he wrote Ex Voto, which the Glasgoio 
Herald, in reviewing the other day, repeatedly attributes to a 
mythical Mr. Samuel Hunter. Butler's quaint essay is indeed a 
bit of * satire and imagination,' with a literary aroma of peculiar 

OssiAN, the July volume of the Canterbury Poets, is edited by a 
young Glasgow litterateur, Mr. George Eyre-Todd. The selec- 

tion is ajudicious and fairly representative one, and is preceded by 
an introduction in which the editor contends vehemently for the 
authenticity of the poems. To the dsvellers at ease in Zion any 
attempt to upset the orthodox decision of Dr. Johnson will, of 
course, appear flat blasphemy. And, doubtless, it is rather late in 
the day to expect any one to believe in the personality of Ossian or 
the actual existence of his car-borne heroes. Wolfe's Prolegomena 
was not written precisely for nothing. Nevertheless, we know 
something more about the Celt now than they knew in 1760 ; and 
one can hardly deny that somewhere in the heart of Macpherson's 
rhapsodies there lurks, undistinguishable, a nucleus of genuine 
Gaelic song. But certainly Mr. Todd would have been treading 
on firmer and more fruitful ground if he had confined himself to 
tracing the undoubted influence of the Ossianic fragments on 
English and Continental literature. As it is, there is just a little 
too much flaunting of the tartan in his treatise. But that seems 
a fault inevitable to the editors of Celtic poetry. 

Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson's love of the adventurous does 
not exhaust itself in mere praise of roving sea-dogs and errant princes. 
If he voyages to the South Seas as a valetudinarian, it can be only in 
the spirit of enterprise that he is for ever in literature going further 
afield. His last departure was the marvellous Child's Garden of 
Verses, and now it is announced that he has written a romantic 
drama, in conjunction with another author who possesses a prac- 
tical knowledge of the stage. Further, the Messrs. Cassell are 
soon to publish his Black Arrow, a tale of the Wars of the Roses. 
As a rule the historical novel may be defined as a work display- 
ing an utter lack of historical imagination ; but Mr. Stevenson's 
former efforts have not been of the ordinary anachronistic kind. 
We can only hope that his new venture will keep the same high 
level wliich was attained in Kidnapped. 

The new number of the Scottish Review contains a series of 
hitherto unpublished letters of James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. 
They were intended apparently for the eye of Sir Walter Scott, 
and describe a tour made in the Highlands in 1803. 

Messrs. Murray announce the correspondence, in two 
volumes, of Mr. Motley, the historian of the Dutch Republic ; 
three volumes of the Battle Abbey Roll, by the Duchess of 
Cleveland ; and the late Sir Henry Maine's Whrwell Lectures on 
Lnternational Law. They are also going to publish an account of 
excursions in Apulia, by Mrs. Ross (nee Duft' Gordon) under the 
fascinating title of The Land of Manfred. As its name indicates, 
the book will treat largely of the associations with Norman and 
Hohenstaufen times which yet linger around Southern Italy. 

The forthcoming volume of Messrs. Blackwood's Philosophical 
Classics is Professor Nichol's Bacon. We believe that the Pro- 
fessor's long promised text-book of English Literature is likely to 
appear before long. 

Mr. Goldwin Smith is said to be engaged on what he intends 
to be his magnum opus. 

The obituary of letters for July includes the Rev. George 
Robert Gleig, author of The Subaltern, and other military tales ; 
and also Herr Theodore Sturm, the Nestor of German novelists. 
Besides his more honourable distinctions Mr. Gleig has a claim to 
remembrance, along with Croker and the Rev. Robert Mont- 
gomery, as one of the victims of Macaulay's critical tomahawk. 
We have also to note the death of Mr. Robert Carruthers of the 
Inverness Courier, a son of the well-known editor of Pope. 

Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty. 

',' u l: h,:: - > i 

■ GoU/Bom PoRiH ,1 

The Scottish Art Review 

Vol. I. 


No. 4. 

*,* FOUR PLATES are issued mth this 
number of the Scottish Art Review. The repro- 
duction of the Blairs College Portrait of Mary 
QtiEEN OF Scots we are enabled to give by kind 
permission of Archbishop Eyre. The original 
portrait is a full-length. It has been reproduced 
in half-length form in order to show the head on 
a sufficient scale. To Mr. James Donald we are 
indebted for kindly allowing us to reproduce an 

important and characteristic painting by Mr. 
William M'Taggakt, R.S.A. The picture is 
entitled 'A Highland Buen,' and is in Mr. 
Donald's private collection. Two plates are illus- 
trative of a Review of ' The Glasgow Architectural 
Association Sketch Book,' the drawing of 
Rowallan Castle being by Mr. A. Paterson, 
and that of Chester Cathedral Pdlpit by Mr. 
Prentice. — Ed. 


FOR the sake of clearness, I will commit myself 
to a definition : firstly of art, which, so far as 
its meaning can be packed up into the portmanteau 
of a sentence, might be described as a form of vital 
force applied to the expression of Beauty. This 
will at any rate sufficiently indicate the point of 
view from which I regard it. As to Socialism, I 
know no better, or more portable, definition than 
that of Mr. Belfort Bax — namely, that Socialism is 
a new view of life upon an ecotiomic basis. 

Under the present system of commercial com- 
petition, every opportunity which seems to afford a 
chance of gaining a livelihood, or a hope of gain, 
stimulates people to activity in all manner of ways. 
But it is an unwholesome stimulus, especially in its 
effisct upon art and artists, and as a result, the 
market is flooded with every kind of catchpenny 
abomination — pictures or so-called ornaments, and 
objects of art which could have brought no joy to 
the maker of them, and can bring no real or lasting 
pleasure to the user, for whom perhaps they but fit 
the whim of the moment, or are only bought 
because of the persuasive eloquence of some adroit 
salesman (under the aforesaid stimulus of gain), 
and for no better reason than that such things are 
in fashion. 

Now, naturally, there is this characteristic about 
geniune spontaneous art, that its creation is a 
pleasurable exercise and excitement. The artist 
is always anxious to give out what he has — to offer 

his best to the sight of all men ; and so far he is 
naturally sociahstic. Indeed, art itself is essentially 
a social product intimately associated with common 
life, and depending for its vitality upon a co- 
operation of all workers, upon living traditions, 
and quick and universal sympathies. These are its 
sunlight and air. 

Where the love of art is sincere, given the capacity, 
all a man would ask would be security of livelihood, 
with a fair standard of comfort and refinement, and 
materials to work with. For the rest it would 
be simply a pleasurable thing to exercise his crea- 
tive powers for the benefit of the community, and 
the praise he might win. 

It would seem, too, that humanity under any 
system cannot do without art in some form or 
another, and is always ready to welcome and reward 
the artist who has the skill to interpret nature, or 
beautify and refine the life of every day. But no 
artist, in so far as he is worthy of the name, works 
consciously for the sake of reward, other than the 
sympathy and praise of his contemporaries. Modern 
commercialism does its best to turn him into a man 
of business, but that was not his natural destiny. 
Originally one with the constructive workman, the 
builder, the smith, the carver, the weaver, the 
potter, he put the touch of art on his work in 
refining play of line and pattern, and he saw that 
it was good, with the pleasm-e and delight of a crafts- 
man. So use and beauty were one in the old simple 


days. But we have changed all that. We have 
put use in one pigeon-hole and beauty in another, 
and it is only by accident that they get mixed. 

Now the severance of the artist and the workman 
— the craftsman, and the dismemberment, and ab- 
soi-ption of the latter to a large extent by machinery, 
have had results incalculably injurious to art, what- 
ever service they may have done in other ways. As 
to machinery it is but a question of adaptation of 
means to ends, since machinery simply gives extra 
hands and feet to humanity — good enough to do 
heavy and useful drudgery, and works of necessity 
in a hurry — feed, clothe, and warm, pump, and light 
nights for instance — to be the servant and labour- 
saver of man, in short, but never his master and 
profit-grinder as it has become — and certainly never 
intended to take pleasurable art-work out of his 
hands, or speciously simulate the workmanship of 
those hands, and take, with its variety, its interest 
and beauty away. 

It is a curious thing that while every day we are 
extending our railways and pushing our commerce, 
making travel easier, and opening up unknown 
countries to what we are pleased to call the advan- 
tages of civilisation — while we are facilitating 
methods of getting about on the one hand, on 
the other we are obliterating those interesting 
varieties and local distinctions which make travel 
chiefly interesting, so that while we increase our 
facilities of travel we remove its inducements as 
fast as we can — at least from the art point of view. 

One of those things the disappearance whereof 
we deplore is the art of the people, — ^the peasant 
costume with its embroidery and jewellery always 
so full of character and colour, relics of long antiquity 
and tradition — the odds and ends of which are care- 
fully scraped together and served up to the tourist, 
long after they have ceased to be realities in the life 
of the people. ' This native art, found in all unex- 
ploited countries, is highly interesting as showing 
how naturally a people collectively express their 
sense of beauty in colour and form, how naturally 
with leisure and fairly easy conditions of life the 
art instinct asserts itself. 

It is on the unquenchable spontaneity of this 
instinct that I should rely to give new birth to new 
forms of art even were all types and conditions of 
the art of the past destroyed. Fresh as I am from 
the examination, at South Kensington, of vast mul- 
titudes of designs in any and every style under the 
sun, I could almost bear such a catastrophe with 
equanimity, since no aspiring designer could then 
crib Persian or Chinese or Greek patterns, and spoil 
them in the translation. 

All the learning and archaeology in the world will 

not fill us with an instinct for art, since art (to recur 
to our definition), being a form of vital force, must 
spring from life itself It depends on realities, and 
draws its best inspiration from everyday life. It is 
bound to reflect the character of that life, and in 
so doing gives the history of the people, and the 
spirit of the age of which it is the outcome. We 
have only to consider how much of our knowledge 
of past ages and races we owe to the relics of ancient 
art which have been preserved to us ; and this 
brings us to the consideration of another aspect of 
the importance of art to a community, and one not 
likely to be overlooked under socialistic conditions — 
I mean its educational value. 

At present I think this is very much neglected. 
While we crowd our galleries and exhibitions witli 
inasses and masses of pictures every year, our public 
halls and the walls of our schools are left blank for 
the most part. This seems to suggest that we are 
thinking more of our shop windows than of the 
windows of om- minds — especially those of the rising 
generation. But why should not the capacity of 
children for receiving ideas through the eye be taken 
advantage of.? Why should not the walls of our 
schools be pictured with the drama of history ? 
Why should they not be made eloquent with the 
wonders of the earth by true and emphatic drawings 
of the life and character of different countries and 
peoples ? 

It has been said that the worst drawing conveys a 
more definite idea of a thing than the best descrip- 
tion. Bringing it down tlierefore even to the plainest 
utilitarian level, the importance of drawing is obvi- 
ous enough. A socialistic society would, however, 
not be likely to gauge its value by so narrow a 
standard, and when the object of education was 
recognised as the development of the faculties of the 
individual, with a view to service of the community 
and reasonable enjoyment of life, as distinct from 
the specialising them for a competitive commercial 
existence, art would surely be recognised as a most 
important factor in that result, and accorded due 

If we imagine a truly socialised community — a 
state of equal condition (not necessarily of mental 
capacity or other quality) — wherein every able- 
bodied member served the community according to 
his capacity, it might necessitate a portion of time 
(determined by the numbers of the conmiunity and 
their necessities) spent in some form of manual 
labour. This in itself would be an advantage and 
physical benefit to each individual, nor so long as 
enough leisure was secm-ed would mental capacity 
be likely to suffer in its true sense, or the art in- 
stinct or capacity either. On the contrary, there is 



nothing, after all, like close intimacy with Nature 
and fact to strengthen the character all round, and 
clear the mental vision of morbid states, and, as for 
art, like the wrestler, it always gains new vigour 
every time of toucliing the ground. 

If your artist would depict the life about him — 
the drama of men and women— he will be all tlie 
stronger if he has mixed with the actors. If he 
would give man in all his labours and actions, it is 
good tliat lie sliould understand those actions and 
labours — that he should be able himself to ride, 
swim, row, or dri-ve the plough, and wield the scythe 
or spade. He would be a stronger man and a better 
artist. For it is as much what we know and Jiel as 
what we see that comes into works of art. 

Would he be an artist in any of the handicrafts, 
let ^him first be a smith or a carpenter ; let him 
understand the material he would work with and its 
capacities ; for it is from the workshop that all 
good traditions in applied design must come. I 
have spoken of probabilities and possibilities, and of 
necessity both enter largely into the consideration 
of my subject, as of any thought of the future con- 
struction and condition of society. Now, while I 
have tlie best hopes for art, I do not think it pro- 
bable that under socialism any one will get labour- 
values to the extent of £70,000 for a picture ; but 
it would, nevertheless, be quite possible to get a 

The type of artist — supposing artists existed as a 
class or order in a socialist community — most likely 
to be fostered would, I think, be probably such as 
that represented by the master-craftsmen of the 
Middle Ages, such as Albert Diirer or Holbein, for 
instance — men capable of design in all kinds of 
materials, who could design a building, make the 
pattern of a jewel or a gown, devise a title-page, or 
paint a portrait. What may be called, in short, 
the all-round artist would be likely to be more in 
demand than the specialist more or less fostered 
under present conditions. 

The essence of art is harmony and unity. We 
have seen how art depends upon life, and is affected 
by and reflects its character and conditions. Before 
we can hope to get harmonious art and thought, 
therefore, we must realise harmony and unity in 

For myself, I am confident, in view of these 
considerations, that what is good for humanity is 
good for art. Take care of tlie pence of healthy 
life — the current coin of individual freedom, of 
political and social equality, of the fraternity of 
human service and common interests ; take care of 
the handicrafts and the beauty of wild Nature, and 
give men leisure and opportunity, — and the gold 
pieces of art and thought and creative beauty will 
take care of themselves. 

Walter Crane. 


MR. FRANK HOLL, R. A., whose untimely death 
has come with such a shock on art and society 
circles, was born in London upon the 4th of July 
1845. His father was Mr. Francis Holl, A.R.A., 
a well-known engraver. The more distinguished 
son obtained his professional education in the Royal 
Academy Schools, where he was a very successful 

His first picture to tlie Royal Academy Exhibi- 
tion was contributed in 1864. Since then his work 
has never been absent from its walls. In 1868 he 
was awarded the two years' travelling studentship. 
He received the distinction of A.R.A. in 1878, and 
in 1884 he was elected an R.A. 

Few painters have had a more interesting career 
than the late Mr. Holl. Producing capably-handled 
subject-pictures which dealt mainly with the dark 
side of life, he worked for a long time without attract- 
ing special attention till a portrait of Mr. Samuel 
Cousins, the engraver, exhibited about ten years 
ago led to a change so extraordinary that in a few 
seasons the little-known painter of gloomy moralisa- 

tions became a phenomenally popular portrait- 

This development we fear cannot be attributed to 
any sudden accession of artistic power ; for in his 
later, as in his earlier work, Mr. Holl's strength 
appears to lie in a vigorous realisation which is 
dramatic but often commonplace in sentiment. 
But while his powers in this direction, so long as 
they were employed in the form of pathetic subject- 
pictures, impressed the public, it was only when 
applied to portraiture that they placed him higher 
in the popular esteem than almost any painter of 
liis time. His strong if somewhat coarse render- 
ings of English notabilities appealed with peculiar 
force to many who found themselves baffled in their 
vain efforts to appreciate or define art without the 
key which is supplied by the possession of natural 
artistic feeling ; and this was the more natural that 
the painter, with an astonishing power of semi- 
mechanical repetition, made, once for all, a certain 
limited demand upon their intelligence. 

The strain that portrait-painting, as the term is 



commonly understood, entails upon the artist, was 
clearly exemplified here, for Mr. Holl was seldom 
able to surmount the difficulty of combining the 
necessity for likeness with that artistic instinct 
which is a primary essential of all art production. 
To the development of this instinct there is nothing 
more fatal than mere mechanical repetition, which 
is but a sorry substitute for original impulse. Such 
repetition, however, seems well-nigh unavoidable to 
the portrait-painter who aspires to have a large 
practice. For the allurements of popularity and 
commercialism presented by the career of a prosper- 
ous likeness-painter are inimical to the preservation 
of artistic virtue in its integrity. 

Mr. Holl himself felt this. He showed really 
wonderful ability in maintaining certain strong quali- 
ties on a stinted artistic diet. But even this could 
not remove the yoke which he had allowed circum- 
stances to impose on him, and under which it is 
well known he grew restive. Notwithstanding this 
ability, the influence of mere repetition was only 
too manifest in the history of his work. His por- 
trait of the late Mr. Cousins was remarkable for 
the skill with which a dignified motive was treated. 
It was the first, and the most artistically complete 
of Mr. Holl's portraits, but the reserve that con- 
tributed so much to its completeness gave way in 
many of his later works to a certain habit of 
melodramatic presentation, in which the painter 

apparently contented himself with endeavouring 
to reproduce the effect of flesh seen under a 
crude light, and set against a meaninglessly dark 
background — a platitude which was repeated 
with so little reference to the subject in hand, 
that the result became as tiresome as it was 

The works of the masters show us that the Art, 
of which their sitters were the occasions, was itself the 
real motive of their portraits. That art having been 
infinitely varied in their hands to fitly express the 
different impressions produced by variations of tjrpe 
in their sitters, each master has left us a heritage of 
variety which embodies a series of artistic ideas, but 
does not suggest, like Mr. HolPs, the automatic 
reproduction of a pattern. 

While, however, Mr. HolPs work cannot be 
ranked with the best of his time, it was certainly 
entitled to the position it earned from the Royal 
Academy, for it not only appealed to the public, 
but gained a measure of respect from artists which 
unfortunately can be accorded to few things in the 
annual exhibitions of that august body. By the 
deatli of Mr. Holl the Royal Academy suffers from 
the loss of one of its most competent members, 
while personal friends will miss one whose strengtli 
of character and untiring energy commanded their 
loving admiration. 


' /^LD, black, rubbed out and dirty canvases 
yj take the place of God's own works,' ex- 
claimed Constable in one of his indignant letters 
some sixty years ago, and his complaint against the 
spurious antique in art has just been repeated in a 
different form by a living English artist, who will 
stand with Constable as one of the foremost figures 
of the British school. Strip off the coat of varnish 
which makes the old master like Sir George Beau- 
mont's old Cremona fiddle ; efface the mellowing 
touch of time, and dissolve the veil of poetry which 
clings to the productions of days of old, and what 
remains.? Excellent work remains no doubt, says 
Sir John Millais, but work not differing in kind or 
quality from good work of to-day ; for ' the best art 
of modern times is as good as any of its kind that 
has gone before.'^ We may admit with pleasure 
the truth of our great painter's wholesome dictum, 
' To say that the old alone is good betrays great lack 
' Sir John Millais in the Magazine of Art, July iS88. 

of judgment,' but a few moments may profitably be 
spent in examining this question of Old and New in 
art wliicli has tlius been brought forward into pro- 

Constable's protest against what he termed 
' perished pictures at 1000 guineas each, cart-grease, 
tar, and snuff" of candle,' was the protest of an 
avowed ' natural painter,' and it is in the names of 
truth and nature tliat warning voices are raised in 
our own time against a conventional adulation of 
tlie models of the past. Yet we have to note here 
a most important distinction. The term ' natural ' 
applies to Constable as a painter just as it applies 
to many of the leaders of the Britisli school of to- 
day, but his 'naturalism' was, as we shall see, 
markedly different from theirs, and his estimate of 
old art in its relation to new would by no means 
coincide with that of living representatives of the 
school of nature. It is true that he abhorred a 
slavish dependence on the convention of art, was 



dreadfully afraid of the establishment of a national 
collection of the old masters, and even said, ' Wlien 
I sit down to make a sketcli from nature, the first 
thing I try to do is to forget that I have ever seen 
a picture,' yet Constable was aU the time very 
strongly under the influence of tradition. He 
might reject tradition in the sense of a respect for 
age — and varnish — for their own sakes, but in the 
sense of a wholesome reverence for broad and 
masterly work like that of the best masters of the 
seventeenth century, he adhered to it as the guiding 
principle of his art. 

Like Turner, he held Claude in the highest 
honour. When staying with Sir George Beaumont 
at Coleorton Hall he occupied himself — not by 
wandering, sketch-book in hand, up and down the 
country-side — but in the highly orthodox task of 
copying most conscientiously his host's pictures by 
Claude. ' The Claudes, the Claudes are all, all I 
can think of here,' he writes home to his wife. 
' How paramount is Claude ' ! he exclaims after a 
visit to a London collection of pictures. He sat, 
too, at the feet of Ruysdael, in whom he recognised 
a profound and poetical artist of a spirit akin to his 
o\TO, and though at times to his own consciousness 
he might ' forget ' that he had ' ever seen a jiicture,' 
yet the pictures he had seen were all the while in- 
fluencing his mental attitude. The result was 
naturalistic art, but naturalistic art tempered by 
sound tradition, and his work aptly illustrates the 
excellent dictum of M. Thor6, ' There are three 
tilings which concur in the creation of a work of 
art, external nature, the special and profound feel- 
ing for that nature in the mind of the artist, and the 
feeling wMch nature has inspired in creative artists 
who have gone hefore!' We have only to visit the 
London National Gallery to discern Constable's 
relation to his predecessors. The leaves clotlie his 
trees in the solid masses of the foliage of Poussin ; 
the ponderous clouds that sweep so grandly over his 
broad expanses of sky have their prototypes on the 
noble canvas by Rembrandt's pupil De Koninck in 
the Peel Collection. 

Gainsborough, to take another ' naturalist ' of 
our older school, is, no more than Constable, a 
' natural painter,' pure and simple. He shows how 
artistic tradition may haunt the air about a painter, 
and influence his whole education and procedure, 
without his setting himself down directly to imitate 
his predecessors. He was indeed ' natural ' in dis- 
tinction to Reynolds, who had a fancy for historical 
design, the secret of which had to be wrested from 
the followers of Michelangelo ; but his work in por- 
traiture was overshadowed by that of a great fore- 
runner, to whom both he and Reynolds owed much 

of the form of their art. 'AVe are all going to 
lieaven, and Vandyke is of the company.' . . . Van- 
dyke was in truth the model they both consciously 
or unconsciously followed. The tradition of his art 
had been handed down by incompetent successors, 
but it had survived in England till these great 
painters gave it a new life. Their breadth, their 
elegance, their faultless taste in pose and in the 
arrangement of dress and drapery, had been all 
elements in the art of the great seventeenth century 
portraitist, and Gainsborougli and Reynolds, the 
' naturalist ' and the ' stylist,' both aUke acknowledge 
his headsliip. 

A similar fact emerges in connection with a 
famous recent naturahstic movement in France. J. 
F. Millet was a complete heretic when judged by 
the ortliodox standard of his school and time, but 
Millet was an untiring and ardent student of the 
old masters, a votary of Michelangelo and the 
Venetians. The men with whom his name is chiefly 
associated, Dupre, Rousseau, Daubigny, though they 
broke with the classical traditions dominant in the 
French scliool, envisaged nature in very much the 
same manner as the Dutcli landscapists of the seven- 
teenth century. Corot's art, it has been noticed, is 
the art of Claude touched with a more intimate 
modern sentiment. 

In Gainsborough, Constable, Millet, and Corot, 
therefore, we see a ' naturalism ' based, if we may 
use the expression, on art ; an independence tem- 
pered by reverence for the past ; originality dis- 
ciplined ; freedom gratefully conscious of support 
and guidance. How far is this the case with the 
' naturalism ' of our own time and country .? 

A friendly foreign critic, M. Chesneau, who has 
written appreciatively of our national art, is disposed 
to draw a distinct line of demarcation between what 
he calls the old school and the young school of 
British painters, fixing the division at about 1850. 
With the artists of the old school he feels at home. 
'Reynolds, Gainsborough, Constable, can be measured 
by ordinary standards. They have, it is true, a 
well-defined individuality, but as descendants of the 
Dutch and the Flemings they are painters,' he says, 
' of the same order as we ourselves, they understand 
their art in the way we French understand it.' The 
art of our own immediate time, on the other hand, 
is, he confesses, something quite new and exclusively 
British. Tliere is no bond of tradition linking it to 
the family of great English painters of the begin- 
ning of the century ; it is a monstre etrange, as he 
is pleased to call it, attractive by its pecuharities, 
but standing quite out of the regular course of 
artistic history. 

Few of those who studied carefully the collection 



of recent British paintings in the Manchester Exhi- 
bition will be disposed to question the substantial 
truth of M. Chesneavrs observation. Our ' natural- 
ism ' of to-day is distinctly of a different type to 
that of Gainsborough or Constable ; it is freer, 
more independent, more experimental in character. 
How original, how personal is the art of the acknow- 
ledged leaders of our present school ! Take the 
example of landscape. How little trace there is of 
the influence of men like Turner, Constable, or Cox 
on the landscapists of our own day ! Or take por- 
traiture. If we compare Mr. Ouless, Mr. George 
Reid, and Mr. Holl with their predecessors of the 
school of Reynolds and Gainsborough, what a 
contrast we find between the strongly-marked male 
heads of the former, and the broad and facile studies 
of tlie smooth features of womanhood and youth 
characteristic of the older school ! All were im- 
pressed last year in the galleries at Manchester by 
the brilliant gifts of the Victorian painters, but who 
could succeed in grouping them into schools, or in 
tracing, save in some instances of direct imitation, 
tlie relationship of this or that individual artist to 
liis predecessors or contemporaries ? The British 
art of to-day is thus practically independent of what 
lias gone before, while the art of our earlier masters 
still looked back with reverence to older models. 

Such a complete break with the past involves 
necessarily something of loss as well as of gain to a 
school. Our new art, which has developed since 
the middle of this century, is in danger of losing on 
the one side more than it has gained on the other. 
If it has gained in freshness and variety of interest, 
it has lost the support of that tradition upon which 
the great naturalists of the past — the Gainsboroughs, 
the Constables, the Millets — were always well con- 
tent to lean. The result is unmistakable ; it is 
apparent when we compare recent British art with 
that of the past, and apparent too when we compare 
it with what is being done in other lands, where 
there has been less break in the continuity of artistic 
history. Wherein then does our weakness lie ? 

Our freedom and independence too often result 
in restlessness and in inequality of work. We have 
lost that ease of manner, that simplicity in means 
employed, which give the impression of quiet, self- 
contained power to ancient masterpieces. We have 
lost, too, that evenness in work which belongs to 
tlie old masters. No artist, of course, is always 
equal to his best self, but a very large body of 
really first-rate work was left by each of the fore- 
most men of bygone days. For a contrast look at 
the careers of some of our gifted moderns. ^Vllat 
are they giving to us ? One or two brilliant achieve- 
ments, and afterwards little or nothing that is great. 

The truth is that there can be no great art except 
among painters who are ambitious for the best kind 
of artistic success. We have in the present day in 
our exhibitions a good deal of what may be called 
drawing-room art — trivial or merely popular works, 
to which honoured names are sometimes attached. 
There are features about the artistic world of our 
time, especially in the great metropolitan centre, 
which make the single-hearted and strenuous effort 
from which alone proceeds work of true value, more 
and more difficult to the successful painter. In this 
respect the artists of Scotland have an advantage 
over their brethren in the larger London sphere. 
There fashion has taken art under its wing, and 
demands in return a sacrifice of that austerity of 
purpose which rules in some of the foremost schools 
of the Continent, where there is not so much tempta- 
tion for an artist to be a man of the world first 
and an artist only in the second place. 

Though British artists have, no doubt, points of 
advantage over their neighbours, yet they lack some- 
thing of their virile strength. If we look across the 
Channel, while we may find not a little to condemn, 
we yet note the self-sacrificing labour bestowed by 
leading French artists on the education of their pupils, 
and the generous artistic ambition of the young 
workers, who toil for journeymen's wages or for fame 
alone. There is, again, a more purely artistic atmo- 
sphere in some Continental centres, such as Munich 
and The Hague, than fills our more commercial 
world. Art is better understood there by the 
educated public ; there is a more sensitive artistic 
honour among the workers themselves, who are 
proud to acknowledge a tradition at their back 
which they must not discredit. This tradition is 
an inheritance from the seventeenth century, and its 
living influence on the work of the leading masters 
of the German and Dutch schools is a matter for 
surprise to those who have grown up in this country, 
in artistic surroundings where tradition is entirely 

The men of the past, not only the old masters 
properly so called, but their more recent followers, 
rested greatly on this inheritance from their fathers, 
and sustained themselves by active fellowship with 
their contemporaries of like aims and attainments. 
They formed, that is to say, what do not exist in 
the Britain of to-day. Artistic Schools. Such bonds 
of union, drawing artists closely together around some 
presiding genius, need not repress artistic individu- 
ality in the lesser men. We see this in the case of the 
school of Rembrandt. Rembrandfs personality in 
art was most powerful, and few men have imposed so 
distinct and individual a form upon their artistic 
productions. Yet the men who drew their manner 



in painting from him were not constrained to copy 
his peculiarities. Works more or less directly 
imitative, were, it is true, produced sometimes by 
liis younger contemporaries, but the best of tliese, 
men like de Hooch, Maes, Vermeer of Delft, were 
distinctly not imitators. They learned from the 
master to aim at a powerful touch, and to study 
the magic of light and shade ; they strove to follow 
him in his penetrating insight, his strong grasp of 
the essentials of his theme ; they did not, however, 
reproduce his special effects or use his palette. His 
example and teaching lifted their art altogether to a 
higher level, and gave them a certain feeling in their 
work common to them all, though this remained 
in each case fresh, original, and independent. Their 
works are an abiding lesson thatsimple,homelythemes 
may be raised to artistic dignity by noble treatment. 

What the painters of modern Britain seem to 
need at present is some impulse, some inspiration, 
which may elevate the character of design, and con- 
centrate on work worth achievement the hieli 


artistic powers which are now too much dissipated 
over trivialities. They need, too, some bond which 
may bind artists, old and young, more closely 
together, and generate that ' spirit of school '' which 
existed of old, and still survives on the Continent. 
The value of such inspiration, of such a bond of 
union, was recognised by our older ' naturalists,' who 
were more ready than we are to admit how much 
the old masters have to teach the modern. If some 
such influence for good arises in our midst, then 
there seems no reason why new art should not come 
to attain the level of tlie old. 

G. Baldwix Brown. 


IN the Bishop's Castle, at the Glasgow Exhibition, 
there are now on view some twenty-eight 
pictures professing to be portraits of Mary Queen 
of Scots. Any one examining these various ' por- 
traits,' must be struck with the curious diversity of 
feature and expression. Mere difference in the 
style of dress, of doing the hair, of pose, and of 
lighting, could not explain the extraordinary differ- 
ence in the colour of the eyes and the form of the 
features. Yet in regard to these last, the portraits 
do not agree. The truth is, there is every reason to 
believe that the Queen did not actually sit for any 
of the pictures ; there is no one of them that bears 
evidence of having been painted from life by a 

really competent artist. A number of the portraits 
have evidently been executed from mere descrip- 
tions given to those wlio have painted them, and 
not a few, as far as the head of the Queen is con- 
cerned, are but poor copies of such indifferent 
originals. When, therefore, several confirm each 
other, it is not to be inferred that this confirmation 
proves authenticity of likeness. 

In those days it was customary for ladies to wear 
wigs and all sorts of additions to their own hair, 
done up in an extraordinary and ridiculous manner. 
The height of the fashion of that time is illustrated 
in the well-known portrait of Queen Elizabeth, by 
Zucchero, in starched ruff and towering coiffeure, 
bedizened with gewgaws. As ^nll be seen, however, 
from the Bishop's Castle collection of portraits, 
Mary Stewart had evidently too much innate 
artistic feeling to submit to such eccentricities of 
fashion. Her concession, so far as it went, seems to 
have been modest and becoming. The testimony of 
the portraits is pretty unanimous in regard to this. 
The one point where she made a concession amount- 
ing to anything peculiar to our eyes, was in shaving 
the hair off the brow, in accordance with the custom 
of the time. It is largely this fashion that imparts 
a certain oddness to these portraits, and makes some 
careless people who judge superficially turn away 
doubtful whether Mary Stewart can have been so 
beautiful as she was reputed to be. But thoughtful 
observers look to the spirit revealed in a face rather 
than to mere peculiarities of physique or fashion. 



The only portrait we can take as at all worthy 
of consideration is the Blairs College portrait. 
The following interesting note is from the Official 
Catalogue : — 

' This portrait, originally tiie property of Elizabetli Curie (one 
of Mary's attendants at her execution), was bequeathed by her to 
the Scots College at Douai, where at that time Elizabeth Curie's 
brother was a professor. At the breaking out of the Revolution 
in France the inmates of the College were obliged to fly, and the 
portrait was taken out of the frame, rolled up, and hidden in a 
chimney, which was then built up. In iSi I it was taken from its 
hiding-place and placed in the Scotch Benedictine Convent in 
Paris, whence, in 1830, it was brought to Scotland by Bishop 
Patison, and placed in Blairs College. It is recognised as one of 
the very few authentic portraits of Queen Mary, and it is probable 
that it was painted by Amyas Cawood, after Jane Kennedy and 
Elizabeth Curie had returned to France, from a drawing made 
during the Queen's lifetime. ' 

Superior to all the other portraits here as a work 
of art, and bearing on the face of it the stamp of 
personality, it stands out from the i-est because of a 
certain air of queenly presence that distinguishes it. 
To the artist it has evidently been a labour of love. 
It resembles many of the portraits of Hans Holbein 
in the distinction with which the subject is placed 
on the canvas, in the dignity and beauty of the com- 
position, in the fine drawing of the head and hands, 
and in searching delineation of character. Sympa- 
thetically treated in low tones, it fittingly conveys 
a characteristic impression of the Queen. The exe- 
cution is quaintly painted in the background of the 
portrait, symbolising her tragic fate. It is not the 

collected in the Bishop's Castle. Relics of liatrcd, 
bloodshed, and duplicity abound ; but all that has 


%iis&ii n&^y% ^t-iifs-m 

® <f^ 

been gathered relating to Mary Stewart shows only 
tokens of love, purity, and womanly virtue. Take, 
for example, the leading-strings of her son, James 
VI. They testify to her artistic ability in design ; 
and her piety and love are indicated by the inscrip- 
tion she has worked on them : ' May God send His 
cmg-ek to guard and bless thee in all thy ways.'' 

Then, again, the sustaining power that her reli- 
gion must have been in her life is surely shown in 
the letters ^vritten a few hours before her execution. 
One of these is on view in the Bishop's Castle. 
Both the character of the thoughts expressed, and 
the clear unfaltering decision of the handwriting, 
prove that Queen Mary, in her darkest and bitterest 
trials, had a stronger than mere human support. 

It may be inferred how accomplished and artistic 
she was from the art quality of the sewed works she 
left, specially when we remember the very low state 
of art in this country at that time. 

John Lavery. 

wondrous charm of Queen Mary's beauty that is 
given, but a presentment of the woman who had 
suffered such long and grievous imprisonment, and 
who was soon to be led forth to a shameful death. 
The wonder is that after all she had passed through 
she should still look so queenly, dignified, and noble. 
Complete and characteristic, therefore, as this 
portrait is in regard to a certain aspect of Queen 
Mary, we must supplement the impression ere we 
can form a true conception of her personality. For- 
tunately the means are at hand in the memento 


(gR<aSS ' 





























DURING recent years .a sustained and no doubt 
well-intended crusade has been conducted in 
certain quarters against what is called ' foreign 
influence' on British art, and the time-honoured 
warning has been repeated ad nauseam, tliat the 
younger painters are wandering towards the wilder- 
ness of cosmopolitanism. Art must be national, it 
is said, if it is to be worth anytliing. This gener- 
ally means, liowever, that the traditions, good or 
bad, which sufliced the painters of a former genera- 
tion, ought to satisfy those of to-day. 

Witliout pausing to discuss what constitutes tlie 
national quality in any given work of art, we may 
well inquire whether some special mode of render- 
ing or translating natural facts by means of colour 
is invariably peculiar to a particular country. Is it 
possible, for instance, to distinguish the main cliar- 
acteristics of English or of Scottish Art ? Are the 
typical qualities breadth, simplicity, and dignity, 
or minute elaboration and a loving lingering over 
details ? 

In the work of artists of former generations, the 
greatest dissimilarity prevails. The landscapes of 
Constable, Turner, Gainsborough, and Wilson dis- 
play widely different methods of interpreting nature, 
differences which make it impossible to class them 
as belonging to a single school, while the portraits 
of Velasquez, Titian, Rembrandt, Reynolds, and 
Raeburn show more points of resemblance than are 
generally seen in tlie best work of any one country. 

The bands of nationality are of no avail, when 
within them we try to restrain the faculty of artistic 
creation, which demands absolute freedom of ex- 

Tliis foreign element or characteristic, which so 
much distresses many critics in England, though in 
what exactly it consists they seem unable to define, 
has been undoubtedly in part the outcome of the 
simple and sound teaching which until lately was 
only found in the best schools in France, unselfishly 
open to all-comers. 

It is sometimes alleged that the attraction of the 
Parisian ateliers lies in the slurring over of diffi- 
culties whicli prevails there, and that wliat the art 
critics call ' broad painting,'' any fool can do witli- 
out taking pains. Let the man who thinks so spend 
but a few months in any of the best studios in 
Paris. Very speedy enlightenment will await him. 
If one learns to draw or paint well more quickly 
in Paris than at home, it is because study there is 
more intelligent, and the students as a rule work a 

great deal harder than is usual in any art school in 
Great Britain. 

Seven years is an ordinary estimate at the ]5cole 
des Beaux- Arts of the period necessary for study 
before the aspirant may hope to rank among the 
arrives. During the greater part of tliat time he 
draws and paints from the cast or life eight hours 
daily. Medallists from tlie academies in this country 
are frequently turned back to tlie simplest drawing 
on proceeding to Paris to complete their education, 
and they generally soon admit the justice of the 
decision. For sincerity and thoroughness no schools 
of art in Europe can comjjare with those in France, 
and this was still more apparent ten years ago. 

It was said recently by one who ought to have 
known better, and the charge has just been repeated 
in the columns of a contemporary, that jsictures 
painted by men who have studied abroad are bad, 
not alone because they are unlike what had been 
accepted here as national, but because they are 
simply an echo of certain French artists. 

That the work of a young man may resemble his 
master's has been a commonplace since before the 
time of Raphael and Perugino. It is equally certain 
that some men will never be more than copyists. 
Whether they imitate Long or Carolus Duran, 
Leader or Corot, is very immaterial, save that in 
each of the last cases the imitation is likely to 
be less offensive. Even in the training studios 
in France there is more variety in the work done 
than is common in our home schools, and little 
wonder, for the student is there far more constantly 
and strenuously urged to look at nature for himself. 
Methods of using materials are regarded as of little 
account compared with truth of aspect which must 
be sought with endless pains. 

It is a libel on the earnest men who have in 
many cases sacrificed a growing reputation to the 
necessity they feel for more severe study, to brand 
their work as mere imitation. The real imitators 
of French artists are in a majority of cases found 
among those whose knowledge of their pictures is 
limited to an occasional visit to the Salon, or at 
the most to a week spent in Julliens where they 
find it too hot in more senses than one. 

The aim to which the best French masters direct 
their students is the training of the eye to see 
objects in their true relations of light and shade, 
and afterwards of colour, and the logical outcome 
of this education, varying naturally with the idiosyn- 
cracies of the pupils, has been the development of a 



naturalistic school of painters. What these men 
claim is the right of tlie trained artist to represent 
what he himself feels to be pictorial in nature, not 
merely what was felt to be so by Turner or William 
Hunt, Corot or Daubigny, or indeed by any other 
artist however great. 

Doubt has recently been thrown on the claims of 
Constable to have been the unconscious aj)ostle in 
France of this development in modern landscape 
painting. It is a remarkable fact that at home, 
until lately, his lead was not followed, while in tliat 
country his example exerted an enormous influence. 
Regarded in England in his own day as a barbarian, 
his great genius is not yet sufficiently recognised by 
his countrymen. 

It would be absurd to imagine that naturalistic 
painting is the only way in which fine pictorial art 
is or has been possible, but it has surely claims to 
be treated with respect, and to receive careful con- 

It would appear as if the original impulses from 
which all national developments in art sprang into 
life have come from alien peoples. Light spread 
from Egypt to Phoenicia, from Phoenicia to Greece, 
from Greece to Rome. The Renaissance was borne 
from Italy to France and England. Japan owed its 
art in the first place to China. These are but a 
few instances of an almost universal experience. In 
all cases the new thought was modified and vivified 
by the genius of the country which received it. 

At first, doubtless, the novelty and strangeness 
attendant on a breaking away from old traditions 
were ever received with suspicion and dislike, but 
the faith of the new believers in time prevailed, and 
the development at length attained the dignity of 
being regarded as national. What would Scottish 
Architecture have been had it not learned from 
France .'' Do we look with less satisfaction on the 

alas ! too few remains that we have seen somethina: 
similar abroad ? Ai-e our musicians to shut their 
ears to the productions of German genius .? Sir 
John Millais himself, in the article already alluded 
to, congratulates the sculptors of England that they 
have not scrupled to learn from Carpeaux and his 
great countryinen. Why should painters be com- 
pelled to cling to their insularity ? 

The men who are so well abused yield to none in 
their admiration of the great aiiists of the past. 
What they condemn are the respectable, preten- 
tious, commonplace productions, so popular with 
the general public, which crowd our galleries and 
claim the credit of being if not artistic, certainly 

Men of reputation may preach, academies may 
neglect, critics may sneer, but this new renaissance 
develops despite the clamour. Amid warnings and 
reproaches, the man who is true to his intuitions 
will continue to paint what he loves, and in the way 
he sees it to be beautiful, not what he is told he 
ought to love, and in the way some one else has seen 
it. Training, however well directed, will not make 
an artist, familiarity with the works of genius does 
not imply the hidden gift. 

From time to time a man appears, often from 
among the most unpromising surroundings, who 
has something to say which can only be expressed 
in pictorial form. He sacrifices everything, over- 
comes every obstacle, spares no pains in the endeavour 
to acquire a mastery over the means of expression, 
through which alone he can reveal himself to those 
who can understand his message. He will learn 
from every teacher, and seek truth wherever it is to 
be found. Whether a native of Scotland, America, 
or Italy, he speaks to all the world, for his language 
is the universal one which appeals to all who have 
the eye to see. James Paterson. 



THE work of George Tinworth, if not great, 
is most interesting and original. It is a naive 
attempt to enter the province of painting without 
the aid of atmosphere, to present in sculpture 
dramatic incidents treated in a picturesque and 
realistic manner. Although in nature an act may 
be performed by a company of persons representing 
a set of different individualities and views, in 
art only the single view of the spectator is to be 

considered, and the artist, in order to meet it, must 
make ideas and actions converge to a point or 
climax, and allow the mind to rest in contemplation 
of unity or harmony; but Mr. Tinworth, in his 
earnest and eager pursuit of expression throughout 
every detail, loses sight of this matter ; on his stage 
the dramatis persona: all speak at once, and the 
result is a confusing violation of all that is classical 
in the art. The Songster, by G. G. Frampton, is 



distinguished by its delicate and chaste beauty of 
expression. The sculptor's finely restrained feeling 
for line is specially noteworthy, although it may 
have been the cause of his bestowing too much, 
almost timid, care on mere smoothness of surface. 
It may be a minor matter, but the title of this 
otherwise well-studied work seems inapt. Surely 
there should be something of joy in the face and 
bearing of a ' songster.' This youth conveys better 
the idea of a Greek chorus singer on some solemn 
occasion. The Last Call, by C. B. Birch, shows con- 
siderable executive ability, but as a work of art it is 
defective in conception and rather a concession to 
popular and ephemeral ideals. The subject necessi- 
tates too many trivial accessories to be suitable for 
tlie medium. The reproduction of horse harness 
and soldier accoutrements is scarcely worthy of the 
sculptor's art ; living form and movement are the 
proj)er subjects. Onslow Ford's portrait statue of 
Irving as Hamlet is an elaborate and skilfully 
executed piece of work, but an unsympathetic and 
superficially understood rendering of the motive ; 
with greater breadth of treatment we would have 
liked some expression of the weird and tragic-loving 
character of the greater actor. This is rather the 
portrait of a smooth and business-like gentleman 
than of Irving as the irresolute Dane, under ' the 
pale cast of thought,' muttering ' To be or not to be.' 
Rosco Muli.ik's larger works, such as, ' Bless me, 
even me also, O my father^ show a vigorous natu- 
ralistic style of handling tlie clay, and a strong 
grasp of character which help to redeem the lack of 
refinement and finish. His little marble statuette, 
entitled Memories, has evidently been a work of 
loving and careful study, it is naturally and beauti- 

fully modelled, and tenderly expressive of simple, 
maiden pensiveness. Tragedy and Comedy by Nel- 
son M'Lean, are unsatisfectory works in several 
ways. One expects highly allegorical matters, such 
as the representation in figure of Tragedy and 
Comedy to be treated with greater force of imagina- 
tion than is here exhibited. There is a want of 
dignity in the appearance of these statues, caused 
by their awkward proportion to life-size, conveying 
an impression of diminutiveness. The technique is 
intended to be that of the chisel, but shows none 
of the decision and felicity of handling which 
should result. Nothing can be finer than the effect 
of tlie free and fiery touch of the chisel in marble, 
when it comes from the sure hand of a Michel- 
angelo, but ordinary mortals are better to treat 
the stone according to its kind, and give it the high 
finish naturally demanded by a hard substance. If 
not ' native, and to the manner born,' J. Edgar 
BoEHJi, R.A., has surely been sufficiently long in 
active practice as a sculptor in London to be 
reckoned a naturalised member of the English 
school ; although his work is not free from the 
Continental character of cleverness, seen at its best 
in the sculptor's fine little bronze group of Wilhelm 
and Lconore. Mr. Boehm's best work has been done 
in porti-aiture, where, notwithstanding mannerism 
in handling, and a touch of grimace in expression, 
he is a force. We have here, in his statue of Thoma,s 
Carlyle, the finest of his large works, and, as it 
stands in bronze on the Thames embankment at 
Chelsea, one of the best public statues in this 
country. It is quiet, simple, and natural, and full 
of character, — not an epic, but a page from real life. 




LAST month we pointed out the ungenial spirit 
in which as a nation we deal with memorial 
sculpture, to the loss of what is highest in art, and 
to the triumph of bourgeois ideals. The S.S.C. 
Library Competition, recently adjudged in Edin- 
burgh, affords, unhappily, a too-typical example in 
architecture of our incapacity for dealing with art 
matters in a broad public spirit. 

The Society of Solicitors to the Supreme Courts 
of Scotland required library buildings on a site in 
the Cowgate, on a level with, and joined by a 
bridge to, Parliament House, to comprise, besides 
the library, a reading-room, a hall to accommodate 

two hundred, consulting rooms, book stores, etc., 
all massed, with the aid of a fireproof floor, upon 
a four-storied substratum of shops, tenements, 
model lodging-houses, or otherwise. 

The Solicitors' Society is a wealthy corporation, 
learned in the law, not lightly to be charged with 
want of public spirit. They would doubtless scorn 
the idea that the new library should not rank as one 
of the public buildings of the ' Modern Athens ' ; it 
will form part of the cluster of buildings surroimd- 
ing the historic Parliament House ; to all who look 
from George iv. Bridge it will be the most con- 
spicuous building in the Cowgate, scarcely distant 



by a hundred paces from the new Public Library at 
present rising just across the bridge. Here surely 
was an opportunity for generous art patronage. 
The building's at the back of Parliament House are 
unworthy of it ; the Cowgate of to-day is sunk in 
squalor. The new Library might dignify the one 
and ennoble the other. It only needed adequate, not 
extravagant, expenditure, and just a little courtesy 
to art considerations. But the learned Society, for 
this pile of 60 yards' frontage, 80 or 90 feet high, 
draws rigidly the line at =£"12,500 of total cost, in 
which mean sum even architects' and surveyors' fees 
must be included. By simple arithmetic, on 
i?12,500 the tenements below will yield a shrewd 
percentage ; and this, we suppose, must be taken as 
the measure of the Society's fostering care for art, 
the deliberate appreciation of the claims of archi- 
tecture by a main branch of the legal profession. 
What hope is there for its advancement as a fine 
art in such conditions ? What encouragement to 
belief in that progress in knowledge and love of art 
on which we are beginning to plume ourselves so 
airily ? 

It is not want of public spirit that leads to a lost 
opportunity like this, but sheer inability to appre- 
ciate the elementary needs of the art, its bare 
necessaries of life. It is not even a ' bourgeois 
ideal ' ; it is the commercial spirit triumphant, and 
gauging art by its own standard. Our inspiration 
has not changed since we were dubbed ' a nation of 
shopkeepers,' in spite of 'aestheticism' and desperate 
' art movements.' Your true shopkeeper is born, 
not made ; • so our sweetness and light are still the 
perfume of the counter and gas-flare radiance. 

The conduct of the competition itself had not 
even the credit of being business-like. Originally 
limited to invited architects, the competition 
merged vaguely into a public one ; a professional 
assessor was appointed, and his decision, it is an 
open secret, overturned ; the Avhole business, from 
an architectural point of view, as unsatisfactory as it 
well could be. The question of an assessor's status 
and authority is certainly difficult, nor can it be 
here discussed. But at least, if a professional 
adviser's decision is rejected, his report, in fairness 
to the competitors, should be made public. For 
the learned society to upset in private their asses- 
sor's judgment, and give forth unqualified their 
own decision only, is outrageous. Some dozen or 
more designs were submitted, and quasi-publicly 
exhibited. All, of course, were hampered by the 
miserable pittance within which they had at 
to say they kept. And all, it may be noted, 
disclaimed with eager unanimity the spending of an 

extra shilling on the exterior of the building, or on 
anything but the interior of the library and soli- 
citors' apartments (gauging, perhaps accurately 
enough, the wishes of the learned society). But 
even hampered as they were, we cannot help 
feeling that the designs, for the most part, were 
commonplace, and too often conceived with no 
regard for the conditions and the site. Only one 
competitor showed an extei'ior perspective viewed 
from the only point where the building coidd be 
seen ; yet rarely could there be a case in whicli a 
building should be more specially designed for its 
peculiar site. We wonder if the assessor shared the 
competitors' disregard of this, a point of some 
importance for what aspires to be a public 

Further, the majority of the designs were 
strangely unsuited to the associations and sur- 
roundings of the site. What more out of place 
in the Cowgate of Edinburgh than the uninterest- 
ing classicality of Dignity and Simplicity, or of 
Themis or of Lex ? The most marked exception to 
this was Scottish Seventeenth Century, a facade 
characterised by quiet breadth of treatment and 
good feeling, very successfully harmonising with 
the traditions of old Edinburgh. Lex, it may be 
noted, had not covered the site, a tribute to the 
Society's parsimony to be commended for its sin- 
cerity ; but within these narrowed limits the autlior 
had exhausted the opening letters of the alphabet 
in bewildering alternatives. Wisdom., Health, and 
Beauty, the design ultimately preferred for inscrutable 
reasons, is distinguished externally by an offspring 
of bay windows projecting from the parent walls, 
numerous as families in the Cowgate are apt to be ; 
further, by a flat roof over the reading-room that 
will make the west end very unsightly from George 
IV. Bridge, the one point of view that ought to 
have been most studied. Internally it is remarkable 
for its treatment of the unhappy corridor leading to 
the meeting hall, a sort of tunnel, eight feet high 
or thereabouts, bored through the books of the 
library, and but ill wedded to the large exterior 
bay windows. It is noticeable that this corridor 
vanished in the perspective (not technically but 
completely), and was transformed into solicitors and 

Our intention, however, has not been to dwell 
on the designs in detailed criticism, but to point 
the moral of this melancholy competition ; liow low, 
namely, our present state of education in art, how 
feeble our feeling for it, how inadequate to deal 
with architecture in a public spirit, how dead to its 
claims as the broadest of the arts. 

5W-, LLAN OA; 

w.=a-^r!r-;-' JgE;^:irigs 




Mr. WILLIAM YOUNG, Architect. 

THERE is a feeling abroad among the discrimi- 
nating that the new Municipal Buildings are 
not what they might ha\e been, and this despite the 
panegyrics of the daily press. What might, what 
should they have been ? With sucli a subject, such 
a site, and such an outlay of money, the city might 
and should have liad a building to mark an epoch 
in the architectural history of the nineteenth century 
in this country as did the Manchester Town Hall 
fifteen years ago, to draw the eyes of the art-world 
to Glasgow, and give its citizens something to be 
proud of besides their Cathedral and their ships. 

Such is the ideal ; for the reality Glasgow has got 
a building, very large, and costly, and gorgeous, of 
the kind which people generally call a ' very fine 
edifice," but one which can scarcely be called, con- 
sistently with truth, very beautiful or dignified. 
It is the lack of this last quality which we have 
especially to comjjlain of, for it is that which should 
above all characterise the municijaal centre of such 
a city as Glasgow. 

Wherein then does the fault lie .'' Not certainly 
in the style selected. The noble palaces of Rome 
and Florence, the Reform and other club-houses in 
London, as examples of civic, the cathedrals of 
Saint Peter's at Rome and Saint PauFs at London, 
of religious art — to mention only a few of the best- 
known examples — show how the style of the Italian 
Renaissance lends itself to dignified treatment, when 
rightly handled. It is not the fault of the architect's 
ground-plan, which, while excellent from a practical 
point of view, shows a skilful balancing of important 
departments which is justly rendered in elevation 
by well-marked and symmetrical masses. These 
masses, the central feature, the connecting wings, 
the corner pavilions of each elevation are in them- 
selves of good proportion, and generally of simple 
and harmonious outline. 

The fault, or faults, therefore, must lie in the 
working out of this architectural scheme, in the 
many minor features which go to make up the 
whole, and unfortunately, in the present instance, 
to destroy its effect. These we consider mainly 
to be : — An undue j'l'eponderance of horizontal 
lines, a faulty system of fenestrations producing 
a want of unbroken wall-spaces, a lack of artistic 
refinement in the details, and an over lavish use 
of sculpture. These defects characterise especially 
the principal elevation to George Square ; some of 
them are to be found there only, but throughout 

the entire building there is evidence of a constant 
tendency to break up the wall spaces by a great 
variety of projections, horizontal and vertical, in 
such a manner as to be totally destructive of repose. 

Yet the most casual observer cannot but be struck 
with the superiority of the sides in dignity, in im- 
portance, to the front ; and this effect would be 
increased could we see either of these elevations 
from a distance as we do the principal facade. 

In each elevation, it will be observed, a well-con- 
sidered and legitimate endeavour has been made to 
give dignity by the coupling of two stories, but 
while to the sides it is the first and second that 
have been so joined, to the front it is the ground 
and first floors, and in tliis case the effect is almost 
entirely lost by the want of boldness and simplicity 
in the treatment of the connecting piers, and by the 
fact that a strongly marked string-course is carried 
through them at about midway in their height. It 
is the first of four which, with the base, divide the 
whole building into five strata of nearly equal im- 

It is, however, chiefly to its fenestration, that 
most important feature in determining the character 
of every building, that the front owes its trivial 
character. We refer to the excessive use of the 
so-called Venetian windows, formed of a circular 
headed opening flanked by two smaller square 
headed side-lights, from which it is separated by 
columns. Possibly Mr. Young has not read Sir 
William Chambers's standard work on Civil Archi- 
tecture, or having read it he does not agree with the 
author. For in the chapter which treats of windows 
we find him writing : — ' Venetian windows are on 
some occasions necessary, . . . but where they can 
be avoided it is best, for the columns which separate 
the large interval from those on the sides, form 
such slender partitions that, at a distance, they are 
scarcely perceived, and the whole looks like a large 
irreffular breach made in the wall. And however 
advisable it may be to repeat the same form, the 
repetition of these Venetian windows should always 
be avoided, for this . . . keeps the eye in a per- 
petual dance to discover the outlines, than which 
nothing can be more unpleasing, or destructive of 
effect.' Mr. Young, not content with giving us one 
row of these windows along the entire front, has 
added a second in the central and side features, and 
the study of this fa^de completely afiirms both Sir 
William Chambers's dicta. 



A further disturbing feature in the front elevation 
is the great pediment which crowns the central 
pavilion, for while it is designed to correspond in 
scale with the wliole height of the building, coming 
as it does on the top of this double tier of ' dancing ' 
windows, and immediately supported by a row of 
columns grouped in four couples which are only the 
heiglit of the top story, it has an extremely heavy 
effect, and seems to crusli the whole composition, 
none the less from its very full complement of 
' Jubilee ' figures. 

The tower is well placed, from its position in the 
rear of the main front, giving the building the 
appearance of being in and not on George's Square, 
but its composition is marred by the laclv of a 
properly studied transition from tlie great breadth 
and solidity of the lower part to the lantern which 
crowns the whole. In consequence it looks much 
too small, especially when seen on tlie angle, and 
has the appearance of being stuck on in place of 
growing out of the substructure. With tlie view, 
we suppose, of making up for tliis deficiency, and of 
assuring the specta,tor of tlie perfect solidity of the 
whole, the lantern is crowned witli a metal vane of 
such massive design that it might have been carved 
in stone, and of such liuge proportions as to con- 
stitute it a fitting termination for the great pyramid 
of Gizeh. To the daily paper this eighteen feet or 
so of untarnishable copper has been a source of 
unlimited satisfaction, but the judicious in art grieve, 
and turn their eyes from looking upward. 

As regards the north front, to George Street, the 
importance of the banqueting-hall is well marked 

by the rich band of sculpture in the form of a 
boldly-cut acanthus scroll carried through the 
entire length of the surmounting attic, as also by 
the groups of children amid foliated scrolls in higli 
relief upon the spandrils of the windows. These 
windows are again Venetian, but less objectionable 
in this case, as there are but three, and these to so 
large a scale that the columns between the central 
and side liglits attain the dignity of an architectural 
feature. The effect of the rich upper story would, 
however, liave been greatly increased had the archi- 
tect been content to reserve his hand, and give us 
something quieter below than the ' cheese and tea- 
box ' order of columns which cross the ground and 
first floors. 

The south front to Cochrane Street we regard 
as altogetlier the most satisfactory. The central 
feature, wliile bold and strong in its liglits and 
shadows, as is necessary in an atmosphere such as 
that of Glasgow, is marked by greater simplicity 
and refinement than the rest of the building ; the 
simple rows of square-headed windows to either side 
in a flat wall surface support without detracting 
from the central mass ; and were it not for the 
unavoidable repetition of the triviality of the front 
fa^-ade in the corner pavilions, this elevation would 
leave little to be desired. After the others, the 
back elevation is refreshingly simple (the same, in 
passing, may be said of the central court), and 
in the very baldness of its wall surface shows how 
simplicity and dignity go hand in hand, and how 
most effect is often obtained where least is at- 


Glasgow Architectural Association Sketch Book. 
Vol. III. 

This volume shows an advance upon its immediate 
predecessor in the number of plates contributed during 
the year, and in the addition of short historical notes 
of the subjects illustrated. The subjects themselves 
are not more interesting than those of last year. 

The value of contributions to Architectural Associa- 
tion Sketch Books is to be measured chiefly by the 
amount of information they give beyond that to be 
obtained from a photograph of the place which any 
one can buy. This infoi-mation may be conveyed by 
plans, figured dimensions, and details supplementing 
the general sketch ; or by studies of minor subjects 
and detailed parts of greater subjects which are not of 
sufficient public interest to attract the commercial 
photographer. Judged by this standard, such contri- 

butions as those given by Mr. Wm. J. Anderson, in 
Plate 35, ' Doorways and Windows of the Vestibule to 
Chapter-House, etc., St. Andrews Cathedral,' and in 
Plate 17, "^Bay of the Chapter-House, Fmniess Abbey,' 
are of the greatest value. The former gives an excel- 
lent general sketch of the subject, with all the neces- 
sary dimensions and details appended in the margin, 
while the latter gives an intelligent geometric delinea- 
tion of the subject, with a slight sketch — though on 
too small a scale — of the general appearance of the 
Chapter-House. The same may be said, though per- 
haps in a minor degree, of Mr. H. D. Walton's ' Old 
Houses, Chartres,' and Mr. F. W. Simon's ' Door in 
S. Transept, The Dom, Ratisbon,' both charming 
sketches, supplemented by sections and dimensions of 
parts. Had Mr. M'Gibbon added such detailed infor- 
mation to his study of ' The Angel Choir, Lincoln 
Cathedral,' he would have imparted additional value 



to a sketch which has fully realised the poetry of the 
subject. The clear-measured drawings and details 
of ' Chancel Screen, Gresford Church, Denbighshire,' 
by Mr. Henry Beswick, and of ' A Bay of the Cloisters, 
Lincoln Cathedral,' by Messrs. VV. Shanks and A. N. 
Prentice, are eminently useful to the student and the 
architect, while details of parts of buildings not obtain- 
able in photographs, such as those given by Mr. Wash- 
ington Browne in Plate 3, by Mr. Prentice in Plate 8, 
and by Mr. John A. Campbell in Plate 21, form very 
acceptable contributions. On the other hand, the 
pencil sketches of Dryburgh Abbey and of Lincoln 
Cathedral, the tinted sketches of Gateway to St. 
John's College, Cambridge, and of Bargello Palace, 
Florence — excellent in themselves, and playing an 

important part in the training of their contributors — 
add nothing to the information to be obtained from 
ordinary photographs of these subjects. 

Plates 33 and 34 contain measured drawings by Mr. 
Larmont D. Penman of modern work, the subject 
being St. Vincent Street U. P. Church, Glasgow, 
designed by the late Alexander Thomson. The Asso- 
ciation does well in recognising the importance to 
its members of a careful study of the best modern 
examjiles of architecture, and the influence of the 
subject here illustrated, in which an antique style 
has been moulded in a masterly way to meet 
modern requirements, cannot but be beneficial to 
all who will take the trouble to examine it thought- 


MANY people feel that, while art is elevating 
and inspiring, the discussion of it is often 
vague and dreary. There are perceptions and infer- 
ences which it is difficult to fix in language ; the 
more refined they are, the greater the difficulty ; 
their full analysis and expression must be left to the 
learned. But tliere are some general and rather 
obvious impressions upon which a non-professional 
lover of art may venture, perhaps, to make some notes. 
The chief necessity, as it appears to me, is to 
extend the influence of art ; for its mission cannot be 
accomplished while the knowledge and feeling of it 
are confined to a small circle. Esoteric doctrines, 
whether in art, philosophy, or religion, are sterile. 
Tlie tlluminati, before they can carry any consider- 
able numbers with them, must speak a language 
' understanded of the people' ; and that means 
either they must lower their tone and standard, or 
bring mankind up, as nearly as possible, to their 
own level of perception and judgment. Now the 
ideals of beauty in form, colour, and expression 
are not to be let down, any more than moral or 
spiritual truth is to be degraded ; there is no com- 
promise possible between those ideals and tl'e plaus- 
ible, meretricious, imperfect imitations or substitutes 
wliich pass for art, and which, it must be admitted, 
attract the un instructed more strongly than the 
pure line, chastened colour, and mastery of expres- 
sion which the artist of imaginative power employs. 
The difficulty appears at first insurmountable, but 
it must be faced. The question is, how can the 
popular standard and the general power of appre- 
ciation be raised .? There are two efficient asencies : 
general public instruction of the young in drawing, 
and free galleries of art. 

Drawing in all schools, public and private, is the 
first important agency. It does not matter that 
it is taught at the beginning by men considerably 
less accomplislied than Titian. The mere habit of 
daily attention to outline, followed by the completer 
notions of foi-m that come as the pupil progresses, 
will affect tliat pupiFs perception and judgment all 
his life. Grant that much of his time is given to 
semi-mathematical work, and to the copying of 
utensils and other simple objects, or that his in- 
struction is better calculated to make him an artisan 
than an artist, still he will have gained a power 
no uninstructed man ever acquires, — the power to 
detach mentally the various parts of a composition, 
to compare the truth of those parts with his own 
experience of the objects depicted, their relation to 
each other, and finally to judge of the general trutli, 
naturalness, and effect of the whole. 

It may perhaps add some interest to a dry dis- 
cussion to show the experience on which these views 
ai'e founded. When drawing was first introduced 
into tlie public schools of Boston, the teacher, who 
was not in the highest sense an artist, gave a rather 
literal or mechanical turn to the instruction. I 
cannot say even that his lines and proportions were 
always absolutely without fault ; but he was a man 
of fine taste, and of ability and energy, with a 
singular power of inspiring enthusiasm ; and as the 
system was on trial, with a public generally in- 
credulous of its utility, it was desirable, and even 
imperative, to hold up the utilitarian view, — to 
show wliat an incomparable advantage it would be 
to the future mechanics of the city to be able to 
draught their own work, and by and by to make 
ornamental designs. For this reason the School 



Board supported the drawing-master and defended 
his system. Not tliat they thouglit liim tlie best 
possible teacher, but the best for the emergency, 
being able to thoroughly interest pupils and their 
daily teachers in the work, and to make a beginning 
tliat was best under the circumstances. To have 
abandoned his defence then would have put an end to 
the system and banished drawing from the schools. 

Strangely enough the leading artists of the city 
were loudest in the outcry against the drawing- 
master, and kept up a sharp fusilade against liini, 
and against the School Board, in the newspapers. 
From their point of view they were right. The 
drawing- master was not a Titian, and liis lessons 
did not lead up to the studios so much as to the 
workshops and factories. But had the direction of 
drawing been intrusted to any one of those artists, 
even to William Hunt, the experiment would not 
have been allowed to continue a year. Drawing, to 
be firmly established, needed a broad base, and to 
rely as much on patent, practical uses as upon the 
higher, more remote, and less tangible results in art 
and taste. Artists and art-lovers formed too small 
a proportion of the community. 

After tlie lessons had made some progress, it was 
wonderful to see the breaking out of the signs of 
skill and intelligence in unexpected places. Some 
of the pupils in the poorest quarters of the city, 
and from the poorest families in tliose quarters, 
came to make copies of casts, ornaments, arabesques, 
etc., that were remarkable for force, correctness,.and 
delicacy. During the years in which I was a mem- 
ber of the Board, I examined many hundreds of the 
drawing - books, and often with admiration and 
pride. I do not know that any of those pupils 
became artists — in my view, tliat fact is not impor- 
tant ; there will be time enough for that — but it is 
certain that their exercises moulded their tastes and 
refined their perceptions. The result must be felt 
in their homes when they come to be men and 
women. Tawdry pictures, plaster images, coloured 
lithographs, and the like, such as the common 
people in most countries are contented with, will 
find no favour in their eyes. 

If I have dwelt on the practical view of this 
subject, it is because the condition of Boston and 
Massachusetts demanded it. The thin and stony soil 
cannot produce one-half the necessary food, and the 
people must be sustained largely by manufactures. 
To increase the efficiency of workmen is to increase 
the general wealth ; and a carpenter who can make 
the plans for his work is worth two men. In how 
many trades the same thing applies ! The improve- 
ment in the work of mechanics and manufacturers 
in recent years is very marked. Stoves, carriages, 

harnesses, furniture, carpets, and other articles, once 
so coarse and bungling, are now made in what may 
be fairly called artistic forms. Designs in printed 
cloths, iron castings, chandeliers, and domestic 
utensils are noticeably more tasteful and refined. 
How much tliis means for the future of the artisan 
class it is not necessary to urge. Nor is it necessary 
to do more than allude to the fact that the condi- 
tion and needs of Scotland are very similar to those 
of Massachusetts. 

But it must not be supposed that I put tliis 
forward as the chief end and aim of instruction in 
drawing. Tlie leaf-mould of this season nourishes 
the flowers of tlie next. Out of material needs 
finer instincts and aspirations are born. The prac- 
tical and the ideal are strangely enlaced and inter- 
penetrated, like body and soul. And the workman 
who is striving for beauty in the work of his liands, 
even for ambitious or sordid motives, is disciplin- 
ing his powers for higher things ; and the impaljsable 
results — the flowering of mind, the sense, tlie ideal, 
tlie artistic touch — will come later, either in his 
own life or that of his off^spring. 

It is not worth while to make a comparison 
between the circumstances of modern life and the 
state of tilings in which Italian, Spanish, Dutch, 
and Flemish schools of art were born. The history 
of those scjiools will not be repeated, any more tlian 
the life of the bygone centuries. But this is certain, 
that the production of great works of art is not to 
be looked for except in communities where an 
artistic sentiment vitalises the atmosphere. It may 
require generations to bring about the favourable 
conditions ; and, so far as can be judged, the 
brilliant, inquisitive, utilitarian, scientific tendencies 
of our age are less friendly to art than those of the 
centuries which we are apt to consider ignorant and 
credulous. As the church and tlie nobles are no 
longer the sole or even the princijial patrons of 
artists, it is to the people they must look ; and if 
the people are to become patrons, they must be 
educated. So we come to the point from which we 

There may have been some rare emanations of 
genius in communities destitute of artistic wealtli, 
but the rule is otherwise. Out of the abundance of 
taste and feeling come new and higher forms of 
creative art. To the people that hath shall be 

In Scotland there is no superabundance, although 
there have been many great artists among her sons. 
Painters and sculptors naturally seek the capital of 
the kingdom, and therefore the greater effort is 
necessary to secure the influence and the results of 
art in remote quarters. If that influence is to 



become general and powerful in elevating and 
refining the public taste, it will be necessary to 
make the study of drawing universal. The material 
results wiU richly repay the outlay ; and in time 
there will be developed a prevalent sentiment, a 
sufficient knowledge, an artistic atmosphere, whicli 
will be the conditions favourable to the creation of 
noble works. 

Scarcely less important are the establishment and 
tlie enriching of galleries of painting and sculpture. 
Annual exhibitions of pictures by living Scotcli 
artists, tliougli useful and necessary, are not enough. 
There is in provincial art as in provincial literature, 
a breeding-in-and-in, which is distinctly retrograde 
in tendency. Artists should be able to compare 
themselves not merely witli their daily companions 

but with the best men of all nations; and the 
public should be accustomed to see the excellences 
of all schools. Glasgow, a city of three-quarters of 
a million of people, might reasonably aspire to have 
at no distant day a collection to compare with 
those of the smaller capitals on the Continent : 
good examples of the chief scliools, historically 
arranged, copies of the justly celebrated antique 
statues, and representative works by British artists. 
Such a collection would cost a large sum, and could 
not be made in a day. But it should be begun and 
steadily pursued, and the next generation will enjoy 
the fruits. 

Perhaps the Committee of the Exhibition will 

give it a start. 

F. H. Underwood, 


Mr. Walter Crane recently delivered the last of a course 
of University Extension lectures in the Sheldonian Theatre, 
Oxford, the subject being the educational value of art. He said 
that one of the means of making education interesting was too 
much neglected, namely, that enough account was not taken of the 
eye and its sensitiveness to impressions, especially impressions of 
beauty. This was not recognised, as a rule, in schools, and the 
consequence was the too frequent insensibility to harmony and 
proportion in visible things, which was sometimes met with even 
along with a high degree of culture. We were hearing much of 
technical education, but if that merely meant a specialising of 
putters-on of pins' heads, or a training for a machine-minder, he 
did not feel much enthusiasm for it. When one thought how 
closely interwoven with the warps of history and humanity were 
the golden threads of art, it hardly seemed necessary to gauge the 
educational value of art, for art itself was an education. 

The somewhat bald north elevation of the Edinburgh Univer- 
sity, which originally fronted a narrow lane, and which is now 
fully exposed to view by the opening up of Chambers Street, is to 
receive some improvements so as to bring it more into harmony \vith 
the other three fagades than at present. There are four bays which 
slightly project, and three of them are to be re-dressed, and the 
joints and beds of the stones of the first-floor over the basement are 
to be rusticated so as to correspond with the easternmost of the 
four. The ornamental string-course, which is only returned over 
the easternmost bay, is to be continued along the whole line ; and 
the iron railing and parapet at the front elevation are to be removed. 
The latter operation will, it is believed, not only give additional 
breadth to the footway of South Bridge Street, but add to the dig- 
nity of the elevation. Mr. Hutcheson's bronze statue of * Aspiring 
Youth,' which is to surmount the lantern of the dome, is at present 
on view in the quadrangle, and preparations are in progress for 
placing it in situ. While speaking of Edinburgh, we may mention 
that the buildings for the Technical College are completed so far 
as regards the exterior, thus completing the range of Chambers 
Street. The statue of Dr. Chambers, which is to occupy a site 
between the Technical College and the Museum of Science and 
Art, has been intrusted to Mr. Birnie Rhind, sculptor. 

Glasgow is the headquarters of the British Archfeological 
Association during their annual Congress this year, which com- 
menced on the 27th ult. On the opening day the visitors restricted 
their rambles to Glasgow ; on the following days they visited 

Bothwell, Stirling, Bute, Dunblane, Linlithgow, and Dunfermline. 
Amongst the papers read during the Congress we note the foUow"- 
i"g> I'y ^I''- J"!"" Honeyman, F. R.I. B. A., on 'The Architecture 
of Glasgow Cathedral'; by Mr. E. P. Loftus Brock, F.S.A., 
F.R.I.B.A., 'On the Peculiarities of Ancient Scottish Archi- 
tecture'; and by Professor Hayter Lewis, F. S.A., on 'Scottish 
Masons' Marks as compared with those of other Countries,' 

Mr. George Aitchison, a very good authority, reviews in the 
Builder the discourse of Mr. William Morris, in a recent number 
of the Fortnightly Revieiu, on the 'Revival of Architecture.' It 
is hardly necessary to say that Mr. Morris does not think that 
architecture can be suitably revived, except by copying Gothic 
forms again, and Mr. Aitchison, while he is enough of an architect 
not to believe that architectural beauty is limited to buildings with 
one peculiar set of details, is inclined to think that the spirit of the 
present age is so much opposed to architectural art that there is no 
hope of its revival until strong public feeling, excited by some great 
event, or series of events, shall seek expression in great monuments; 
and the best comfort he can offer to architects who try to train 
themselves to the utmost in their art is that they do well to be ready 
in case the wave of enthusiasm should occur in their time. ' At 
present,' he says, 'the only question that interests mankind is, 
whether their buildings can be built quickly, and are cheap,' and, 
further, ' So intent have we been on our problems — perfecting 
steam-engines, boring hills, bridging valleys, producing artificial 
light, and communicating instantly with the uttermost parts of the 
earth — so eager have we been to get rich, that we have overlooked 
beauty, and so surrounded have we been with every form of ugli- 
ness that we have grown callous." 

Every Man his own Art Critic (Glasgow Exhibition, 
188S). — This is a brochure by Mr. Patrick Geddes, whose Every 
Man his ovjji Critic at the Manchester Exhibition attracted so 
much attention last summer. Compared with that pamphlet, 
the present one is longer, and in grasp of principles and lucid 
exposition distinctly superior, while the lightness of touch and 
almost flippant verve which distinguished the former produc- 
tion are again apparent. The booklet is composed of an 
introduction on ' The Aspects of Art,' and three chapters 
treating respectively of ' The Art of Seeing,' ' The Seeing of 
Art,' and 'The Feeling of Art.' Throughout there is ample 
evidence that Mr. Geddes has something to say, and knows how to 
say it, constant reference being made to works in the galleries. 



His foundation he lays as follows : ' Platitudes notwithstanding, 
the definite common-sense basis of art criticism, really does exist. 
Secondly, it is in some measure speedily attainable.' The last 
somewhat revolutionary statement is qualified by the reservation 
that the capacity to appreciate form and colour is denied some 
people, and that no opinion is of value which is not founded on 
intelligent study. In addition to these qualifying clauses, we should 
prefer the word ' appreciation ' in place of criticism, and the omis- 
sion of the attractive term 'speedily.' The general attitude of the 
public in a picture gallery is, for the most part, pathetic in its 
childlike naivety, and the avidity with which information is wel- 
comed from any one who seems to know, renders sound counsel 
additionally valuable. The elements of all pictures Mr. Geddes 
designates as 'Scene, treatment, and idealisation,' or 'Head, 
hand, and heart,' or 'Sight, skill, and feeling,' and he advocates 
the endeavour on the part of all who wish to appreciate works of 
art, to approach them on the outlook for any or all of these qualities. 
The author himself is no partisan, showing throughout his pam- 
phlet sympathies both varied and strongly felt. For the recent 
development of a living body of artists in Glasgow he claims not 
only interest, but respect ; and in general reference to the art of 
the present and future, his attitude is not pessimistic.but hopeful. 
We had marked many passages for quotation, but want of space 
compels their omission. From beginning to end it is a bright httle 
work, pregnant with matter for thought and comment. Only one 
slip we notice : on page 35, Matthew Maris' beautiful little ' Mont- 
martre ' is attributed to his brother James. 

Mr. W. M. Conway, 22 Albemarle Street, Piccadilly, W., 
Hon. Secretary of the National Association for the Advancement 
of Art, writes ; ' The first Congress of the National Association 
for the Advancement of Art, which is to be held at Liverpool 
towards the close of November next, will not accomplish the 
object its promoters have in view unless it brings together a 
representative assembly, not of artists only, but of the leaders of 
industrial enterprise also. The chief difficulty by which we are 
now met is that of putting ourselves in communication with the 
large body of manufacturers, scattered about in different parts of 
the country and as yet united by no common bond, who have been 
led, by the necessities of their daily work, to face the problems of 
industry in its relation to art. We know that there are many such 
men ready to assist, and capable of ably assisting, in the work we 
have in hand ; but unless they put themselves in communication 
with us we shall scarcely be able to reach them.' Those interested 
will receive any information they may desire on application to Mr. 
Conway, or the Association's secretary, at the Walker Art Gallery, 

The Competition for the 'Owen Jones' Prizes. — The 
prizes in the competition for the 'Owen Jones ' Prizes, 18S8 {in- 
stituted by the Society of Arts in 1878), have been awarded. The 
prizes are given to ' students of the School of Art who, in annual 
competition, produce the best design for household furniture, 
carpets, wall-papers and hangings, damask, chintzes, etc. , regulated 
by the principles laid down by Owen Jones.' The prizes are 
awarded on the results of the annual competition of the Science 
and Art Department. The following is a list of the successful 
candidates : — i. James J. F. King, School of Art, Glasgow — 
Design for Persian Carpet. 2. Herbert Cole, School of Art, 
Cavendish Street, Manchester — Design for carpets. 3. Andrew 
Richmond, School of Art, Glasgow — Design for printed hanging. 
4. Eniily Batters, School of Art, Hertford — Design for tiles. 5. 
Samuel H. Moss, School of Art, Macclesfield — Design for tiles. 
6. George Pettitt, School of Art, Cavendish Street, Manchester 
— Design for printed hangings. 

The Constable Pictures.— By Miss Isabel Constable's gift 
to South Kensington, of what we suppose to be about half a 
hundred examples of her father's art, the nation is (says the 

Standard) in possession of much better means than it has enjoyed 
before of studying the individuality of a leader of landscape 
painting, and of claiming acquaintance with his methods. The 
large series of this really great man's studies, shown henceforth at 
South Kensington, are, for purposes of estimate and inquiry, the 
complement of what is at the National Gallery. It is possible to 
see now, not only a few — a very few — of his most deliberate and 
ordered efforts — Constable en grande ienue, so to say — but to 
appreciate the variety, such as it was, of his moods, and to be sure 
what it was that he chiefly cared for, and how it was that he por- 
trayed it. The National Gallery contains some four or five finished 
canvases, one of the most notable being the ' Cornfield ' ; one of 
the most interesting being a picture of a house at Hampstead, 
ordinary enough in itself, but surrounded by the charm of weather ; 
and the masterpiece being unquestionably that ' Hay Wain ' ex- 
hibited at the Salon in 1824, which revolutionised, even too 
completely, French landscape art, and which only a few years 
since came to Trafalgar Square, in proof, if that were wanted, of 
the generosity of a living donor. The gift which South Kensington 
has received, and now displays, includes a goodly number of 
smallish, but, of course, broadly painted oil pictures, many slighter 
studies, and a few drawings and engravings. 

Messrs. T. & A. Constable announce a work commemorative 
of the Loan Collections in the Glasgow Exhibition, on parallel 
lines to the volume on the Edinburgh Art Exhibition which we 
reviewed last month. The Glasgow book, however, will have two 
volumes, one devoted to the Historical and Archceological Collec- 
tion, as well as one dealing with the Paintings, Drawings, and 
Sculpture. In the first volume, special prominence is to be given 
to the relics of Mary Queen of Scots, of the i6th century 
struggles, and of the Jacobite risings ; the work will be under the 
superintendence of some of the most eminent of our Scottish 
antiquaries, among others. Dr. Anderson, of the National Museum 
of Antiquities, Professor Story, and Mr. David Murray. The 
Art volume will contain about one hundred illustrations, a 
certain proportion of which will be full-page plates in etching 
and heliogravure, while the remainder, in the best process avail- 
able, will be included in the text. The letterpress will be the 
work of Mr. W. E. Henley, and Mr. Robert Walker, Secretary of 
the Fine Arts Section of the Exhibition, w hile the illustrations are 
to be the work of Mr. William Hole, A.R.S.A., and others, 
among whom we may mention Mr. Roche. 

The Edinburgh Exhibition of Decorative Handiwork. 
— It is proposed to hold, during the month of November 1888, 
and two following months, an Exhibition of Decorative Handi- 
work, comprising examples of carving in wood and ivory, inlaying, 
decorative work in wrought iron, brass, copper, and precious 
metals, modelled ornament, and work in such other materials as it 
might ultimately be deemed desirable to include in exhibition with 
these. The Exhibition will be held in the Galleries of the Royal 
Scottish Academy, the use of which has been granted by Her 
Majesty's Board of Manufactures. The scheme of the Exhibition 
will be twofold. In the first place, an opportunity will be given 
for those skilled in any of the forms of handiwork comprised within 
the scheme, both professional workers and amateurs, to exhibit 
specimens of their craft, and prizes will be offered for excellence of 
design and of workmanship. In the second place, a Loan Collec- 
tion will be formed, consisting of selected examples in the several 
departments, representing various periods and nationalities — 
special prominence being given to examples of Scottish work of 
the sixteenth and following centuries. The Committee, consist- 
ing of gentlemen well-known in connection with art matters, 
appeal for the co-operation of those possessing specimens of such 
work, and important help has already been promised in this 
department. Mr. C. L. Blaikie, C.A., 4A St. Andrew Square, 
Edinburgh, is Secretary. 




THE answer is no. Not because the love of music 
does not exist, or has never existed in England. 
The wealth of melody popular among the people 
from the remotest ages proves that music has 
always been cherished in this country. The state 
of musical cultivation in the present day, when 
compared with the condition of musical linowledge 
in times past, and not so very long past, is a good 
ground for liearty congratulation among all interested 
in the matter as to the widespread desire to know 
as much as possible of this beautiful art. The 
frequent concerts and festivals, the existence of 
many central academies and teaching schools, the 
numbers of worthy teachers, professors, and exe- 
cutants, the encouragement of music in the home 
circle, and many other ways more or less commend- 
able, are referred to with pride as an answer to the 
oft-repeated taunt as to the unmusical character of 
tlie people of this great kingdom. There can be no 
doubt that many of the prejudices entertained con- 
cerning the use of music as a domestic solace, and 
as an important element of worship, have been 
broken down, and that greater effects will follow 
from its more frequent employment in both services. 
The people being thus musically inclined, however, 
does not make them necessarily musical. The charm 
which surrounds tiie practice of music for those who 
are lovers of the art is sufficiently strong to encourage 
the belief that the day is near when the old objec- 
tions to its general exercise will vanisli. Tliere is 
no important ceremony which does not derive addi- 
tional importance through the help of music. The 
attraction it offers has a distinct commercial value. 
Many modern enterprises in the way of public 
exhibitions, which are designed to attract tlie public, 
for all the value they may possess as educational 
centres, have — when the financial question was 
pressed forward — been compelled to court the 
divinity they ignored at the outset, and to make 
their primary objects of secondary consideration. 
These things help to demonstrate the power and 
influence of music, and serve to show that the love 
for the effects of the art is universal. 

Seeing then that music is a recognised factor in 
the sum of human culture, those who are interested 
in the progress of art find themselves face to face 
with a question which is both serious and important. 
The inhabitants of the British Isles are said to be 
among the most unmusical nations of the world by 
those whose pleasure or whose business it is to de- 
preciate all home-grown efforts. This is an accusa- 

tion which has been so often combated, and so 
frequently refuted, that it is needless to enlarge 
upon it now. By means of figures, we are told, 
anything can be proved. Taking the thing as a 
matter of commerce, it could be sho^vn that the 
English-speaking races are the greatest patrons of 
music above all others. Those who pay the largest 
sums in aggregate for commodities of everyday use, 
may be reasonably accepted as commanding the 
largest supply. Those who have the largest supply 
may be assumed to obtain it because they regard it 
as a necessity of their existence — animal, moral, or 
intellectual. On one side, moreover, these figures 
can prove appreciation of art and artists on the 
part of the peo^ile ; on the other that the encour- 
agement of art is greater in proportion as it is not 
home-grown. What seems to be required is the 
admission of the practice of music and the counten- 
ance of artists on commercial principles compatible 
with exercise of the art as an art, and as of some 
degree of practical value as a bread-winning enter- 
prise. Some enthusiasts affirm that this desirable 
state of things will follow v.\\en our native artists 
show that they have formulated a ' School.' They 
look hopefully for that school, and believe that in 
its rise and progress tlie needful panacea will be 
found. It can be proved by figures that music is 
well supported, and that therefore taking figures as 
representing facts, possession as indicating riches, 
and constant demand as showing constant need, 
there is no nation so greatly interested in musical 
art as our own, no nation more assiduous in the 
cultivation of its practice, and few in which, all 
disadvantages considered, the need of forming a 
distinctive school is more pressing, in order that our 
native artists may take their proper stand in the 
world of art. Here we may pause to ask if there 
is any necessity to persevere in the struggle to form 
such a school, and if it is possible that any school of 
music, that is to say, any transmittable code of laws 
or forms of practice and methods of procedure, can 
exist at all, or be capable of producing results of 
permanent advantage. 

These questions may be proposed without refer- 
ence to either financial, mathematical or other 
qualities which can be proved by figures, thougli 
each and all may possibly have some bearing upon 
them. Admitting that we are not a musical people, 
but are only a music-supjDorting people, because we 
have never shown ourselves to be possessed of a 
distinctive school, may we not in our turn ask if 



the possession of a distinctive school is an indication 
of musical character and capability ? If so, what 
nation has shown that individuality with which we 
may compare ourselves and our efforts and take 
note how much we come short of the quality 
desired ? Most persons interested in musical history 
have read of the various so-called historical schools 
of music — the Flemish School, the Italian School, 
and its various subdivisions, Roman, Neapolitan, 
Venetian, ]\Iilanese, Florentine, or other ; the French 
School, the German School, and even of the English 
School of Purcell. 

If we regard the term ' School ' as indicative of 
special use of forms of expression in music originat- 
ing with, or brought to perfection by, the nominal 
representatives, it is feared that the divisions quoted 
above, and accepted by the unthinking among 
musical jstudents and teachers, are more fanciful 
than real, more convenient than accurate. Ex- 
]ierience shows that the term is moreover mislead- 
ing, and scarcely to be defended even on the ground 
of locality or history. The arrangement of the 
advances of music into schools, which originated in 
particular periods, and at specified places, may have 
been a convenient method for those who are nothing 
if not formal, but the whole history of the art shows 
that it has no connection with 'the political divisions 
of kingdoms, and that the division of it into schools 
of art, particularly of those j^eriods when there can 
generally be no mention made of their existence, 
would prove, in the history of music, the most 
useless and deceitful of all. For the boundaries of 
real or decayed schools, according to time and place, 
indeed their very existence as schools, would be 
difficult if not impossible to be proved ; and this 
division but too frequently compels the historian, 
through the want of complete and authentic in- 
formation, to assume or supply data at the sacrifice 
of his own conscience, and therefore of truth, in 
order to force all his materials into one or other of 
the compartments above mentioned.' None of the 
' Schools ' originated with themselves, but all were 
outgrowths from earlier teaching. Few even show 
so much independence that they cannot be mistaken 
the one for the other. 

Before entering more fully upon the subject, it 
must be said that these several schools — so named 
— are held to represent recognisable qualities of 
artistic production by a class. Unfortunately no 
school that has existed can show many marked 
distinctions beyond the titles conferred upon it. 
Music, unlike its sister art Painting, cannot be 
formulated into concrete patterns. It is not an 
imitative art, nor can its successful forms of expres- 
sion be limited to conventionalities of utterance. 

The aspects of nature teach the painter much that 
he is willing to learn, and his own moods suggest 
the varieties of treatment. More than that, he has 
the help of his own character to aid him, and so 
far as he can accomplish things in a fashion new to 
his fellows, he invests his labours with peculiarities 
\\ hich may become the basis of a new style. He 
may be the founder of a so-called school, but as 
this consists chiefly in the constant reproductions of 
his mannerisms, whether of drawing, colouring, or 
subjects, it is restricted in its influence. His own 
style may be as distinctly legible as his handwriting. 
This may be also imitable, but to those who care 
to make themselves familiar with it there are 
characteristic qualities which are absolutely peculiar 
and inimitable. The accumulation of types refer- 
able to a common origin makes the basis of the 
school. If these are retained and constantly repro- 
duced, no artistic advance is possible. TJie school 
of Velasquez, of JMurillo, of Rubens, of Rembrandt, 
of Del Sarto, of Vandyke, of Lely, of Reynolds, of 
Gainsborough, of Allan, of Morland, of Hogarth, 
of Landseer, of Etty, of Wilkie, and of all great 
painters endowed with originality, dies with them 
and their immediate imitators. They leave little 
or nothing to the store of art that could be made 
points of new departures. 

The forms of art followed by the musician, though 
comparable in some respects with the labours of 
the limner, are not always parallel. The musician 
may be inspired by a contemplation of the beauties 
of nature, but so soon as he attempts to imitate 
natural sounds he degrades his art, or at all events 
imparts to his productions an element which gives 
rise to undignified reflections. His music becomes 
a series of mechanical suggestions, valuable enougli 
for his purpose perhaps, but useless as evidence of 
the existence of imaginative power. In the expres- 
sion of this imaginative power, or in his abihty to 
arouse it in his hearers, lies the greater strength of 
the true musician. Beethoven, great as he is in the 
exercise of his art, would never have been great had 
he confined his labours to the multiplication of such 
works as his ' Pastoral Symphony.' This pleases the 
unthinking, though he himself evidently felt its 
weakness inasmuch as he, probably feeling that his 
music did not do so, took care to describe in words 
the effects he desired to reproduce. There is a 
distinct element of undesigned humoiu- in the serious 
efforts made by Haydn in his oratorio ' The Crea- 
tion,' to imitate not only the various animals, but 
the physical phenomena referred to in the text of 
the work. Moreover, all these attempts are singular. 
Tliey are personal expressions and not those of a 
school. Each composer who, like both of these 

.1 Ui 






great men, ilesires to introduce natural sounds, does 
so on patterns of his own invention. Tliey are 
never conclusive, for except with regard to certain 
of the animal creation whose utterances are restricted 
to definite intervals, no one has yet succeeded in 
fixing in musical sounds, with any degree of satisfac- 
tion, the melodies of the song of birds, so that they 
may be clearly distinguished. 

Many of the great masters of musical art have 
endeavoured to reproduce by means of musical 
instruments, the effects of the convulsions of nature 
during a storm. If either or all of them were dis- 
ciples of a school, their efforts woidd have been 
moulded upon one pattern. Beethoven, Haydn, 
Rossini, Verdi, and Wagner, to name only a few 
among the best, have each made attempts in this 
direction, and each attempt is regarded as more or 
less successful, because each conveys to the informed 
mind the desired impression. Yet, each has gone 
to work in a totally different way, and has attained 
his end by means independent of the others. None, 
however, has done more than suggest the effect 
aimed at, so as to obviate the necessity of calling- 
special attention to it. 

On the other hand, a painter may faithfully 
reproduce a momenfs existence of a scene of natural 
grandeur or terror, or the form of a bird or animal 
upon a canvas, and by his skill so endow each with 
animation that it may seem to be lacking in no 
particular but that wliich marks tlie difference 
between a picture and the existence it re])resents. 

There is tlien no complete parallel between tlie 
two arts. They possess many points in common, it 
must be admitted ; but those who, reasoning from 
analogy, would restrict the progress of music to tlie 
productions of schools, may be credited with a 
greater knowledge of the value of arithmetical 
tables than of the history and progress of music. 

Advance is only possible where trammels do not 
exist. Those trammels may be necessary under 
certain conditions. The precepts of the Gregorian 
School, the earliest attempts at music, were legisla- 
tive, and, to a certain extent, penal. The character 
of the scales upon which the ' tones ' were founded 
showed the ' School ' to which they belonged as in- 
caj)able of expansion. Tlie ' Gregorian song ' was a 
sliaped and concrete matter, capable of deterioration 
and not of improvement. It is even now vaunted 
as an artistic thing by those who are interested in 
the retention of anachronisms. Futile attempts 
have been made to show that it is conformable to 
the progress of art, but as a school it has in no 
way contributed to that end. It was only when 
musicians shook off its chains that they were 
enabled to make further researches in hitherto 

forbidden directions. For a time, however, the 
semblance of a school was maintained, inasmuch as 
musicians clothed the archaic melodies of the 
Gregorian song with the subtleties of newly dis- 
covered harmonic combinations, and looked no 
further afield for a basis for new operations. They 
soon exhausted their means, and the crudity of the 
foundation upon which these were superimposed 
could not be wholly concealed even bj' the rich and 
varied graces of newly formed art. Such produc- 
tions represented an influence rather than a school. 
In the endeavour to try fresh conclusions, the 
musicians, unwilling or unable to invent new 
melodies of their own, selected those which were 
already popular, and whose construction was not 
hampered by formal rules. They clothed the tunes, 
not always associated with such decent or worthy 
words as those of the ' Gregorian song,' with fresh 
and freer harmonies, and made some progress in art 
impossible before. Still no school existed. The 
Flemish musicians of the fourteenth and fifteenth 
centuries gathered up the scattered fragments of 
melody distributed by the Troubadours, and upon 
them formed their new harmonies which were too 
secular in character to be used in association with 
Gregorian song. The Troubadours called certain 
of their own effusions by the name of ' motes." 
Upon the melodies of these the Netherlandish 
musicians fonned their ' motets.' The fulminations 
of ecclesiastical thunder were levelled at tliese new 
inventions. The Churcli, at first the chief en- 
courager of enterprising musical art, made a wrong 
.step in the endeavours to check the new growths. 

In the ' birthplace of modern musical art,' as tlie 
Low Countries are justly called, the 'nourishing 
mother' can scarcely be said to have existed. The 
hardy scions of the race of thoughtful musicians, 
among whose ranks the names of Willem Dufay, 
Okenheim, Jacques Obrecht, and Josquin de Pres 
stand pre-eminent, were the pioneers of the Flemish 
advances in musical art, and from their teaching, 
and those of their immediate successors, the whole 
knowledge of musical science in Europe proceeds. 
Adrian AVillaert, Cyprian von Roor or De Rore, 
Berchem, Van Boes, and others settled in Venice 
and Upper Italy : Arcadelt, Goudimel, and Verdelot 
were the chiefs of that branch w^ho found their 
sphere of action in Rome and Central Italy ; Jacob 
Vaet, Philip da Monte, Christian Hollaander, and 
Orlando Lassus or di Lasso, settled in Germany, 
and even carried tlieir musical mission into the 
regions of Bohemia. Joliii Hamboys, a noted Eng- 
lish musician of the reign of Henry the Fourth, and 
the first graduate in music in Oxford, was said to 
be of Flemish origin, like Crequillon and others 



who laboured at tlie same period in France. If ever 
a school of music existed at any time, there is no 
doubt that this was the period. The conclusion 
forced upon tlie mind, however, is tliat musical 
progress is due not to the united efforts of a school 
so mucli as to the independent action of individual 
musicians. Of course it is possible to infer the 
existence of some sort of general principles observed 
by all at a particular period. These may be 
triumphantly referred to as proof of the teaching 
of some recognised school. Similarities of phrase- 
ology, of grammatical sequence, and of harmonic 
combinations in composition are found in the works 
of all composers belonging to a particular period. 
There is direct proof in historical records that these 
several musicians learned their art in different places, 
each often remote from one another. The music of 
the sixteenth century, whether composed by Birde, 
by Tallis, by Palestrina, by Gibbons ; of the seven- 
teenth century, wliether it be by Corelli, by Purcell, 
by Lulli, or other representative men of the time ; 
of the eighteentli century, whether by Handel, by 
Bononcini, by Mozart or Haydn, or the numerous 
composers of the period, bears so strong a family 
likeness, one piece to the other, that often the work 
of one writer may pass for that of anotlier of his 
date. The centuries may be divided into lesser 
epochs, and eacji will bear to the educated and 
expert hearer the impress of the period of produc- 
tion almost as plainly as current coin. So clear are 
these tokens, that it does not require more than a 
limited amount of attention to enable the interested 
listener to become educated and expert in distin- 
guishing tliem. These statements tend to show tliat 
the classifications are not tliose of schools, but those 
of time. 

In the present century the matter is eqiially easy 
to recognise. Moreover, the familiar knowledge of 
the works of the composers — tlieir history, their 
habits, characteristics, and personal peculiarities 
afforded by their many and exhaustive biographers — 
show that they are for the most part the founders 
of their own school. They may, but they do not 
always, at the outset show traces of the work of 
the masters under whom they have studied. But 
until they assert their own individuality they can 
never attract apt scholars. We speak of the school 
of Beethoven, of Mozart, of Mendelssohn, of Wagner, 
of Gounod, or others, when we recognise some easily 
imitable trick peculiar to either in the works of a 
new writer. We can discern tlie influence which 
either or all may liave upon the labours of young- 

composers. It is tliis influence, more or less preva- 
lent, which gives impetus to progress. Men of 
genius in music are representatives of culminating 
points in human effort. A Beethoven is not pos- 
sible without a preceding Haydn or Mozart. A 
AVagner is the outcome of the efforts of a Berlioz, 
a David, a Meyerbeer, a Beethoven, and so on. 
Each and all have potentialities, the end of which 
cannot be guessed. 

When Purcell died the English School was said to 
have perished with him. From many of his formulas 
were derived the fashionable musical phrases then 
prevalent among his lesser imitators. But tliere 
was no school of Purcell. Many of his thoughts 
were his own, it is true, but many of his peculiari- 
ties of expression can be found in Corelli, in Lulli, 
in Campra, in Zachau, in Couperin, and otliers. 
They lasted through a long period, and they may 
be traced even in Handel, wjiose effective labours 
belong to later date. Who knows wliether our 
modern English composers, Stanford, Cowen, Corder, 
Mackenzie, Hubert Parry, Hamisli M'Cunn, are not 
in tlieir works reviving the prestige enjoyed by tlieir 
forbears in art, which began with Tallis and ended 
with Purcell .'' They may never form a school. It 
is not desirable that they should, but they may be 
accumulating an influence, and this is the earnest 
hope of all. Each at present exhibits proof of 
partiality for some composer or another, who is 
set up voluntarily or involuntarily by them as an 
ideal or pattern. The experienced hearer notes 
peculiar features in many modern writers already 
identified with the names of Brahms, Gounod, 
Wagner, Mendelssohn, Liszt, and even Balfe. This 
is not plagiarism, but the pursuit of cherished ideals. 
Out of these and of other influences a recognised 
English style may come forth. If so, there is hope 
for native art. The greater the number of ele- 
ments of which it is compounded, the more copious 
and lasting it is likely to be. As a pattern and 
example it is only necessary to refer to the structure 
of tlie English tongue, which is made up from many 
sources, and is, some philologists affirm, destined to 
be the almost universal tongue. The Englisli 
musical style may be constructed in like manner. 
All that is now required is a Chaucer in music who 
will make the first effort to prove tliat the hitherto 
despised speech of the ' lewed folk " is not only 
valuable for ordinary purposes, but is capable of 
expansion, extension, and solidification, without 
losing a particle of its flexibility and characteristic 
vigour. W. A. Barrett. 




Born 24M Daenilier 1S24 ; died 2(>lh October 1S74. 

THE only Englishman whom we have heard 
mention the name of this eminent composer 
is oiu- lamented friend AValter Bache, who, with 
that generous assiduity whicli was the characteristic 
of his life, would have made his countrymen ac- 
quainted with the musical treasures left behind by 
Peter Cornelius, had not an untimely death cut 
short his own brilliant career. 

Even in Germany, Cornelius, outside a select 
circle of artists and amateurs, remained compara- 
tively unknown until his inestimable merits were 
brought to light by Felix Mottl of Carlsruhe, one 
of the famous trio of conductors, ' Richter, Levi, 
Mottl,' and by Director Porges, the choirmaster of 
the Munich Royal Opera, and of the Bayreuth 
Festspiele, one of those unselfish artists, whose lofty 
aims remain uninfluenced by the temptations which 
the prospect of an easy popularity offers. It was 
tliis Director Porges, who with a private choir, 
cultivated the choral compositions of the half- 
forgotten master, and who never ceased forcing the 
score of the Barber of Bagdad — the most charming- 
opera comique of modern times — upon the notice 
of tlie management of our Royal Stage. 

If Cornelius'' compositions, in spite of their 
eminent qualities, are so seldom to be found on the 
concert repertory — Munich always excepted — the 
omission sjseaks little for the artistic taste of con- 
ductors and concert-goers. His choruses, for male 
voices especially, should figure on the programme 
of every choral society : it is true they are very 
difficidt, bat not insuperably so, and they might 
well take the place of many works which are not 
worth the time and pains wasted upon tliem. 

Cornelius was also a poet, and most of his com- 
positions, including the Barber of Bagdad, were 
worded by himself. Of his poems, under the title 
of Lieder, which are replete with grace and deep 
religious feeling, we shall not speak. His musical 
compositions are one and all high above the con- 
ventionalism of our times, original in the best sense 
of the word, now tender and soft, without sickly 
sentimentality, now strong and powerful without 
coarseness or noise. Noble soft harmonies lead to 
remarkably bold transitions, to strange modula- 
tions, and to dissonances strikingly effective, and 
yet never farfetched or afi'ected. While the music 
of his songs is admirably adapted and subordin- 
ated to the words, the piano accompaniments are 
very characteristic, and often form, as it were, a 
picture of themselves. 

The following is a list of Peter Cornelius' principal 
works, to which we have added a few critical and 
descriptive notes. 

Op. 1. Six ' Lieder' for one voice with piano accom- 
paniment. Both words and music are equally 
imbued with deep poetic feeling. 

Oj]. 2. Vater Unser. The title of nine sacred 
songs, for one \oice with piano accompaniment, 
which reveal the true Christian nature of the com- 
poser, a heart full of piety and childlike purity. 
These are indeed the prayers of a poet in the grace 
of God. 

Op. 3. Trailer und, for one voice with 
piano accompaniment, a cyclus of six ' Lieder,' which 
begin in unspeakable but clarifying sadness, and 
gradually rise to accents of consolation and peace. 

O/;. 4. Tliree songs for a tenor or soprano voice, 

Op. 5. Six songs for a baritone, of unequal worth ; 
their extraordinarily bold but of course always correct 
polyplionic treatment will afford great pleasure to 
the scientific musician. 

Op. 6. Three songs for soprano and baritone, a 
sweet, deliciously simjDle melody, a spriglitly bit of 
diablerie in which tlie accompaniment plays an 
extraordinary part, and a cleverly constructed canon. 

Op. 8. Christmas carols for one voice, with piano 
accompaniment, full of religious tliought and 
Christian simplicity, the product of one who pre- 
served all through life a childlike mind. It is 
perhaps the only work which became widely known, 
and in a sense popular during the lifetime of the 

Op. 9. Mourning Anthems for four male voices, 
as noble in form, as dee]D in feeling, and as clear in 
expression as anything in tlie whole repertory for 
male choruses. Sebastian Bach himself might have 
written them. They lay, liowever, the most exact- 
ing claim on the training of chorus and conductor. 

Op. 10. Beethoven Lied, for male and female 
chorus, written for Beethoven's centenary in 1870 ; 
a powerful hymn to the greatest of all masters, in 
which the theme of tlie Eroica, is introduced witli 
marvellous effect. 

Op. 11. Three choruses for six and eight male 
and female voices, not less important than the 
mourning anthems. Op. 9, mentioned above. It is 
impossible to conceive a nobler musical interpre- 
tation of Heine's Der Tod, das ist die Kiihie Nacht. 

Op. 12. Three choruses for male voices, patriotic 
and truly inspired compositions. 



Op. 13. Three Psalms ; a bold and successful 
attempt to adapt three of Bach's grandest composi- 
tions for the piano to a chorus of male and female 
voices with scriptural words. 

Besides these there are a number of other works 
of less general interest, being compositions for special 
occasions and so forth. 

We have already alluded to Cornelius' cliarming 
opera the Barber qf Bagdad, which has become a 
favourite of oiu- operatic stage. It is difficult to 
understand how this pearl of a comic opera has not 
long ago conquered every lyric stage in Europe, 
instead of being almost wholly confined to IMunich. 
It is true that it is impossible to find a second inter- 
preter of the title part like our Dr. Gura. The 
Barber is the most complete and perfect of Cornelius'' 
works, for the reason that in it the two characteristics 

of his individuality have found artistic expression, 
poetic depth, and genuine sparkling humour. It is 
moreover, and we have no hesitation in saying it, 
unequalled in original invention and treatment of 
details. This music is so new, sounds so modern, 
that we can hardly believe it to have been written 
tliirty years ago. Only the overture is inadequate, 
nay even positively weak. The musical poet was 
unable to build up musical motives, when the 
foundations upon Avhich he was wont to build, that 
is to say the words, were wanting. 

Of the life of Cornelius, for the details of whicli 
we are indebted to liis widow, whose home is 
Munich, we sliall speak on a future occasion. 

E. Cl.AUSS. 

Munich, Auifust iS88. 



"ITTE have seen tlie split in the early Christian 
»I Churcli on this subject, the danger from 
which music was saved in the thirteenth century, 
and the new develojsment in the service which was 
made the handmaid of the Reformed Religion, to 
which there was an almost exactly parallel case 
when the Wesleyans seceded from the Episcopal 
Church. The last ecclesiastical uphea\al which we 
need consider is the Calvinistic movement, Avith its 
great influence on Scotland's religious thought and 

On every side there was burning hati'ed of cor- 
rupt Papal and alien Episcopal Churches, and fierce 
impatience of anything savouring of ' Ritual.' We 
are only now regaining the balance wliich was so 
disturbed when religion, politics, patriotism, per- 
sonal influence, and persecution swung the pendulum 
so far. 

The consideration of the present attitude of the 
Presbyterian Church towards musical esthetics will 
naturally include the various questions raised by- 
hymns, chants, anthems, and voluntaries, which con- 
stitute the musical part of our services. I do not 
seek to conceal my sympathies, but I hope I shall 
not understate the difficulties or dangers in trying 
to show the advantages to be gained by recognising 
ajstheticism as a necessary and most valuable part 
of church worship. 

There is happily now no necessity for threshing 
the chafF in the question of using ' human hymns,' 
but the battle for chants and anthems is not yet 
quite gained, although we have won over authority 

to our side. And though only a minority object to 
the principle of instrumental accompaniment, there 
is still a vast amount of prejudice against accepting 
the artistic work 6i player and choir as an integral 
part of the Church's worship, and not regarding the 
choir as a mere machine set in motion by the organist 
for giving the members a tune, and securing for them 
an approximately uniform key speed for singing it. 
Many, indeed, look upon the choir and organist as 
a combination with dangerous designs for elevating 
the aesthetic at the expense of the spiritual in 
worship, which must be incessantly confronted witli 
watchful suspicion, and whose most apparently 
innocent proposals must be vetoed in order to 
guard against all possible encroachments. 

Possessing authorised Hymnals in our various 
denominations, with tunes affixed to each hymn, it 
is impossible to propose any reform in words or 
music. We" can only wonder at the purists who 
reverted to the original ' Hark, how all the ivellan 
rings,' 1 when all the worlil sings ' Hark, the herald 
angels sing ' ; at those hymnologists who feared the 
results on an uneducated people of a literal transla- 
tion of the old Latin ' Dulce Jesu ' ; - at the anti- 
Mariolaters who dreaded the tendency expressed in 
' Jesu, Son of Mai-y, hear ! ' ^ ; and at the anti- 
angelics wlio could sacrifice 

' Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping, 
And life's long shadows break in cloudless love,' 

' U.P. Hymnal. 

- ' O Sa\-ioiir, bless us e'er we go ' instead of ' Sweet Saviour.' 

^ ' Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! ' 



in order to get rid of 

' Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping, 
Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above." 

It is a curious development of tlie brotherhood of 
Christians whicli makes ' our o^vn Hymnal ' neces- 
sary to each section of the Christian Church. They 
are all the same in doctrine, and contain very much 
the same hymns. Nevertheless the Free vies with 
the U.P., and both with the Estabhshed, in new 
hymnals ; while the less important bodies decline to 
use any of them. All of them contain much that 
is good — the Free being probably the most cosmo- 
politan ; all of them contain too much that is bad — 
the U.P. being the least satisfactory. Is it impossible 
to have a General Committee to select a general 
hymnal ? New editions might be easily arranged as 
experience would suggest and novelties demand. 
One argument only did I ever succeed in extracting 
from an office-bearer with regard to this matter : 
' We make a good deal of money off our Hymnal ' ! 
But surely the proceeds of a general Hymnal could 
be divided without strife. 

The uniform want of success in attempts to fix 
one tune for each hymn in any large collection is a 
strong plea for allowing a little freedom to one who 
has studied the subject as every organist ought to 
have done. 

There are two reasons for this plea, for the want 
of success in this matter shows itself as much in 
ridiculous choice of tune as in a choice which can very 
easily be improved upon. I shall give one example 
of each to illustrate my meaning. It is asking a 
musician to degrade himself and his art when he is 
required to use the arrangement of the ' Dead March 
in Saul " as a hymn tune. And for the second 
illustration, I would only ask a congregation to sing 
Faber's hymn, ' My God, how wonderful Thou art,' 
to the fine old tune ' St. Matthew,' and they would 
at once acknowledge its extraordinary fitness. 

Hymns are the peculiar property of the congrega- 
tion, and I shall now proceed to give a few general 
directions as to their proper sesthetic rendering. 

The congregation would do well to accept the 
organist's view as expressed through his choir in 
order to secure uniformity : — Firstly, in key. Much 
of the flat singing in our congregations proceeds 
from carelessness. Members say, ' I know that tune 
quite well,' and pay no attention to the playing 
over. Consequently they often begin a little flat, 
and that is a fault which never mends in such cir- 
cumstances. Uniformity is desirable. Secondly, in 
speed. There are three causes for the ' handicap ' 
with which our hymns usually begin. The organist 
1 U.P. Hymnal. 

frequently makes the mistake of playing the tune 
over at a difi'erent rate from that at which he pro- 
poses to accompany it. One line (of a well-known 
tune) at the correct sjieed would be much better 
than eight at a different speed. The carelessness I 
mentioned before is another cause, and it is in this 
matter much more pronounced. The congregation 
should rise to their feet with a clear idea of the key 
and speed, and begin immediately with tlie choir. 
These are the considerations which make the prac- 
tice of re-delivering the number of a hymn after the 
playing over unadvisable. There should be nothing 
between the example and the singing. And the last 
cause for this want of unanimity lies with those who 
differ from the views expressed by the organist, and 
who, regardless of the inconvenience they cause, liold 
on their own way to the distraction of their neigli- 
bours. These should remember that such differences 
of opinion are inseparable from any considerable 
assembly, and be content to give up their opinions for 
the good of all, or to effect their reform in a more 
considerate way. 

There are, however, more subtle artistic require- 
ments which our congregations would do well to 
think of hefore standing up to sing. Some verses 
should be louder, some softer, — nay, some lines and 
even words fall on the ear with a meaning and effect 
never dreamt of when tliey receive proper emphasis 
of loudness or softness. 

There remain two other means of giving words a 
wonderful embodiment in song, but they are more 
difficult for those who have not the advantage of 
practising together as a choir has. One is by a 
momentary pause between two phrases in apposition 
or in opposition, or which require to be separated 
for the sake of coherence. 

As an example of apposition, take the hymn 
' When wounded sore the stricken soul ' (No. 77 in 
the U.P. Hymnal), and sing it to some tune like 
Purcell's ' Burford,' which gives the necessary divi- 
sion of the third line. The change of accent in the 
third verse avoids monotony of effect, and the fourth 
verse without any break relieves the whole. 


J— j- 









V. I. One 


ly hand — a 

V. 3. One 


ly stream — a 

V. 4. His 


is touched with 

pierc - ed hand, 
stream of bldod. 

An example of opposition, heightened in this case 



by a strong crescendo followed hy pp., can be found 
in the well-known hymn ' Art thou weary,' verse 2 — 

2nd V. ff. Yea, a crown in very surety, 
M. But of thorns. 

Also in ' Lead, kindly light,' verse 2 — 

mf. Pride ruled my will—//, remember not past years ; 

and verse 3, one of the most difficult of such pas- 
sages — 

Which I have loved long since — and lost awhile. 

■1 J 










V. 2. Pride ruled my will — remember not past years, 

dim. rit. fP 
V. 3- Which I have loved long since — and lost a - while. 

The other means of effect to which I would direct 
attention belongs to the study of prosody. A tune 
is necessarily written with invariable accent. Now 
an occasional disturbance of the metrical accent is a 
favourite decree among poets to relieve monotony, 
and only a mutual understanding among the singing 

members of a congregation is needed to make the 
necessary change in the value of notes both easy and 
effective. Instead of singing — 



-^ — ^- 


A - bide with me 

the first verse should be begun thus — 

nzfcb— qq 

r — *" 1 


— s>— 

_ : 

U P 



bide with me. 

Instead of- 

-e-' — • — " ■■ ■■ 

Spir • it 

we should sina- 

i =jgg 

Spirit of pur - i - ty. 

The accent on the last syllable oi purity is unavoid- 

I must leave Psalms, Chants, Anthems, and 
Voluntaries for a concluding paper. 

Franklin Peterson. 


The Bayreuth Festival is an unprecedented success, partly 
owing to the fact of the bad weather having driven visitors from 
the mountains and watering-places to the now world-renowned 
little town in Bavaria, but far more because of the gradual 
awakening of the public to the fact that Wagner's great works 
are unique in the history of music. They stand altogether alone 
in their colossal grandeur, as an extraordinary evidence of what 
may be done by a life's devotion to a great ideal. Parsifal seems 
likely to occupy a similar position to that of the Oberammergau 
Passion Play, and can only be properly appreciated when heard 
with the right surroundings and with the same spirit of deep 
reverence in which the composer wrote his greatest work. Frau 
Materna and Frau Malten are said to have given an ideal 
account of the part of Kundry, and Herr Scheidemantel as 
Amfortas seems to have left little to be desired. Considerable 
interest was excited by the Parsifal of Herr Van Dyck, a Belgian 
tenor of great promise, who, only a year ago, was unable to speak 
a word of German. His singing seems to have been excellent in 
many respects, but somewhat marred by the difficulty the young 
vocalist found in giving the vowels their proper quality. 

The National Eisteddfod of Wales is affording noteworthy 
evidence of what may be done in the way of encouraging local 
choirs and instrumentalists by offering prizes of considerable value 
for the best performance of certain selected works. These prizes 
range from ^150 to ^5, and the first prize is to be given to the 
winning choir in a choral contest. Of course this can be more 
easily arranged in Wales, because the public money is not 
required for any other important musical enterprise, but the 
scheme is a good one, and worthy our attention in Scotland. 
What better could we do in Glasgow, for instance, than try to 
encourage choir-singing in our midst by affording wider extended 
opportunities for competition? If prizes were offered for the 
best performance of certain choral works, it might afford some 
sort of stimulus to exertion on the part of our amateur musi- 
cal associations, and the public also would be aroused to take 
an interest in the matter, so that the scheme might be self- 
supporting. If properly organised and well managed there 
is no doubt that the cause of music in Glasgow would be pro- 
moted by some such effort as that which has proved so successful 
in Wales. 




A FALLEN Fane — a ruin ivy-clad, 
Vacant it stands amid long rows of graves, 
The silent haunt of thoughts and memories sad 
That rise and break upon the soul, like waves. 

There is no altar there, nor crucifix, 

No white-stoled priest, nor sound of tinkling bells. 
No silver cresset now, nor sacred pyx, 

No voice of choristers that sinks and swells, 

No slow procession 'neath the vaulted arch, 
Or seen in glimpses 'twixt the pillars slim, 

Chaunting a De prqfundis, as they march 
Along the stony galleries high and dim. 

No whispers come from still confessionals. 

Nor muttered prayers from chapel there or shrine, 

No votive offerings drape the bare cold walls. 
Nor low prostrations hail the bread and wine. 

Only a ruin grey with centuries. 

But yet how beautiful within, without ! 

Rising above the elms and cypress-trees, 

With low green mounds and gravestones all about. 

The shattered tower is clasped with ivy roots. 
And leafy masses thronged with twittering birds; 

From the bell-chamber high the grey owl hoots, 
When evening's hush is on the flocks and herds. 

And for the voice that read tlie Holy Book, 
And for the censer with its fragrant breath. 

Are now the rusty cawing of the rook. 

And chill dank smells of withering and death. 

Yet is the beauty wonderful and rare 

In the antique simplicity of Art, 
Each chosen stone here shaped and built with care, 

A thing to fill the mind and touch the heart ; 

Quaint corbeils, traceried windows, pillared aisles, 
And carven niches, but the saints are gone. 

And flying buttresses, and grim garguyles. 

And a low porch with seats of smooth-worn stone. 

Roofless, it bears the brunt of wind and rain. 
And on its walls grows many a wasteful weed ; 

Yet do the grace and grandeur still remain 
Of that old emblem of a worn-out creed. 

Which sees no worshippers on bended knees. 
Which knows no difl^erence of the Sabbath-day, 

Which hears no voice of solemn litanies. 
And has no future but a slow decay. 

So has the old church fallen that shaped the past. 
It stands a dead thing now among the dead. 

For all our faiths and worships only last 
Until the word of higher law is said. 

We gain the sense of individual Right, 
And Mediaeval phantoms quickly fly ; 

We watch the dawn of Science growing bright. 
And Metapliysic fictions also die. 

A little while their ghosts may haunt the scene 
Where once they lived, and seem to live on still, 

Mumbling the words that erst a power had been. 
And with no grain still grinding tlie old mill. 

But yet it comes at last, the vacant place 

That hears no more the psalm or solemn vow, 

Even while we cling unto its tender grace. 

And dream that life was lovelier then than now. 

Walter Smith. 




AMONG those who remain nortli of the Tweed, 
as even among those who cross tlie Border, 
or go down to the sea in ships and do literary busi- 
ness in the great waters, there are many who carry 
on the traditions of a not wholly unlettered nation. 
But there is at this moment, in the dimly dis- 
criminating view of the heterogeneous public of 
English readers, no one who represents more 
decisively the belles lettres of Scotland than Robert 
Louis Stevenson. Yet there is nothing peculiarly 
national in his style. It is not quite guiltless of 
an American flavour. It is more French than 
English, and more English than Scotch ; for 
Stevenson is cosmopolitan rather than nationalist. 
The abrupt phrasing of his earlier essays is akin 
to the priggish opinionativeness of an American 
schoolboy ; the analytic faculty displayed in the 
one piece of Stevenson's which gives indisputable 
evidence of consummate mastery of the instruments 
of his art — The Strange Case of Dr. Jeltyll and 
Mr. Hyde — is worthy of Balzac, as the ' historic 
sense ' of Kidnapped is related, though dimly and dis- 

tantly, to the strenuous grasp of the life of the past 
which has painted the burning pictures of Salammho. 

Stevenson's confession of an author in search of a 
style, humorously exaggerated as it is, does give a cer- 
tain clue, not perhaps so much to the conscious, but 
more to the unconscious, evolution of his manner. 
Who will not observe traces of Lamb's essays in 
Virginibus Picerisque, of Nathaniel Hawthorne's 
character sketches in the Merry Men, and, of course, 
most obviously of all, of Scott's historic romances 
in Kidnapped ? This is all as it should be, for 
these things were done before, that those who come 
after, if tliey know how, might do them better. 

Of a writer, the offspring of whose imagination 
lias taken . great hold of the public mind, it may 
be asked. Does he give value for our applause ? Is 
it well to have him for his quaint phrasing, for his 
humorous pictures of the roadside, for the hints of 
subtle play of forces in our own upper stories, and 
for glimpses of tragic life that happen as we loaf 
along with him ? For these, even if they be alone, 
and for all such, let us be truly thankful. What 



matter that he offers no new gospel like Tolstoi, no 
half-hearted questioning of old conventions like 
Robert Elsmerr? What matter that he lays bare 
no such deplorable abysses as Zola or George 
Meredith ? or that he compounds no scientific pill 
with his gilt gingerbread as does Jules Verne ? We 
enjoy our leisure moments more because of him. 
That is all — and it is sufficient. 

Stevenson's writings are in the most rigid sense 
of the words pure literature. They exhibit no in- 
tention of informing or of reforming. The unwary 
reader for enjoyment's sake has no need to skip 
pages of didactics, for no moral lurks in his tales. 
When he has told his story he is done. And in 
an age when so much that is written smacks of the 
platform and the pulpit; when men write with shaky 
reasoning and slipshod rhetoric, in half vain appeal 
to the gallery ; when every story is rounded off" by 
concession to popular conventions. It is well to 
have in some few writers the courage to write as 
they see and feel, and to leave the lessons to take 
care of themselves. 

For those who are called to such high exercise, 
moral teaching is at once entirely appropriate and 
efficacious ; but when a work of the imagination is 
in question it is well to have it neat. Stevenson 
has in fuller measure than perliaps any writer of his 
time the gift of quaint and vigorous expression, and 
of that intellectual dexterity which makes possible 
artistic treatment of the commonplace. In large 
grasp of psychological, moral, or social problems he 
is entirely wanting. This is not by way of blame 
but by way of praise, for the devotee of belles lettres 
has little dealing with psycliology, or morals, or soci- 
ology. He dips into these and takes his data from 
them ; but his method is, of necessity, too liglit for 
their serious treatment. He has not interest enough 
in them to pursue them to the bitter end, the end of 
a hopeless pyrrhonism. He looks at their humorous 
side, compels you to laugh at them with him, and 
quickly gives them the go-by. Life, he says, is a jovial 
business, why should we depress ourselves with its 
tragedies ? We need not hunt for them. They 
thrust themselves upon us. We need not look for 
them in books. There, even death must be invested 
with a certain grim humour. Wlio would go to a 
concert to hear a funeral march ? The strain of 
Stevenson's writing is life, sensuous life, full to the 
brim of all the enjoyment it brings. Our cynic 
writer knows all the wliile it is a leaky chalice. 
Never mind, ' Fate 's a fiddler, life's a dance.' The 
daylight brings sorrow, to be sure, but that is only 
a rest in the measure. Of this epicureanism, whole- 
some or not as the reader's palate may discover, 
there is much in Stevenson. He is a kind of modern 

Omar Khayyam without Omar's intrusive inquisitive- 
ness. The humour of the moment, the boisterous 
jollity of dancing peasants at a village Jlte, the 
stars glancing through tlie trees over a night bivouac, 
the forest pines with their spires marking off a 
little sky map, the eerie sensation of intimate contact 
with nature, these are described so vividly that one 
enters entirely into their spirit. And in the power 
to compel this lies art. It is the power of literature 
pure and simple. It is art for art's sake. To others 
it may appear very thin, destitute of high ideals 
and all that. For these one must go elsewhere than 
to Stevenson. He is not a clown, but he is there 
to amuse, and to do that alone. Let those who 
are called to it preach penance, and to practise it — to 
each other. We, writer and reader, are comfortable 
bourgeois. We have a leisure hour in the evening 
after our shops are shut, or after we have laid 
down our pen, and after we have sent off our 
workers, poor tilings, to their hovels, which some 
day perliaps we may have a look at. Dismissing 
even this maudlin and inept benevolence, we sit by 
our cosy fire witli nothing in the world to plague 
us, curtained round and crowded about with aids 
to om- aesthetic perception, let us have Steven- 
son to our humour, and Fate is a fiddler, life a 
dance. But without this elimination of the disagree- 
able, and without Stevenson and his kind, the 
cultivators of the belles lettres, this would not be so. 
Life would hardly be what it is without this leisure 
and tliis luxury. For those then who have imagina- 
tion enough to dispense with aesthetic aids, for those 
who liave the aids without the imagination, and for 
the rare and precious species who have them both, 
the belles lettres are designed. For those who have 
neither leisure nor luxury, and for those who cannot 
afford to do without them, the belles lettres are as 
sounding brass. 

Stevenson confesses all this witli perfectly cynical 
frankness. He at any rate is under no delusions 
about his public. He scorns it with the scorn that 
it likes and pays for. With the self-abnegation of 
a man wlio is careless of immortality, he is willing 
to disregard the fate of his own writings, and to 
give a slap in the face to his readers. There is a 
bright little passage in one of his recent essays,^ on 
the imjjossibility of gratitude and cliarity, and the 
futility of expecting that the ' deserving poor ' will 
take alms from the undeserving rich, in order to 
relieve them from tlie embarrassment of sticking in 
tlie needle's eye. ' Oh let him ' (' the belly-god Bur- 
gess ') ' stick, by aU means ; and let his polity 
tumble in the dust ; and let his epitaph and all his 
literature (of which my own works begin to form 
' ' Beggars,' Scribner's Magazine, March 1888. 



no inconsiderable part) be abolished even from the 
history of man ! For a fool of this monstrosity of 
dulness there can be no salvation.' This is fairly 
hard upon the circulating library and comfortable 
parlour readers. But Stevenson does not mince 
matters in the least. You may take him in his 
humour or leave him, just as you please. And some- 
how or other the public, dull as it is, prefers to take 
him. But these pungent passages, which by stretch 
of phrase might be called didactic, are extremely rare. 
Tlie ' Brownies,' who have no morals,^ have after all 
the main part of the work. The waking author 
who, he says, ' worse luck, does most of the morality,' 
must have enjoyed a holiday while the Brownies 
were doing, for example. The New Arabian Nights. 
Like the young man with the cream tarts, Stevenson 
' is not here to expound his system of philosophy.' 
It is indeed questionable whether or no he has a 
system. Though one may be inferred from his 
delightful and unequal sketches, none is expressed 
there. His attractive power, hard as it is to define, 
consists perhaps in the possession of what may be 
called the trick of investing humoui-s, which in other 
people would be regarded as only half sane, with an 
atmosphere of wit and of apparent sanity. If any 
one rashly imagines that the trick is easily done, or 
that the performance is an inconsiderable trifle, let 
him try to do it. To the bald elements to which a 
curious analyst might reduce Stevenson's style there 
is added one which is his own secret, and the use 
of which is more secure from invasion than if it 
were protected by copyright laws of unexampled 

It has been assumed that Stevenson's chief value 
lies in his style, in the picturesque liumour of his 
phrases ; but there is something else. He has given 
us some characterisations of undoubted aptness and 
happiness. He has given us Prince Florizel of 
Bohemia, alias Mr. Godall. He has given us Will 
o' the Mill and Alan Breck. He has given us Long 
John Silver, and has made FranCjOis Villon live and 
walk in the flesh. How succinct is Villon's autobio- 
graphy in ' A Lodging for a Night' ! — ' " I am called 
Francois Villon, a poor Master of Arts of this 
University. I know some Latin, and a deal of vice. 
I can make chansons, ballades, lais, virelais, and 
roundels, and I am very fond of wine. I was born 
in a garret, and I shall not improbably die upon the 
gallows." ..." Tell me one thing," said the old 
man, " are you really a tliief .? " " I claim the sacred 
riglits of hospitahty," returned the poet ; " my lord, 
I am.'" In the painting of such \'ignettes, Stevenson 
is a past master. His books are full of them. The 
Fair Cuban, with her multiple personality, the 
' 'A Chapter on Dreams,' Scribner's Magazine, Jan. 1888. 

' Spirited old lady ' of ' The Superfluous Mansion,' 
the nameless personages in the outline tale in ' A 
Chapter on Dreams,' need no bush to tell that they 
are of choice vintage. 

The limitations of Stevenson's genius have perhaps 
been sufficiently indicated ; and besides it were as 
ungracious as unprofitable to search among so much 
that is excellent for obscure faults. There are, 
though, various dangers ahead for versatile and facile 
writers. For thougli doubtless learned with infinite 
labour, a trick once thoroughly mastered can be 
repeated almost to command. Even Hawthorne dis- 
appoints one frequently by the tenuity of his viot'ifh. 
The trick may be overdone. In the ' Dynamiter,' for 
example, ' the Destroying Angel' is self-destructive 
in the disproportionate length of its passage, and 
there is also an element, commercially advantageous, 
no doubt, but not free from suspicion of audacious 
tweaking of the public nose, in the republication 
under new titles of early and unregarded writings. 
The chief danger is that of the temptation to pro- 
duce much and fast, to ^vrite because the public 
wait, and to write, therefore, far below the level of 
the best work. Take, for example, the early papers 
of the recent Scrihner series ; there is no forcing of 
jaded powers. The January paper, that on dreams, 
is as ffood as the best of his work ; but each suc- 
ceeding paper is weaker than its predecessor, until 
in ' Gentlemen ' and ' Gentlemen in Fiction ' there 
is the lowest deep from which some return to clear 
upper air may perhaps be expected. Not only do 
these papers detlirone certain gods, which is not too 
grievous to be borne, but in utter wantonness they 
offer the crudest of judgments on the slenderest o 
evidence. There is some need for a clear definition 
of ' gentleman ' if Byron was ' a cad ' and ' an 
unmatched vulgarian,' and patriotic partiality must 
be oppressively dominant when it decrees that 
Napoleon was ' a cad ' and Wellington a gentleman. 
There is an odd humour, but nothing more solid, in 
the idea that the type of gentlemanliness is a foot- 
man in livery, and the type of caddishness the same 
footman out of it. This clotlies philosophy is a 
trifle threadbare. It were better that our author 
confined himself to the creatures of his imagination. 
They cohere well enough, largely because they are 
not very complex creations. The complexity of 
historical characters is a different affair, and one 
which, without undue severity, one may feel to be 
beyond the range of Stevenson's powers. With what 
he has given us of the offspring of his imagination, 
and for the service he renders to the cause of letters 
pure and simple, it is well to be content, and in this 
contentment, when the devil's advocate has been fully 
heard, there is enormous gain. J. M. 




Philosophical Classics for English Readers. Francis 
Bacon : His Life and Philosophy. By John 
NicHOL. Part I. — Bacon's Life. William Black- 
wood & Sons : Edinburgh and London, 1888. 

There is a certain propriety in the treatment of 
Bacon by one whose equipment is generally supposed 
to be less that of the specialised philosopher than of 
the litterateur at large. On Hobbes or Berkeley, or 
even on the loose and sensational Locke, one would 
scarcely feel comfortable with any monograph which 
did not bear the hall-mark of a Professor of Meta- 
physics. But Bacon is in a quite different category from 
any of these. In the first place, he was so much more 
than a mere philosopher — an orator, a jurist, a states- 
man, and, perhaps most notable of all, one of the first 
masters of English prose. His Essays have made him 
familiar to thousands who know the De Augmentis 
and the Novum Organum only by vague and exaggerated 
report. His character is one of the thrice-drenched 
battle-grounds of history. And then, too, his philo- 
sophy, when one does penetrate to it athwart the 
tenfold trappings of his reputation, is after all so veiy 
unphilosophic by any of the accepted canons of 
accurate thought. There is no denying it, the 
introduction to Bacon as a philosopher is painfully 
disappointing. From boyhood one has been used to 
hear and to talk with reverence about the Baconian 
system, and it is no slight shock, on fuller knowledge, 
to find in the system little else than an imposing 
impotence. Bacon looked at knowledge and its pos- 
sibilities with the eye not of a philosopher, but of 
a poet ; he prophesied mightily of the millennium, and 
had not an inkling of the next reform. The root 
principle, indeed, of science — that it shall start from 
a face-to-face observation of nature — he enunciated 
quite forcibly enough ; and one would think he 
actually had grasped it, if almost in every instance he 
did not conspicuously fail in the application. His half- 
anticipations of later discoveries, of which so much has 
in many quarters been made, are really to be reckoned 
among the number of imaginative premonitions — in 
the same categoiy almost with Dante's prophecy of 
the Cntx Aastralis and Swift's miraculous divination of 
the satellites of Mars. Yet, in spite of everything, 
Bacon was altogether so large and lordly a personage 
that his rhetoric has imposed upon posterity, and there 
must be many people who believe in him as the first 
founder of modern science. 

The book before us is occupied altogether with the 
hfe of Bacon — consideration of his philosophy being 
kept for a future volume. It is open to question 
whethei', in a series of professedly philosophic manuals, 
there is legitimate room for what is really a chapter, 
and a pretty long one too, of the political liistoi-y of 

England. But that impropriety, if such it be, need 
not spoil anybody's use of a very serviceable biography. 
It would be too much to say that Professor Nichol had 
thrown any new light on his subject, but he has re- 
produced, in a readable fashion, the best results of 
specialised judgment and research. Perhaps the best, 
as it is certainly the most entertaining, pai-t of the 
book, is its opening chapter, which contains a bright 
and incisive summary of the milieu. On the broad 
and brilliant stage where Sidney, Spenser, and Raleigh 
play their parts of mingled thought and action, the 
Professor is infinitely more at home than among 
the obscure intrigues of Secretary Winwood, or the 
blustrous brutalities of Coke. The positive blemishes 
of the book are insignificant. Yet here and there 
one does find sentences which look odd in the work 
of a Professor of English Literature, and there is a 
fling or two at present-day politics which should have 
had no temptations for an exponent of ' divine philo- 

More than once in the course of his work the Pro- 
fessor makes a very suggestive hint at a parallel 
between the careers of Bacon and Cicero. Of course 
the resemblance is only a partial one : intellectually 
Cicero is one of the poorest creatures in histoiy, 
and morally he lies under no such sentence of gross 
dishonesty as has been passed upon Bacon. Yet in 
the characters and in the lives of the two men there 
is matei'ial for a parallel not less conclusive than any 
of the best of Plutarch's. Both were born rhetoricians, 
both men of the widest interests and the most varied 
versatility, and both had a fatal and incurable passion 
for the perilous pleasures of public life. Most import- 
ant of all, there was in each the same weakness of 
moral fibre, making his life abortive, and his memory 
a dubious fame. But fate was less kind to the English- 
man than to the Roman. The party struggles of the 
dying Republic put Cicero in a position which was the 
place of honour, though hardly the place of wisdom. 
His own foibles made success and the great betrayal 
alike impossible to him, and he stands charged with 
nothing worse than a host of minor and venial tergi- 
versations. But under the settled government of 
Elizabeth and James there was only one way in politics, 
and that the crooked path of courtiership and bribes. 
As yet there was no gi-eat civil strife to call forth the 
higher politic virtues — it was a time of diplomacy and 
not of contest, an age of flattery instead of philippics. 
Failure in such a scramble is always ignoble, and could 
scarcely be elevated into tragedy even by an ending 
on Tower Hill. But Bacon was doomed only to fine 
and imprisonment (and these remitted by the ungainly 
grace of his sovereign), while Cicero perished, fortun- 
ately, at the hands of the assassins of liberty and 




Mr. Swinburne's next volume should be a series of Songs 
after Sunset, with its opening pages allotted to the verses which 
appeared in last month's Fortnightly Review. In the lines on the 
Armada there is not a little of the inevitable after-glow from a 
fierce poetic daylight that is done. The fervour and brilliancy are 
still there, but dimmed and feeble, the mere shadow and suggestion 
of that hot radiance which burned through Alater Triumpiialis and 
The Halt before Rome. Perhaps there is something in the subject, — 
patriotism nowadays breeds only second-rate verses, and the Armada 
episode has been sullied, beyond hope of cleansing, by all manner 
of foul sectarian paws. But Mr. Swinburne's sense even of melody 
seems to be failing him — his measures have no longer the marvel- 
lous freedom and felicity of yore. The wealth of epithet and appo- 
sition is becoming an encumbrance that trails and trips up continu- 
ally the long stride of the rhythm. To be sure, Mr. Swinburne's 
music was never of the very highest order — never the music of flute 
or organ, but rather of the brass band — a glorified brass band, no 
doubt, but still brazen, and with a quite perceptible rub-a-dub run- 
ning through its clangour. After all, it is only thinking power 
that will carry a man successfully through a long poetic life. 
Passion and emphasis are very well if one is to die before forty ; 
but a man must scream himself hoarse sometime, and thought is 
the one provision against a poetic old age. All long-lived poets 
have been thinkers, but Mr. Swinburne, despite his omnivorous 
reading, has perhaps a smaller stock of ideas than any rhymester 

PERH.4PS at the bottom Mr. Theodore Watts has something to 
do with the undeniable poetic decadence of Mr. Swinburne. At 
any rate he is popularly believed to have had of late much influ- 
ence over the author of Poems and Ballads ; but if so, then it 
has not been altogether for the latter's good. There is some sig- 
nificance, at least, in the simultaneous choice by both men of the 
Armada story as a subject of verse. Yet, even at his very worst, 
Mr. Swinburne could not possibly write anything so execrable as 
The Ballad of the Armada, with its spiritless and lumbering 
stanzas, and its half dolorous, half funny sing-song about ' breeze 
and brine.' 

Time was when nothing less than Greek would make a bishop, 
but of late years there seems to have been discovered some 
apostolic virtue in the vernacular. It is very questionable if a 
scholar may not best serve the interests both of research and of 
religion by a steadfast nolo episcopari ; but if a cathedral is to be 
the prize of erudition, there could hardly be found a fitter seat 
than O.xford, or a man more worthy of it than Dr. Stubbs. The 
Constitutional History of England has exactly that grave solidity, 
with just a touch of heaviness, which we are used to look for in 
the lucubrations of the mitre. Of all our historians. Dr. Stubbs 
is in manner and method the nearest akin to the Germans — his 
work is historical rather in the remotely etymological sense of the 
term than in its popular acceptance. In research he is accurate 
and inexhaustible, his judgment is almost implicitly to be trusted 
— but for story — ' God bless you ! he has none to tell, sir.' In 
Germany the final and fitting reward of such a man would be a 
professor's chair ; they give him a sinecure of souls in England. 

It is difficult to understand why any one should trouble himself 
or others with doubts about Shakespeare's right to be called a 
dramatist so long as that great question of the authorship of the 
Letters of Junius is still unsolved. There surely is vermin on 
which Mr. Donnelly and the whole breed of literary ferrets might 
legitimately flesh themselves. The Junius puzzle has grown 
positively to be one of the nuisances of history — a provocative of 

intermittent irritation like the identity of the Man in the Iron 
Mask, or the character of Mary Queen of Scots. To plain men 
impatient of petty problems, Macaulay's much-maligned ' cock- 
sureness ' had for some decades been a source of unspeakable 
relief. Sir Philip Francis was as good a name as any other to fill 
a place in the dictionary of English authors, and as the man 
himself seemed to have been an unpleasant sort of person generally, 
no one had any twinge of conscience about imputing to him a set 
of the most atrocious libels in literature. But about Junius, 
Byron after all was much in the right — 

' The moment that you had pronounced him one, 
Presto ! his face changed, and he was another ! ' 

What other he now may be, it is for the moment impossible to 
say, but Mr. Fraser Rae in the AtheiuEum will have it positively 
that he is not Sir Philip Francis. Perhaps the best course would 
be to carry the whole matter before the Allegations Commission — 
especially as there is no chance of producing in court the person 
from whom the letters were obtained. 

' Obscene libels ' may be quite irrefragable as a law-term, but 
the use of it in connection with M. Zola's novels suggests a certain 
impotence in legal process as applied to the settlement of disputed 
points in art. Decidedly La Terre is not a pleasant book, but to 
place it on the same level with the avowed cantharides of writing 
is an action nothing less than absurd. Yet apparently there is no 
distinction possible if the law is to interfere at all — even equity 
being devoid of organs to apprehend the artistic. The case is 
made still worse when we consider that any punishment inflicted 
must bear the rankest savour of injustice — for there are plenty of 
our own classics quite as filthy as the Rougon-Macquart series, 
which yet no court in England would dare to touch. Who 
prosecutes proselytises, and the guardians of our national morality 
should remember that M. Zola is not only an artist, but the 
preacher of a specific gospel of art. In the long run there is no 
fear for morals — the world will make its own expurgation — but in 
the meanwhile we decline to take our index from the Central 
Criminal Court. 

There is a literary sin which some people will think far more 
heinous than any of the indelicacies of M. Zola. Why, if art is to 
bow beneath the deadening sway of 'law and order,' does not 
some Philistine bring in a bill to make plagiarising penal? It 
would not be one whit more difficult to draw the line between 
theft and legitimate adaptation, than to distinguish between 
obscenity and manly freedom. The latest ' conveyance ' of one 
most popular writer puts all former delictions of this nature com- 
pletely into the shade. To take the whole motive of a story, and 
its most piquant incidents from a book published not three years 
ago is a feat to fill all Grub Street with emulation and despair. 
And the motive, too, so very indelicate ! There might even be 
a parallel prosecution for 'obscene libel.' 

Miss Mary F. Robinson, now wife of M. James Darmesteter, 
the eminent Orientalist, has written a collection of historical essays, 
which are presently in the press. The volume will have for title 
The End of the Middle Ages, and will deal, among other things, 
with the causes of disintegration in the Church, and the origin of 
the French wars in Italy. It will end with the expedition of 
Charles viii. 

Mr. Wemyss Reid, whose life of the late W. E. Forster was 
published so neatly in the nick of time, is now preparing a bio- 
graphy of Lord Houghton, the poet and poet's patron, at one 
time better known as Mr. Monckton Milnes. 

Edhiburgh : T. and A. ConstabtCj Printers to Her Ulajesty. 

A s M I-, 

The Scottish Art Review 

Vol. I. OCTOBER 1888. No. 5. 


npHE mystery of Loveliness, that lies — 

-L Like light from some diviner heaven tlian ours — 

On visible Nature : mountains, streams and flowers ; 
On man's jjroud front, in depths of woman's eyes. 
The mystery of Loveliness, that is 

The Law of Nature's being : mouldins all-^ 
The measureless Great, the infinitely Small — 
To its own perfect Beauty. What is this 
But the translation of God's inmost Thousht ? 
And that is Love ; Nature the mighty scroll 
Whereon 'tis writ. Thou readest it, my soul ! 
Each sacred syllable, yet graspest not, 
Save in dim gleams, the message written there. 
Though questioning evermore in voiceless prayer. 


Yet, O my soul ! thank God that He hath sent, 

In loving answer to thy lifelong cry, 

These shadowings of the holier mystery 
Behind the veil — for rapturous moments rent 
As by a still small voice from utmost heaven. 

If thou with feeble hand and care-clogged brain 

Through life's grey clouds hast groped — alas ! in vain — 
To catch their import, thou at least hast striven ; 
And, striving, won the guerdon ne'er denied 

To those who battle bravely, though they foil. 

For such one day the Angel, calm and pale. 
With tender hand will draw the veil aside. 
And they shall stand within the Holy Place, 
And read the Secret in the Master's face. 

Noel Paton. 




PERHAPS no two men could be named whose 
works exercise a greater influence on painting 
at the present day than Millet and Bastien-Lepage, 
the earliest and the latest of the French ' peasant- 
painters.' Although, in a sense, tlie one is an out- 
come of the other, — since Millet led the way, and 
hewed tlie path wliich others have since found an 
easy road, — yet Bastien-Lepage's attitude to his 
work is so different and so personal, that apart from 
the question of technique, which in his case is much 
more accomplislied than that of Millet, he also is 
entitled to the honour of making a departure, in its 
way perhaps as important as that of his great pre- 

It would be idle at this time of day to speak in 
praise of Millet. He has secured immortality, and 
one may safely say that his works will always hold a 
high and an honoured place among tlie world's 
treasures. But in tlie case of Bastien-Lepage this 
is not by any means admitted. Now, whereas 
Millefs art was intensely spiritual, concentrating 
itself on the motive of his pictures, and in every case 
subordinating the facts of nature to the expression of 
sentiment ; in the case of Lepage, although he is 
commonly allowed to be a most consummate painter 
in his rendering oijacts, his claims to feeling, senti- 
ment, and that spiritual quality wliich makes fine 
art, as distinct from lifeless imitation, are not so 
readily allowed him. And yet it seems to me that 
he is as strong, at least, in sentiment as in execution. 
And it is on this question of sentiment — of the 
painters relation to his subject — that the work of 
Lepage takes, perhaps, its greatest importance. 

Of the many interesting characteristics of Lepage's 
work, perhaps the most remarkable is his sympa- 
thetic intimacy with his subject. Although the 
human interest is always dominant, yet nothing 
escapes him — nothing is trivial or unimportant. 
One reads in his works the life-history of the work- 
aday human beings he painted — the brilliant 
actress, the man of the world, the tramp, the 
peasants of his native village, — all his personages 
are placed before us in the most satisfying complete- 
ness, without the appearance of artifice, but as they 
live ; and without comment, as far as i.i possible, on 
the authors part. And it is in this loving, yet im- 
partial presentation that I think Lepage stands on 
new ground. Millet tells us his view of life, Lepage 
does not ; and, altliough it is impossible to desire a 
fuUer revelation of character than he gives, he gi\-es 

it for itself, his own view is not put forward. We 
can but guess it. Strong enough to embody the 
thing in its fulness, by reason of his marvellous 
accomplishment as a painter, he invests the whole of 
his canvas with a new and living interest. He 
insists on the claims of smaller things — commonly 
slurred over and suppressed — to a full and complete 
realisation ; completely overturning the old formuliE 
by showing that it is possible to do this, not only 
without sacrifice of breadth, simplicity, truth, or any 
other quality, but to an immense gain of beauty in 
the work itself. Wlio tiiat lias seen, or studied, his 
' Potato Gatherers,' will not remember the wonder- 
ful foreground .'' the fresh-broken earth, the weeds, 
all searched and painted with the subtlest truth, 
and yet not obtrusive. It would be a long matter 
to go through the list of his works, but I remember, 
among others, a small picture of a waving corn- 
field, with the birds singing in the sunny sky — a 
simple subject enough, and one that we have all 
seen many times, in nature and in art; yet so fresh, 
so true, so full of air and movement, and of the 
subtle poetry of the open fields, that it was to ine a 
fresh revelation of beauty, and I never can see a 
corn-field now without feeling the richer for having 
seen that work. And as in the small things, much 
more in the greater is liis work remarkable, mainly 
by reason of its exquisite and subtle truth. It is 
evident that he cut himself away as far as possible 
from current ideas, and set himself before nature 
with the simple devotion of the early Italians, or of 
Holbein. In his open-air pictures, his figures are 
realised almost as completely as in sculpture ; one 
can measure the distance from one figure to anotlier. 
Tins is the true ' plein-air ' ; he felt and showed the 
sky, not as a painted thing in the background, but 
coming close to us, and all round about us. 

It is disputed how far as an open-air painter he 
is original. It has been said, ' C'est Manet qui a 
seme, c'est Bastien-Lepage qui re'colte ' ; and though 
I am not familiar with much of Manet's works, that 
whicli I have seen leads me to think that Lepage is 
not consciously indebted to him. Manet gave a 
certain direction to the thought of his time, and 
Lepage was 'in the movement.' The most likely 
source of his inspiration was in his early life as a 
country boy. Damvillers is, I believe, a small 
village, not more picturesque or paintable tlian any 
other Frencli, or many an English village ; and 
yet a few things, truly seen and recorded there, have 



made a considerable mark in art-bistory. It was 
tbat tbe man liad a seeing eye, and a great love 
for tbings witli wliich be bad all bis life been 
familiar. It is not a comic countryman, nor a 
sentimental countryman, as seen from a townsman's 
point of view, but bis own bome life that be paints 
— one feels in liis work a deeper penetration, and a 
greater intimacy witli liis subject tban in tbe work 
of otlier men. Tbis I tbink is proved by bis London 
pictures, in wbich, althougb as work tliey are mas- 
terly, one misses the intimate sympathy of his 
pictures of village life. 

In spite of all tbat, justly or not, may be said 
asainst tbe French Scliools, tbe fact remains that 
wlien a man of exceptional natural gifts goes through 
tlieir course, be comes out much stronger than such a 
man does here, or anywhere else. Now it seems to me 
comparatively an easy matter, with a very moderate 
skill and knowledge of the usual painter's artifices, 
to produce work, acceptable to tbe public and in 
exhibitions, if one steers clear of tbe present time. 
Paint your model in knee-breeches and a ' George ' 
wig — lie's a picture at once. Paint him as he is, 
and immediately, as we have no illusions in these 
matters, we all become critical and fastidious. It 
follows from tbis tbat tlie more we study our own 
times and surroundings, the better must our work 
be, to rank as fine art. I do not mean to imply that 
painting should be confined to modern subjects, 
there are ' subjects ' good for all time ; but still it is 
to me unquestionable that the main business of 
painting — indeed, of all art — is with our own times. 
It was so with tlie old masters, and was one main 

source of their strength, and in those days art was 
of use. And the great development of portrait- 
painting with us of late years shows tbat it is 
beginning to be felt tbat painting should be useful. 
May it not in time again become so ? It is difficult 
to say bow, if not by resolutely facing the conditions 
of our everyday life. Surely we are all too self- 
conscious ; and perhaps — in spite of our great achieve- 
ments in material ways — a little bit ashamed of 
ourselves, as compared with the simpler lives of our 
ancestors. And yet our real progress has been 
great, and of benefit to all — to artists in particular 
tbe conditions of existence are more favourable tban 
ever before. But are we nearer to any solid result ? 
Our business men, whose sole thought apparently is 
the making of money, have still a lurking feeling for 
tbe primitive and romantic virtues of years ago. 
But would it not be better, and if it were possible, to 
recognise that they may exist to-day among us ? Tbe 
work of Lepage, I think, has this bearing, indirectly, 
for on tbe lines be worked who knows what advantage 
may arise from a fuller understanding of what is 
still beautiful amongst us ? For one thing, it would 
add greatly to tbe enjoyment of life. And in how 
many ways is tbe road still untrodden ? Is there 
notliing worthy in the immense and complex life 
of our cities, for instance ? But for those who 
would lead to fresh fields — for the last word has 
not been said in art in any direction — tliere pro- 
bably awaits a martyrdom, harder perhaps tban 
bullets , and perhaps without reward, for daring to 
paint ' the unpaintable.'' 

Geokge Clausen. 



WHETHER we like or detest 'Old Masters,' 
we in England have at any rate a reason- 
able chance of seeing them at times ; for have we 
not a National Collection in our midst, in which it 
is possible to study the difference in thought, style, 
colour, and general development of the art of Italy, 
from its crude and intense conceptions, born of tbe 
Middle Ages, right up to its brilliant culmination 
in tlie Renaissance ? But nowadays opportunities 
rarely occur in which we can arrive in England at 
any just idea — in a collective sense — of tbe nature 
of modern Italian Art. Now for tbe first time in 
London a representative collection of tbat art, both 
plastic and pictorial, is brought together at the 

' Italian Exhibition ' at Kensington, whicli on more 
tban one count is fraught with interest to all who 
care for artistic doings. And if in view of the 
vitality and mastery of technical difficulty which is 
evinced for example in the panoramic and historic 
displays by Professor Sciuti and many another able 
executant, there is not such an abundant yield of 
intellectual variety, of spontaneity, and specific 
artistic qualities as might have been expected, 
nevertlieless some among the painters of an import- 
ant section— tbe Milanese— show an independence 
of method, an individuality of thought, wbich at 
once stamps their work as unique in its bent, and 
raises it high above the level of the commonplace 



and tlie trivial. There are in the small canvas by 
Vegetti, ' Mother, wliy are you crying ? ' botli pathos 
and realism ; there is artistic completeness in that 
of Giani ; while those by Segantini and Morbelli 
stand out as distinctly original in their peculiar 
selection of effects and treatment of ideas. Indeed, 
an exhaustive analysis might be made of the work 
of Segantini alone, who of the two is less biassed by 
tlie methodism of French technique, less imbued by 
the strain of a pessimism wliich in Morbelli now and 
then trenches on morbidity. 

At first one is not quite certain whether to be in 
agreement or not with Segantini's work, for it is all 
rather Kzarre, though fascinating perhaps on this 
very account, as experiments in out-of-the-way 
directions are wont to be, if for no worthier reason 
than their divergence from the well-worn highway 
of self-satisfied conventionalism. But in tliis case 
there does seem to be a better reason, and the 
strangeness does not result from any ambitious 
soaring into historic or classic themes. On the 
contrary, the subjects are of the simplest, the treat- 
ment alone marking them out as original. Among 
the twenty or more of Segantini's works drawn or 
painted in various materials is ' A Study in Light 
and Shade,' merely of some sheep feeding in the 
penned-off shelter of a shed, through the back of 
which are seen a field glowing with bright sunlight, 
and women at agricultural toil, who spot the field 
at intervals with little blots of shadow. The tone 
is admirable, while the lean truthfulness of the old 
sheep, the conscientious value of each particular 
rail and bar to the general effect of the scheme, is 
akin somehow to the earnest interpretation of those 
of our painters who erstwhile bore the title of the 
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. But owing perhaps 
to climatic or atmospheric differences, the deeply 
blue sky in both the ' Winter at Savogrim, Canton 
Grisons ' and the ' Ploughing,' painted in the same 
neighbourhood under an autumn sun, is peculiarly 
unsuggestive in every particular of that lucid depth 
and aerial significance, which we in our misty home 
have learned to look for as an essential in a pictm-ed 
sky. For it is here, as Mr. Ruskin has somewhere 
said, in comparing the skies of Turner witli those of 
the men who came before him — even the classic 
Claude did not escape — that sooner or later in their 
work a point is reached in which we touch upon 
solid paint and canvas, whereas he, our Turner, for 
the first time gave adequate expression to the 
mystery of light and distance, so that in regarding 
his skies it seems possible to pass on and on through 
luminous infinitude of space and cloud, still feeling 
that an infinitude lies beyond. 

But in Signor Segantini's case it is not so much 

canvas that we come upon as a wall of solid paint, 
upon whose deep colour the snowy undulations with 
the figures ' tobogganing ' smite the sky in a way 
wellnigh destructive of any retention of perspective. 
The little houses, too, half hid by the rounding 
curve of the hill, look like toy blocks, perfectly 
distinct, and not like large objects rendered small 
by reason of their greater distance ; the dog also, 
keeping pace with his mistress and in the shadow 
of her descending sledge, looks curiously unreal and 
uncomfortably large. In the other picture, again, 
the phalanx of distant movmtains rises into the air 
with a piercing sharpness of outline which serves to 
accentuate still further the hard flatness of the air- 
less space ; and altliough the sun is shining some- 
where and its brightness plays upon the peaks and 
ridges of these icy caps ; although it spreads in 
autumnal warmth over the dark ground, over the 
horses and peasants at the plough, there prevails a 
sense of loneliness — perhaps due to those quiet far- 
away mountains — as of some place stranded and left 
for ever out of reach of the sweeping tide of human 
life. And yet does it lie altogether in the subject .'' 
Not necessarily, one would think, for there in another 
room is a painting of ' Alpine Scenery ' by Dall 
Orta, in which the descending glaciers, the tilted 
strata, and rugged blocks and crags, the verdurous 
slopes and cattle at the margin of the mountain 
lake, tell quite another tale — of solitude may be — 
yet rather of the quietness of a summer's day, where- 
in the whirr of insects and bird-notes chime with 
faintly rhythmic pulse to the far-off throb of human 

Although this deficiency of aerial value is hardly 
compensated by other things, Segantini's versatility 
comes out in his other themes. There is one, for 
instance, a study, delightful for its unity, called 
' My Models.' It is of two children, a boy and girl, 
in an artist's studio, earnestly studying a half-com- 
pleted picture by the light of a lantern. The effect 
here is broader and simpler, and the colour is sweeter 
than in the others ; unless we except as being also 
delicate in harmony the two out-of-door subjects 
called ' Shearing ' and the ' Autunm Sun,' which are 
even more interesting as tentative essays. For the 
rest, Segantini's smaller sketches give proof of a 
singular degree of poetic feeling and refinement not 
too commonly associated with the clever, and in 
many instances merely facile technique of the major 
part of the work here seen of the Italian painters. 

But in this same school (the Milanese) are two or 
three remarkable pictures, as well as several clever 
ones, and many which are bad. Of the first kind, 
' The Work of the Day ended,' by Giovanni Giani, is 
remarkable as an experiment in low tone, and the 



painter has, we think, effectively realised the twi- 
light aspect of a room with the two figures darkly 
relieved against the whiteness of a Japanese blind, 
whose bright streaks of vermilion, blue, and green, 
yield the only positive colour in the picture. An 
uncomfortable idea strikes one, that under normal 
circumstances the absorbed man and woman would 
be more likely to regard their work — a huge canvas 
— by as much light as they could get ; but then the 
colour hints of the blind, as well as the tone of 
tlie room, would have been sacrificed, and anotlier 
effect and not this would have been the outcome. 

Near by hangs a large canvas, the ' Soup 
Kitchen,' by Attilio Pasterlo, which is as abso- 
lutely without any fusion of tone as it is devoid of 
any appreciable liglit and shade ; for the colour 
masses of the distant rows of people, as well as the 
individual heads, are painted in about the same key 
as the nearer ones, and even in these the shadows 
are so broken into by the exaggeration of reflected 
light as to minimise, by this particularisation, any 
chance of effecting a simple and generalised impres- 
sion from the conflicting data ; and were it not for 
the difference in drawing of the further masses, 
neither the colour nor the distribution of light 
would suffice to make this distinction evident. But 
for all that the picture is suggestive of thought and 
earnest in intention. This is manifest in the con- 
scientious attempt to individualise different types ; 
to depict want and poverty without any bent to- 
wards sentimentality, or recourse to anything but a 
literal intei'pretation of one of the most ordinary 
sights to be seen daily in our great cities during the 
bitter days of winter. 

As we said earlier, Morbelli verges here and there 
on the morbid ; and this, we contend, is evinced in 
his ' Felo de se,' as well as in the title given to his 
little child study, which he names ' A Pall Mall 
Gazette subject' ; but as this verdict may sound a 
one-sided one, it is necessary to admit that there is 
also another view to take. Few things convey with 
greater truth the look of sunlight and bright early 
summer effect than his group of workmen playing at 
' Bowls ' on a ' Sunday morning in Lombardy ' ; and 
if a pathetic note is struck in his rendering of the 
old men, and the interior of the charitable institu- 
tion in which their days are passed, called ' The 
End,' the pathos is of a natural kind. But his 
strongest work, the one in which most force and 
character are shown, is his study of ' Intemperance.' 
It cannot be said that the subject is exactly pleas- 
ing, yet it is — albeit a small work — unquestionably 
a powerful piece of realism ; while as an analysis of 
facial expression it is incomparable, yielding in this 
respect to no other in the exhibition. 

Then in the same section may be noted the ably 
painted ' Viaticum,' also by Angelo Morbelli ; some 
impressionist water-colours by Cremona ; the ' Piazza 
of San Marco under Water,' with its golden colour, 
by Clara Montalba, which is a slightly different 
aspect from Carcano's greyer rendering of the old 
palace ; G. Favretto's clever canvas, ' With the 
Nurses,' most beautiful in colour and execution, as 
are his earlier works in one of the other rooms, 
which are just Venetian suggestions, called ' A Wed- 
ding on the Canal,' ' Courtship,' and ' A Venetian 
Rag Market.' ' On tlie Alps,' by Carlo Pittara, 
and ' Hawking in the East,' by Pasini, are also 

Glancing at the first room, in which most of the 
work is lent by the Italian Government, Camma- 
rano's ' Charge of Bersaglieri ' strikes one as possess- 
ing marked action and character, and the painter has 
certainly succeeded in representing the recklessness 
and devilry of this famous band. Jacovacci's ' Vit- 
toria Colonna, and Michael Angelo,' may claim 
admiration as regards the painting of the satin 
robe of the dead poetess, but in no other sense is it 
satisfying. On one side of this hangs a sombre 
and airless-looking bit of ' Fontainebleau Forest,' by 
Palizzi, and on the other Luigi Nono's ' Refugium 
Peccatorium,' sweet with the subdued colour of 
evening twilight; then next is Filadelfo's quaint 
'Dancing Girls,' in pinned-up gowns, practising their 
steps in the quietness of a meadow. This picture 
would gain in interest were the three dancing maids 
more flexible and unconstrained. In fact, the 
' woodenness ' of their pose is such as might add 
to that reputation for stiffness which we Islanders 
are understood to enjoy in the estimation of other 
countries. But in reality the merit of the pictui-e 
consists in its naive quality, and in the natural 
arrangement of the figures in the foreground, and 
particularly in the clever foreshortening of the girl 
lying on the grass lazily watching the rest. 

In addition to these are two landscapes, oppo- 
site enough in quality, but both characterised by 
fine artistic feeling, the ' Messido,' by Ciardi, and 
Calderini's silvery ' Winter,' poetical and soft with 
grey clouds, sweeping and lifting over greyer hills, 
which lie beyond the leafless trees whose bareness 
is reflected in the sloppy pools mingled with the 
shadow of the cloud. 

It is not possible to do more than note in the 
most cursory fashion a few of the remaining pictures 
which attract either by reason of clever manipula- 
tion or artistic sympathy. The latter quality is 
especially evinced in a landscape called ' Carrara,' by 
Pontecorvo, and in the delicate effects by F. Giolo of 
' Twilight,' and early spring days, or ' In April' as he 



names it. Then there is the bright fresh quality of 
' The Railway Whistle,' by Adolfo Tommasi ; the 
' Forbidden Fruit,' another of Giani's clever impres- 
sions ; and Garini's ' From the Hills'; the brilliant 
colouring of Vinea's ' Gardener s Daughter ' ; his 
' Gathering Wild Flowers,' and a little landscape 
with misty sunset and cattle which is better as a 
colour harmony than the other two. Wandering 
on, one lingers before ' The Squall,' by Ferroni, or 
meditates upon tlie indefinable melancholy of ' Le 
Macchiajole,' by Fattori, and the undulating rise 
and fall of Pompeo Mariani's sweep of sea, which he 
gives us in his grey transcript of ' The Wave,' with 
even more sensation of vivid play in his smaller 
sketch of the same subject. 

Although there is not a great show of water- 
colours, a few out of the number are distinguished 
for their charm and freshness of colour, as Monte- 
fusco's sketches of Neapolitan peasants, especially 
the ' Chestnut Seller,' and one of ' Peasant Women,' 
Detti's brilliant ' Ball on Board,' Pittara's ' O Pesca- 
tore,' the 'Winter Rain' of Calderini, and the 
' Studies ' by Pontecorvo, which apart from their 
sweetness of tone and colour are distinctive in a more 
poetic sense as expressing the beauty of solitude and 
sunlight among rocks and boulders and fading hills. 

The most virile and artistic work among the 
sculpture is the masterly conception of Monteverde, 
' Jenner's first experiment in Inoculation,' which 
is essentially expressive of the forward bent of 
realism, while retaining its character as a masterpiece 
by the cultured thought which defines every line 
and animates with vivacity the inert stone. This 

group is justly awarded the place of honour in the 
plastic arts, tliough Jerace's ' Germanicus ' stands 
out as noble work ; while the imaginative quantity of 
his ' Decus Pelagi,' and ' Excubitor ' — a spheroid 
casket of gold coiled about by a winged creature, 
snake-like and scaly below the breasts — is united 
to the more abstract refinement of style of the 
Hellenic marbles. 

Curiously imbued with the sjjirit of the fifteenth 
century and Renascence sculpture are the terracotta 
busts of Eaisto Rossi. The one of ' Savonarola ' 
might well have been executed, judging by the 
spirit and manner of the work, from the great 
zealot in the flesh, instead of many centuries later. 
Quite of to-day are the humorous and clever bronzes 
and terra-cotta heads, single figures, and groups from 
the hands of Pisani, Benini, Constantino Barbella ; 
and the groups b y Professor Focardi, whose 'I'm first, 
Sir,' ' You Ragamuffins ! ' and others, are by this time 
tolerably familiar to every one from the copies and 
engravings that have been made from them. 

There in the midst of playful children, of gleam- 
ing figures hewn out of the purest marble, and 
heads of veiled women, trivial perhaps in motive, yet 
cleverly executed, stands Franceschi's ' Ad Bestias,' 
a terrible and despairing figure ; the anticipation 
of his doom wrought into the gasping hollow face, 
expressed by the forward droop of the shrunken 
figure, by the nerveless hands bound together, and 
by the feet as they clutch the ground. Meanwhile 
a sad, sweet white ' Ophelia ' stands afar. 

Mary Reed. 


FEW among the men who have enjoyed the 
freedom of the student's life in Paris, look 
back upon the experience without a sigli of regret. 
Its discomforts, its privations, its despair, jiave had 
their harsh outlines blun-ed by distance and time, 
while clear and conspicuous there rises a memory 
of sunny mornings when art seemed the only 
thing worth living for, and evenings at the 
restaurant, when, after very plain fare, discussion 
rose high and keen over the merits of rival ateliers. 
The pleasure of these days may no doubt in great 
part be attributed to the exuberance of youth, but 
independent of this, the positive conviction must be 
taken into account that here at last, after much 

futile search and disastrous blundering, was ample 
opportunity of well-directed study, and the constant 
stimulus of the companionsliip of men to whom 
drawing and painting were the most serious of all 

Idlers enough abounded, amongst tliem often the 
most lucid and convincing talkers, but the average 
tendency was in the direction of very serious and 
sustained work. In the time the writer spent in 
Paris the various nationalities mingled but little 
save at the studio, and even there intimacy between 
a Frenchman and a foreigner was the exception. 
So great was the invasion of the various schools 
by strangers, that in many cases Americans and 



Englislimen became a large majority, and the Frencli 
tongue was seldom heard save at the bi-weekly 
visit of the Professor, for whom the services of an 
interpreter were often required. A reaction against 
this state of affairs set in some years ago, and at the 
Ecole des Beaux-Arts especially, the admission of 
strangers was rendered very difficult, though per- 
sistence on the part of an applicant was seldom 

Of the Ecole, as it is generally called, the Govern- 
ment School of the Fine Arts, nothing need be said. 
Much lias been written regarding it in late years, 
and the outside studios supply sufficient matter for 
detail or comment. 

Students of sculpture and architecture are scarcely 
less numerous than painters in Paris. They have 
their own manners and usages, differing in some 
points from those of their brothers of the brush ; 
they occupy, moreover, separate quarters of the 
city, though often overlapping one another. Of 
recent years, driven from the overcrowded Latin 
quarter in seai-ch of better light and lower rents, 
there has sprung up in the neighbourhood of the 
Gare Montparnasse quite a nest of studios of all 
kinds. This is a part of the city unknown to the 
tourist. Popular attractions there are non-existent, 
and the endless lines of half-finished streets have a 
depressing effect on most people. Disputing the 
ground with foundries and factories, and differing 
little from tliem in outward appearance, are some of 
the most noted students' ateliers of Paris. To the 
aspirant fresh from some palatial school of art in 
England or Scotland the outlook is not inviting. 
Armed probably with a letter of introduction to 
the mossier, the secretary and treasurer of tlie 
studio elected annually, he knocks timidly at the 
door, which he has found with difficulty. A yell of 
'Ent)-es r invites him to proceed, and he finds liimself 
in the centre of tlie room, keenly scrutinised by some, 
calmly ignored by most, who proceed with their 
work. Some facetious Frenchman, pretending to 
mistake the visitor for a model in search of work, 
will most likely shout out ^ Deshabillez-vous,' but 
the massier, who by this time understands that he is 
wanted, politely inquires his business. Mustering 
his best French, the newcomer explains that he 
desires the honour of numbering himself among the 
pupils of the celebrated Mons. Z. The massier 
looks grave. Very sorry, studio quite full, many 
refused already, but if he will go and see the patron, 
on Sunday morning before nine, perhaps something 
might be done later. 

On the Sunday morning accordingly the would- 
be pupil, armed with some of his sketches and 
studies, proceeds to the private studio of the great 

man, marvelling at the early hours affected by genius. 
The errand is stated, the portfolio produced, and 
its contents looked over with condescending interest 
veiled by scarcely concealed contempt. After a 
terrible moment of uncertainty, the maitre unbend- 
ing, discerning perhaps some trait' of originality in 
the work submitted to him, indicates to liis anxious 
visitor that he may commence work at the atelier on 
Monday, provided there is space. He at the same 
time liands his card to the elevated youth, who will 
present the same to the massier in token of the 
autocrat's approval. Half-past seven the following 
morning finds the embryo artist at the school ; there 
is a large muster of students, as to-day the fresh model 
is posed, and places balloted for the entire week. 
But little notice is taken of the stranger for some 
time, the bustle and excitement regarding the pose 
occupying everybody. A compassionate Englishman 
at length comes to the rescue, and explains that he 
had better begin work from the hosse in an adjoin- 
ing room, and hold himself ready for all possible 

That the dernier nouveau has his duties soon 
becomes apparent. Loud cries of ' Charbon!'' incite 
him to replenish the stove with coke ; and this is no 
sooner done than he is admonished, by numerous 
requests for petits pains, to procure the same from a 
neighbouring baker's shop. At the first rest, after 
premonitory hints, the universal cry of ' Poncli, ponch, 
dernier nouveau^ becomes more peremptory, and his 
former adviser recommends a prompt compliance 
with the demand. The inevitable cafe at the corner 
soon supplies the wonted beverage, for which the 
novice pays. He may be invited to sing a song, 
in some ateliers he may even be subjected to some 
annoyance, but as a rule the bienvenu is generally 
held as sufficient initiation. It is the wisest as well 
as the most dignified policy for the nouveau to 
accept the situation frankly, and do what he is 
ordered willingly ; he may thus almost immediately 
fall into the ranks, and avoid unnecessary fagging. 
His main duties, in addition to those already alluded 
to, will be to procure black soap occasionally for 
brush washing, and form one of a search party for 
a model, should the one engaged not turn up. 

The often dirty, and even squalid, surroundings in 
a Parisian atelier, the almost constant noise and 
inevitable tobacco smoke, frequently disturb the 
equanimity of youths gently nurtured in the prim 
proprieties of British Art Schools; but a few months' 
inoculation generally accustom the most particular 
to the change, and one gets quite to like it. Very 
earnest work is pursued in this dirty, comfortless 
room, and the latest arrival is soon deeply engrossed 
in search of les valeurs. From the antique he is in 



time promoted to the life ; and lie goes his way at 
last, having learned wliat he is capable of assimilat- 
ing. That the bulk of the studies done are hope- 
lessly bad, and that tlie majority of the men have 
niistai<en their profession, liimself perhaps among the 
number, will most likely become increasingly appa- 
rent to him. His undoubting zeal in tlie conviction 
that art is simply a matter of so many years" stiidy 
will become a myth, but that a man gifted with real 
artistic capacity does not learn much in the routine 
of work in an atelier is an invention of those who are 
too lazy or too conceited to take advantage of it. 
To the student of human nature the nondescript 
gatliering of nationalities and ' types ' will be ever 
interesting. Thejlanem; who looks in occasionally 
to see what is being done by others, and ' la 
basse rrCembete'' ; the blageur who has always some 
tomfoolery in hand ; the jeune homme ar?-ive, who 
had a third-class medal in last Salon, and gives 
himself airs accordingly — these are met in every 
atelier, while no less conspicuous will be tlie pet of 
the studio, whose studies it is openly hinted surpass 
the work of the maitre, who has nearly attained the 
Grand Prix de Rome, and will most probably con- 
tinue to produce accomplished technical studies 
whicli may become fashionable, but can never be- 
come real art. 

The days on wliicli the patron visits the 
studio are marked by unusual quiet and preter- 
natural application, for his time of call is uncertain, 
and he is ever treated with the greatest deference. 
His services are as a rule entirely gratuitous, and 
rendered for tlie good of art. After many false 
alarms the inaitre really appears, and all rise to 
their feet. In perfect silence he commences the 
round of the students. A man of few words, he 
criticises, condemns, gives a word of encouragement, 
seldom absolute praise, and passes to tlie next. On 
his departure all again rise, and the babel of noise 
is resumed, many leaving the studio at once. 
Tuesday is a usual visiting day, and again Satur- 
day, when a longer stay is made. After the usual 
round, the patron is provided with a seat and a 
cigarette, while the men place successively on an 
easel in front of him compositions of wliich the 
subject may have been specified the week before. 
Surrounded by the entii'e atelier, Mons. Z. discusses 

the general treatment, makes suggestions, asks ques- 
tions, then the inevitable '' enfin'' produces another 
esquisse, as they are called, till all are shown. 

The foregoing is a general description of what 
goes on in an atelier serieux, and, with slight varia- 
tions, it represents the life at most of the more 
celebrated ateliers, past and present. Each has its 
spcciaUte : some are credited with devotion to form 
at a sacrifice of colour ; others have a reputation for 
coloiu- wliile drawing is neglected, and the disputes 
among the students of rival studios when they meet 
at the restaurants are endless and unedifying. 

A wrong impression would be conveyed if it were 
thought that all studying art in Paris go through 
tliis routine. Many mock at systematic training, 
talk much of originality, and burn incense to an 
unknown god in a temple of their own. There is 
little doubt tliat the grind can be overdone, but the 
man who errs in the direction of excessive technical 
training is generally fit for little else. The general 
reader having arrived at tliis point may possibly 
complain that this is not wliat he expected. He 
has read somewhere of velvet coats, long hair, fan- 
tastic pipes, rosy wine, lovely woman, and bac- 
chanalian song. These delights, or their prosaic 
counterparts, may no doubt be found, and are more 
picturesque than dry details of studio routine. The 
ready writer, more concerned in being entertaining 
or patlietic than in giving authentic details of 
study, weaves his web with the warp, disdaining 
or ignoring the no less necessary woof, and the 
result is that the popular idea of an art student's 
life is as nearly related to fact as the peasants of 
Watteau to the real rustics of the country. 

To those who hold without qualification that 
the painter is born and not made, that genius ab- 
hors leading-strings, that a work of art can never 
be produced according to any given recipe, the 
foregoing remarks may suggest thought. 

Each of these axioms may be frankly accepted ; 
but, at the same time, it is well to bear in mind 
that no profession makes greater demands on the 
qualities of concentration of energy and loving 
application than any one of the arts, and the period 
of systematic training described above is but an 
introduction to what may or may not be work that 
will live. James Paterson. 






MEDEA, daughter of the King of Colchis, for 
the sake of her lover Jason, ventures into the 
presence of the Dragon which guards her father's 
treasure, the famous Golden Fleece, and by the 
magic liarmonies of her lyi-e charms the Dragon 
asleep, and enables Jason to carry off the treasure. 

This is the theme of Mr. Thornycroft's statue, 
and in it we see the Royal Sorceress standing erect 
striking v,ith a plectrum the strings of a great lyre, 
and looking down at the Dragon with an expression 
of calm, conscious power easily capable of achieving 
her end. 

The Dragon — which by the way tlie Greeks con- 
ceived as a snake — has coiled itself round her, and 
so upreared 'its long length' to the sweet music. 

In its coils the folds of her garment are pressed close 
to her limbs, so narrowing the lower half of the 
figure, and giving it an intentionally 'terminal'- 
like aspect. On the base there is a symbol of the 
golden treasure in the architecturally treated rams' 
heads by which it is decorated. It is interesting to 
know that the sculptor has endeavoured to give the 
cliaracter of an Asiatic Greek type to the head of 
Medea, and that the Dragon was modelled from a 
boa which lately died at the Zoological Gardens. 
The lyre, a very difficult instrument to obtain 
accurate details of, was taken from a Greek vase in 
the British Museum, and the drapery was studied 
from a soft, heavy silk crepe, made into the form of 
a Greek dress. 



WE may speak of sculpture in Scotland, but not 
of a Scottish school or any national char- 
acter in the productions of the art in Scotland. Of 
other countries it is possible to distinguish the 
productions, and say of this piece or that that it is 
Italian, French, English, or German, as the case 
may be, but sculpture in Scotland is either pseudo- 
Greek based on casts from the antique, or a pale 
reflection of what is current in the school of London. 
The coldness of the climate, the narrow views of 
the people, and their general indifference to arti- 
ficial beauty, have all combined to retard the pro- 
gress of sculpture in our midst. To be a sculptor 
in Scotland has been to make tombstones or starve, 
and still means remaining far away from any centre 
of living traditions and from that community of emu- 
lation and aspiration without wliich no great work is 
possible in an art so chaste and spiritual, offering so 
little of seduction to win tlie love and application 
wliich it demands. Naturally any centre of sculp- 
ture which has been in Scotland has been in Edin- 
burgh, tlie capital, where for a considerable number 
of years there has existed a moderately artistic and 
lucrative practice in portrait bust-making, more, 
however, dependent on personal influence and 
memorial needs than any love of the medium, 
other than perhaps a pedantic idea of the ' correct 

thing,' bom of the cold classical culture of this 
modern or northern Athens, doubtless a tvfin birth 
with the strange desire after Greek temples on high 
places shown by the city. 

Edinburgh has persistently, and witli few excep- 
tions, kept her sculpture commissions for the en- 
couragement of local talent ; and although the result 
may not be of a high order, it will be interesting as 
a record when the patriotic effort to create a school 
has succeeded, as it doubtless will in due time. The 
first and necessary evidence is to be found in the 
fact that the number of her professional sculptors 
has been trebled within the last twenty years, tliere 
now being some twelve or thirteen where there were 
formerly only three or four. 

The veteran Sir John Steell is still among us, 
but has retired from work after a long and favoured 
career. In his time he received the biggest and 
best public commissions that have ever been given 
in Edinburgh and the neighbourhood, many of them 
great artistic opportunities and magnificently paid. 
Sir John is represented in the Sculpture Gallery 
by several small reproductions in bronze of colossal 
originals. In other parts of the building may be 
seen colossal plaster models of Scott, Bums, and 
The Queen, also by him. We prefer not to criticise 
any of these works. Calder Marshall is an Ediri- 



burgh man of abovit the same period as Sir John 
Steell, who was wise enough to leave the more cold 
and unsympathetic northern atmosphere of his early 
day for that of London, and what light and leading 
it could afibrd in the presence of the Elgin Marbles. 
His work is sound and good, and equal to the best of 
his English contemporaries a generation ago, but in 
he light of to-day it appears scholastic and formal. 
George Lawson is another Scotch sculptor who 
received his early training in Edinburgh, but who 
with national shrewdness speedily perceived that 
Scotland and sculpture were incompatible, and 
migrated to the sunny south. Mr. Lawson's work 
is not quite of the time, although merging into it. 
He is largely represented in the Gallery, but we 
have not that sympatliy with his classical efforts 
which we feel for his earlier romantic studies, where 
there is an expression of something almost unique, 
of which we are reminded by his Domime Sampson 
here. Mr. Lavvson's genius is more in the lyric 
than the epic vein. Johx Mossmax, another 
veteran, although long resident in the west of Scot- 
land, is also originally from Edinburgh. He is 
represented in the Gallery by a figure entitled 
Moses on Pisgah, and a marble group called The 

Flood, works of ordinary merit, singularly lacking 
in character and artistic perception. There is 
shown a loving study in marble of an infant's 
head by the late Thojias Stuart Burxett, also 
a character study of an old Florentine Priest. 
These works show considerable technical ability, 
and an earnest desire to search the form's qualities, 
which would have enabled this young artist to do 
good work had he been spared. D. W. Stevenson's 
Pompeian Mother is fairly well conceived, but rather 
feebly modelled. John Rhind sends a life-size 
study from the nude, which in parts shows some 
able modelling, but as a whole the figure is over- 
strained in the direction of decorative curves, with 
which the naturalistic details are quite at variance. 
The liead is evidently from memory, and as much out 
of character with tlie rest of the work as the title. 
Besides those named, a few young men exhibit 
works of merit and promise, showing signs of the 
new methods and better training current at foreign 
centres. They are touched by the spirit of the 
latest renaissance which is in the air, and tell, like 
faint ripples, something of the forces at work in the 
great waters. At present their efforts call for no 
special mention, being secondary, and as echoes. 



ABOUT forty years ago, wlien the Cathedral of 
Glasgow had been swept and garnished under 
the direction of the late Mr. Blore, descriptive 
placards were fixed up in various places for the 
instruction of visitors. These were, in almost every 
particular, inaccurate. This has been often pointed 
out, and it has once more been brought prominently 
into notice through the recent proceedings of the 
British Archaeological Association. The papers read 
before that body on the Cathedral and on the history 
of the See, with relative discussions, clearly demon- 
strate how false and misleading these placards are, 
but still no step is taken towards their removal or 
correction. It may indeed be said that there never 
was the slightest excuse for their stupid inaccuracy, 
which is at once manifest to any one with even a 
smattering of architectural knowledge ; but there 
they still remain, deceiving thousands, and bearing 
perennial witness to the culpable negligence of the 
Government Department, to whose care it has been 
thought proper to intrust the national monuments 
of the country. We charitably assume carelessness 
to be the excuse ; it is hard to believe that the per- 

petuation of so senseless a deception is deliberate. 
One of the cards has apparently dropped off' and 
been lost. It was on one of the piers of the nave, 
and intimated tliat the nave was erected by Bishop 
Achaius in 1136 ! Those in the crypt and choir still 
announce to the astonished beholder that these late 
thirteenth-century buildings were erected by Jocelin, 
in 1176 ! There are other errors in these descriptive 
cards more excusable, but equally requiring correc- 
tion. Many eminent ecclesiologists recently with 
us concur in the opinion that the chapter-house was 
the apartment on the ground-floor of the building, 
at the north-east corner of the choir, and that the 
apartment over it was the vestry. It seems also to 
be unquestionable that what has hitherto been 
ticketed as the Lady Chapel ought not so to be 
named. Strictly speaking the arrangement consists 
of an ambulatory with side chapels along the east 
side of it ; one of which may or may not have been 
dedicated to the Virgin. It is the square equivalent 
of tlie polygonal French chevet, and is quite an 
unusual arrangement in British Cathedrals. We 
have something like it at Durham, but there the 



addition of the Chapel of the Nine Altars was an 
aftertliought and — exquisite as it is in itself — a mani- 
fest blunder. In Glasgow the peculiar character of tlie 



site has prevented any interference with the original 
design, which is symmetrical,admirably proportioned, 
and in due subordination to the choir itself. It is 
thus a peculiarly interesting feature, being almost, if 
not absolutely, unique in this country. 

The facts connected with the history of Glasgow 
Cathedral which the recent Congress has been instru- 
mental in elucidating are briefly these : Near the 
south-west corner of the crypt, a few square yards of 
masonry remain which formed part of a church erected 
by Bishop Jocelin about 1180. This church had a 
crypt and a choir, and the high altar in the choir 
stood immediately over the grave of the patron saint 
in the crypt beneath, a spot still indicated by a 
group of four piers, of richer character than any 
others in the crypt, at the angles of a raised platform, 
under the second bay of the choir. Jocelin's Church 
did not extend much to the east of this. He appears 
to have completed the crypt and choir, which was 
consecrated with great pomp in 1197, and also to 
have commenced the nave, the building of which was 
continued fitfuUy by his successors till the episco- 
pate of Bondington, 1233. If this supposition be 
correct, it is quite clear that Jocelin's choir must 
have been a very short one, and therefore it is the 
less surprising tliat Bondington, who wished one 

about three times the length, should have decided 
to take the old one down altogether. This he 
did (except the small fragment already referred 
to), and in its place he erected the crypt and choir 
as they stand. We can easily understand that this 
magnificent work taxed all his energies, and that he 
found it quite impossible to complete it within the 
comparatively short period of fifteen years, and at 
the same time do anything to the nave. He there- 
fore left the nave alone, to be completed by his 
successors. The chapter-house was part of Bonding- 
ton's design, and was probably built by him to about 
the top of the base course, but nothing above that 
was built till 1425, in the episcopate of Bishop 
Cameron, when the central tower was also built, the 

early-looking windows of which find tlieir counterpart 
in the sacristy. The unfinished building south from 
the transept was erected by Archbishop Blackader 
in 1480-1500, and is a remarkable illustration of the 
development of that divergence from English models 
which began in Scotland about the close of the thir- 
teenth century. It has been assumed tliat this build- 
ing was intended as an extension of tlie transept, but 
this is exceedingly improbable. It is much too long, 
and if intended for such an addition would almost 
certainly have had either one or two aisles. Tlie 
Bishop's intention must, we fear, remain a matter of 
conjecture. The old consistory-house and the bell 
tower, at the west end of the nave, were integral 



portions of the mediEeval building, although neither 
fonned part of the original design. They were pro- 
bably about the same age as the chapter-house, and 
it is certain that the consistory-house was in exist- 
ence during Bishop Cameron's episcopate. These 
two interesting adjuncts were wantonly pulled down 
by rash and ignorant restorers about forty-five years 
ago,' when the sweeping and garnishing ah-eady 
referred to were in progress. This error can never 
be rectified ; but the time seems opjjortune for in- 
sisting upon the custodiers of the building giving it 
so much attention as to guard against mutilation still 
more serious. The correction of the placards is a 
comparatively trifling matter, but it also is one which 
demands immediate attention. 

It is impossible to examine such a building aS 
Glasgow Cathedral thoughtfully — to note the won- 
derful skill with which the proportions of parts and 
their convenient disposition have been at once 
adapted and subordinated to structural requirements; 
the marvellous ingenuity with which in some cases 
obstacles to such harmonious combination have been 
surmounted ; the refinement and beauty of the 
details; and the excellence of the workmanshijJ — 
without realising how difficult it is to account for 


^ ^f^ 


^ .* ■ 

i «';s«?^-^-«»v 

-^. f V 

the production of such a magnificent work of art in 
the poor, troublous, ignorant, and tyrannical Scot- 
land of the thirteenth century. If modern theories are 
correct, it would be difficult to imagine circumstances 
less favourable to artistic development than those 
under which this cathedral grew in its beauty. Yet 
with all the light and leading of the bygone cen- 
turies, with all the aids of science, and all the 
teachings of a thousand schools, we have in these 
days of liberty and wealth failed to produce one 
single original work at all comparable to this. Here 
we shall find as little trace of socialistic art as of 
South Kensington. ' The base ' was very narrow in 
Bishop Bondington's day, but art has no sympathy 
with communism. It can neither be made nor 
marred by anything of the kind. It is essentially 
autocratic, and must ever be so. The harmonious 
complexity of our cryptal labyrinth, the intricate 
groining of the overarching vault, the wealth of ex- 
cpiisite detail, the all-pervading unity, are not the 
outcome of co-operative art, but only of co-operative 
craft. One and all of them, even in their minutest 
or tenderest effect, bear witness to the despotism of a 
master-mind. We have effijctually got rid of two 
mediaeval despotisms — despotic government and de- 
spotic faith, — but the dynasty of art remains en- 
throned, and genius claims universal homage as of 
yore. John Honeyman. 




A.D. 560-1560. 

Abridged fro}n a Paper read at the Meeting of the British Archieological Association in Glasgow, August iS 

THE history of the ancient See of Glasgow must 
be mainly the history of the Cathedral, and 
of those who have sat in the chair of St. Kenti- 
gern. The fomider of the See of Glasgow was St. 
Kentigern, known also as St. Mungo, the apostle of 
Cumbria, as St. Columba was tlie founder of the 
Christian Chuixli among the Picts. He was bom in 
the year 518 (or, according to some, in 527), and, as 
Jocelin states that he was consecrated Bishop at the 
affe of 25, tlie date of his consecration would be in 
the year 552. Kentigern took up his abode on the 
banks of the then beautiful rivulet 'vocabulo Melin- 
donor.' Beneath the venerable trees which then 
overshadowed it, a little oratory and a very humble 
wooden cell were erected, and from this, as from the 
chief seat of his mission, St. Kentigern spread Chris- 

tianity tliroughout the whole extent of wliat formed, 
four centuries later, the British kingdom of Cumbria, 
\.e. the territory from Loch Lomond and Stirling 
on the north to Windermere and Appleby. Glasgow 
became the ecclesiastical capital of this extensive 
region, the spiritual mother of the Welsh tribes 
and ' fair Stratliclyde.' On this spot St. Kentigern 
was buried after his labours of half a century, 
A.D. 603; and here for ages tlie kings and warriors, 
the saints and sages of Cumbria, cliose their rest 
beside the remains of the renowned apostle of their 

St. Kentigern's oratory or chui-ch was most 
probably constructed of wood, and his hospice of 
twigs or basket-work, thatched with reeds ; the one 
a log-house, and the other a wigwam, or a group of 



wattle huts. These erections were the origin of the 
city of Glasgow. 

No record remains to us of the immediate succes- 
sors of Kentigern, and we have but little information 
on the history of the See previous to its restoration 
by David i., for the convulsions of the tenth century 
saw the See in abeyance, and its possessions were 
seized by laymen. Tiie restoration was the work 
of David, while he was yet Earl or Prince of 
Cumbria, and John Achaius, who had been tutor, 
and afterwards chancellor, to the prince, was elected 
and consecrated bishop (1115). He has been com- 
monly called the first Bishop of Glasgow, but that 
should be understood to mean the first bisliop of 
the restored See. His first care was to provide a 
churcli for his Cathedral. The ancient cemetery 
and its girdle of trees seems to have been nearly all 
that remained at Glasgow of St. Kentigern when 
Bishop John laid the foundation of his church. It 
was begun before the year 1124, and he consecrated 
it in the year 1136, in the presence of his royal pupil, 
who was now King of the Scots. Bisliop John held 
the See for the space of 32 years, and went to his 
reward in the year 1147. 

To the episcopate of Bishop Herbert, the succes- 
sor of John, we must assign tlie foundation of what 
became the great abbey of the diocese. Walter, 
High Steward of Scotland, founded in 1163, at 
Paisley, a monastery for Cluniac monks. Pope 
Honorius iii. (1198-1216) raised it to the dignity of 
an Abbey, and Robert iii. presented it with a charter 
of Regality. No part of the original building re- 
mains, for the beautiful first -pointed work that 
replaced the earlier structure dates from the foui-- 
teentli century. The progenitor of the Stuarts 
endowed munificently the house he founded in the 
midst of his great fief of Strathgryfe, ' for the souls 
of King Henry of England, of King David, and of 
King Malcolm.' 

Tiie fourth occupant of tlie revived See was 
Jocelin, wlio was called to the chair of St. Kentigern 
from the great Cistercian monastery of Melrose. 
Tliis energetic prelate obtained, in 1175, as soon as 
he was appointed to the See, from William the Lion 
the grant of a burgh, wliich was confirmed by Pope 
Lucius in 1181, and King Alexander, by a charter 
in 1189, granted to the bishop the right of a fair. 
Jocelin also began at once to make preparations 
for a new Cathedral ; as the structure of Bishop 
John had been destroyed by fire some forty years 
after its consecration. He laid the foundation in 
1181, beginning at the east end, and sixteen years 
later his building was consecrated, in 1197, on the 
octave day of SS. Peter and Paul. It has been the 
custom to associate the present crypt under tlie 

choir with the name of Jocelin. We cannot enter 
into that question, beyond saying that the first- 
pointed style of the crypt is evidently of a later 
date than the time of Jocelin. To call it by his 
name is a mistake. 

WiUiam de Bondington, Chancellor of the king- 
dom (1233-1258), was the third bishop in succession 
from Jocelin. To him we must assign the com- 
mencement of the erection of the present Cathedral ; 
and he completed the crypt and the choir. To 
promote the building, a resolution or order was 
passed by a Provincial Council held at Perth, in 
1242, ordaining that the Indulgence for the Catlie- 
dral be hung up in every church in the realm, and 
its terms plainly expounded in the vulgar tongue 
to the parisliioners ; that on every Sunday and 
holiday from Ash Wednesday to Low Sunday the 
duty of contributing to the work be enjoined on the 
people ; and that, during the season so specified, 
offerings were not to be solicited in the parish 
churches for any other object. This arrangement 
for a national collection would seem to point out 
that the new Cathedral had been now commenced; 
and to the fruits of it we owe the completion of the 
crypt and choir before the year 1258. Another 
work of Bishop Bondington was the foundation of 
the Blackfriars Monastery about the year 1246. 

Robert Wishart, or Wiseheart, of the old family 
of Wisehearts of Pitarrow, in Kincardineshire, was 
tlie next notable Bishop of Glasgow. The central 
tower of the Cathedral was probably built by him, 
and also what may be called the clerestory tran- 
septs, but he is most widely known as a strong sup- 
porter of Scottish independence. He took the side 
of Wallace and Bruce, and his hands crowned 
Robert at Scone, on 27th March 1305. Later lie 
was taken prisoner, and detained in England until 
after the battle of Bannockburn in 1314. He was 
Bishop of Glasgow for 44 years, dying in 1316, and 
was buried in the crypt between the altars of St. 
Peter and St. Andrew, and the monument in the 
centre of the east end of the crypt must be allowed 
to be the monument of Robert Wishart. 

William Rae, who was consecrated in 1339, built 
a bridge over the Clyde, where now the Stockwell 
Bridge spans the river. It was he who procured 
from Rome a dispensation by which Robert ii., the 
founder of the royal house of Stuart, was enabled to 
marry Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Muir, 
though related by affinity and consanguinity. In 
return for this favour Robert founded a chaplaincy 
in the Cathedral of Glasgow. 

Walter Wardlaw succeeded, of the Wardlaws of 
Torry, in Fifesliire, a prelate of great distinction. 
By King Robert he was sent to France to renew the 



ancient league between the crowns, which negotia- 
tion he carried through in such an able manner 
that, at the instance of Charles v., lie was, by Pope 
Urban vi., created a cardinal in 1384. This dignity 
he enjoyed only two years, and died in 1387. 

Among succeeding bishops may be mentioned 
William Lauder, who began tlie work of the stone 
spire, and John Cameron, who may be credited with 
the building of the chapter-house on the level of the 
crypt, and the vestry above it. The former prelate 
was one of the negotiators with the Court of Eng- 
land for the liberation of James i., wliile the latter 
went as one of the two episcopal representatives of 
Scotland to the General Council of Basle. 

The successor to Bishop Cameron was William 
TurnbuU, who was translated from Dunkeld in 
1447, and who is ever memorable as the founder 
of the University of Glasgow. This institution was 
formally erected by a Papal Bull, dated 26th Decem- 
ber 1450, and the office of Chancellor was to be 
held by the Bishop of Glasgow and his successors. 

No allusion has yet been made to the nave of the 
Cathedral, and the massive and imposing square 
tower which, till some forty years ago, stood at the 
north-west end. The dates of these have not been 
handed down to us, but the tower was evidently 
very old. It was 120 feet high, and had been the 
bell tower. Opposite it, at the south-west of the 
nave, there was also another erection, evidently 
meant to be a tower, but which was only carried up 
to about two-thirds of the heiglit of tlie otlier, and 
was finished with gables and corbie-steps. It was 
called in ancient records the Library House of the 
Cathedral, and was the place where the bishops 
held their ecclesiastical courts, and wliere the records 
of the diocese were kept. A list of the books 
belonging to the Cathedral has been preserved, and 
is printed by the Maitland Club ; also a list of the 
vestments and ornaments, made by order of the 
Bishop and Chapter in 1432, remains to us, showing 
that these were of more than usual richness and 
magnificence. An inventory of the relics has also 
been preserved and published. In the fifteenth 
century, such was the renown of the See of Glasgow, 
'the mother of many races," as William the Lion 
had styled her three centuries before, that King 
James iv. deemed it an honour to be numbered 
among her canons. 

In the time of Bishop Blackader, the third in 
succession from Turnbull, the Parliament, probably 
on account of a wish on tlie part of the royal canon, 
made a move in favour of Glasgow being raised to 
the dignity of an Archiepiscopal See, as St. Andrews 
had been seventeen years before. A resolution was 
passed by it on 14th January 1489, which set forth 

that the honour and welfare of the realm demanded 
the erection of Glasgow into an Archbishopric, with 
the same privileges as those enjoyed by York. 
King James iv. urged upon the Pope the desired 
erection, saying that ' Glasgow surpassed all the 
other Catliedral churches in his realm by its struc- 
ture, its learned men, its foundations, its ornaments, 
and other very noble prerogatives.' Innocent 
granted the request, and by a Bull dated 9th 
January 1492 raised Glasgow to an Archbisliopric, 
witli Dunkeld, Dunblane, Galloway, and Argyle for 
its suffragans. In this way the prelate, made 
Bishop of Glasgow in 1484, eight years later became 
Archbishop Robert Blackader. He is popularly 
known by the work at the Cathedral associated \\itli 
his name. He constructed the stairs whicli lead to 
the great crypt, and built the rood loft. Also, he 
resolved to add a south transept ; but completed 
only the under croft, or south crypt, commonly 
called ' Blackader's Aisle,' and sometimes 'Fergus' 
Aisle,' — the last piece of work attempted before the 
Reformation. The archbishop died in 1508, when 
making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. 

James Beaton was the next Archbishop of Glas- 
gow. His consecration took place at Stirling on 
15th April 1509, and he also held tlie office of 
Chancellor of the kingdom. This prelate crowned 
James v. in the Castle of Stirling on 21st September 
1513, and after presiding over the See for the space 
of twelve years, was translated to St. Andrews in 

Gavin Dunbar, Prior of Whithorn, and former 
tutor to James v., was now appointed to the See of 
Glasgow, being consecrated on 5th February 1524-5. 
He must be looked on as the originator of the 
College of Justice, inasmuch as James instituted 
it by his advice. The College was to consist of 
fourteen Judges, half clerical and half lay, the 
president to be always an ecclesiastic. It received 
the confirmation of Pope Clement vii. in the year 
1534, and the first president was the Abbot of 
Cambuskenneth. In the year 1546, the year pre- 
vious to the death of Dunbar, the Collegiate Cliurch 
of Biggar, in Lanark, was founded. It was dedi- 
cated to the Blessed Virgin, and was endowed for a 
provost, eight canons, four clioristers, and six poor 
bedesmen, and was one of the last religious founda- 
tions in Scotland previous to the Reformation. 
Another work of this archbishop's was the building 
the gatehouse at the Bishop's Castle. 

Archbishop Dunbar died on 30th April 1547. 
He was acknowledged, even by his enemies, to be a ' 
prelate of learning and piety. The family seems to 
have been noted for goodness, zeal, and charity. 
An uncle of his was Bishop of Aberdeen from 1518 



to 1532, and was, perhaps, next to Bishop Elphin- 
stone, the most illustrious occupant of that See. 

The last possessor of the See of St. Kentigern 
was James Beaton, the second of the name, who 
was consecrated at Rome on 2Sth August 1552. 
Five years after his promotion he and another 
bishop and six other persons were commissioned 
by the Estates of Scotland to go to France as 
witnesses of the espousals of Queen Mary with the 
Dauphin. The Archbishop was also present at the 
solemnisation of the marriage, on 24th April 1558, 
in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. In August 1549 
tlie celebrated Convention of Clergy had been 
held at Linlithgow. In the November follow- 
ing a Provincial Council was held in Edinburgh, 
and the Vicar-General of Glasgow attended it, as 
the See was then vacant. Another Provincial 
Council took place in 1559, which lasted from 1st 
March to 10th April. The Archbishop of Glasgow 
took part in it ; and with it ended the last Council 
of the old Scottish Churcli. 

It is no part of this slight sketch to travel beyond 
tlie year 1560, or to go into those causes that led to 
the national change of religion. But one may say 
that few dioceses in Christendom have had a more 
glorious or edifying existence of fully one thousand 
years than Glasgow''s ancient See. It began with 
Kentigern, and ends with Aixhbishop Beaton 
Seciindo, who in 1560 retired to France. He was 
appointed ambassador for his sovereign at the Court 
of France ; was restored to a portion of the tem- 
porality of his See in 1600, and died at tlie age of 
eighty-six, on 25th April 1603. 

The names of Kentigern, Jocelin, Bondington, 
Wishart, Cameron, Turnbull, Blackader, Dunbar, 
and James Beaton will always be household words 
in the West of Scotland. Of each of these may we 
say : ' Many shall praise his wisdom, and it shall 
never be forgotten. The memory of him sliall not 
depart away, and his name shall be in request from 
generation to generation.'' — Ecclus. xxxix. 12, 13. 
Charles, Archhishop of Glasgoio. 


IT is a commonplace that Rome took her art by 
sheer annexation from Greece; that Roman art 
is Greek art plagiarised, but with the fine edge 
blunted, the delicate handling lost. Like many 
commonplaces, however, this judgment, if sweeping, 
is shallow, and, though accepted so long as to be ' the 
catholic faith,' is still not exempt from reversion. 
In sculpture it may be true, but is certainly not the 
whole truth; of painting we know too little to form a 
judgment ; but in architecture it is for the most pai't 
nonsense. Sr. Velazquez, Professor of the History 
of Architecture at the Madrid School of Fine Arts, 
has been, I believe, the first directly to challenge 
the old accepted creed ; nor to any who know Spain 
will it come as a surprise that to tiiat land we sliould 
owe a new idea, or the new handling of an old one. 
To notes of Sr. Velazquez's lectures the following 
paper is largely due, lectures delivered unwritten in 
true Spanish fashion, and lavished with Spanish 
prodigality on a scanty audience without thought 
of garnering for publication. 

In architecture the case against Rome rests 
chiefly on her temples. As long as Rome pre- 
served her simple primitive faith, such temples 
as she had seem to have been adapted from 
Etruscan models. Towards the close of the third 
century B.C., Greek ideas had filtered in, and were 

rapidly displacing the old national creed ; during 
the second century the transformation in intellectual 
Rome was complete, and her worship was an im- 
portation. The humbler classes, doubtless, still 
clung to tlie old, simpler faith, but in architecture 
the humbler classes do not count ; they have no 
monuments in marble. It is, therefore, little wonder 
if, in importing her religion, Rome borrowed also 
the temples that enshrined it ; but she copied them 
less slavishly than is generally supposed, and the peri- 
stylar arrangement, almost essential in Greece, was 
probably an exception in Rome; the temple of 
Vesta never came from the shores of the iEgean ; 
the temple of Mars Ultor of the Augustan age, one 
of the oldest of which any fragments remain, is be- 
lieved to liave had an apse ; and the Roman temples 
seem to have nearly always been more or less Etruscan 
in plan, a portico in front of one or more cells side by 
side. Of this the present portico of the Pantheon, 
originally, it is probable, a temple by itself, is a 
typical, and the finest, instance. 

But whereas in Greece architecture, if not synony- 
mous with ' temples,' at any rate found in them its 
highest perfection, tlie temples of Rome are but an 
insignificant portion of her architectm-e, and its 
least national expression. The temple is not its type. 
It is false, moreover, to take a single element, like 




the column and its entablature, borrowed of course 
from Greece, and base upon it the plagiarism of 
Roman art. The Romans were essentially a political 
people, adapting and assimilating with the highest 
genius everything and anything with which they 
came in contact — in politics, in religion, in art, and 
all tlie spheres of life, seizing upon every new ele- 
ment, and transforming it till welded into the iron 
whole which it was tlieir glory to have impressed upon 
the then known world. As such Rome paved the 
way for the modern world ; as such she looks forward 
to the West and the future, turning her back on 
Greece and the past. 

For Greece, on tlie other hand, is to be regarded 
as essentially the culminating point of ancient 
Oriental art, the liigliest expression of the East. 
The whole tendency of modern research has been to 
prove more and more intimately her affinity with 
Egypt and Assyria. Everything she took she 
touched with a magic that has left us nothing but 
masterpieces, but we must admit it was taken, not 
invented. The Doric column, for example, came to 
her from Egypt, the Ionic and Corinthian from 
Asia Minor. The old idea that the Greeks evolved 
all out of their own inner consciousness in isolation 
is now an exploded theory. 

A keynote to this divergence, one might almost 
say this antagonism, between Greece and Rome is 
struck at once on observing their use and treatment 
of floral ornamentation. In Greece flower and 
plant decoration is always conventional, and treated 
after a set scheme ; there is little play of varied 
sm-faces, all are reduced to a uniform level ; the 
outline is formal and precise ; there is no under- 
cutting; at most there is but a reminiscence of 
natural forms, often it is quite lost. Such a treat- 

ment is closely allied to Eastern decoration, both 
ancient, and again in Byzantine and Mohammedan 
art, but it is as far as possible removed from Rome. 
Witli the Romans all is realistic, unconventional, 
full of tlie complicated lines of nature ; the plant 
forms are modelled naturally, full of fibre and 
substance ; the whole treatment bears the closest 
analogy to the exquisite study of nature which 
readied its highest perfection in Gothic art. 

In the structure of the buildings, however, this 
radical difference is seen in its deepest significance 
and widest bearings. And it is from the structural 
point of view that Rome is claimed as belonging to 
the new world, Greece to the old. 

If we take structure as a basis, all architecture 
may be classified under two great heads — the first 
containing trilithic or trabeate buildings, from Stone- 
henge, the rudimentary type, to Beni Hassan and 
Persepolis, and the Acropolis, its culminating point. 
In all the principle of construction is tlie same, two 
posts and a lintel, or two columns and an architrave, 
and no attempt is made to separate or distinguish 
the various mechanical forces called into play. We 
may call this class the synthetical, if we want an abs- 
tract name, to distinguish it from the analytical, the 
second great class, in which the forces are resolved and 
severally counterbalanced. In this the various ele- 
ments constituting the constructive skeleton of the 
building are definitely and duly considered, and a 
system of equipoise is the result. The culminating 
point of this architecture is reached in the so-called 
Gothic Period, the Christian architecture of the 
thirteentli century. But its starting-point is Rome, 
which here has nothing in common with Greece. 

S. H. Capper. 


FROM the earliest times the leisure of peace has 
been largely spent in perfecting the implements 
of war, and while the power and glory of a nation 
were measured by its success in battle, naturally the 
warriors' arms received much consideration, and the 
great chiefs would have the right to call upon the 
beautifiers of things to work their wonders upon the 
sword and shield. For the craftsman in metal-work 
particularly the field of keenest competition has been 
the decoration of arms, and the skill and invention 
with which it has been contested on the sword alone 
has not been surpassed in the making of any other 

With the advent of gunpowder it may be said the 
glory of the sword departed. It is now but a big 
knife manufactured on a common model for a 
purpose almost universally regarded, as barbarous. 
Customs change, but true beauty is constant ; joy in 
the sword lias gone, but the fine workmanship which 
it called forth remains, and there is something 
significant in the fact that the sword is prized for 
its once subordinate beauty- — the product of loving 
skill in times of peace. As remarkable examples of 
tlie art tliat was lavished on this weapon in the old 
days, when it held the first line of defence, I would 
draw attention to antique Japanese sword-guards. 



Stripped from their blades they are now being sent 
about the Western world, and attract great interest 
and study as further evidence of the perfect craft 
which kixuriated in the land of tlie rising sun a few 
generations ago. Before me I have at present 
about two hundred of these objects, and to one 
accustomed to regard the sword as a thing of 
polislied steel, they are a revelation in colour and 
material, while in design, modelling, and art quality 
some are fitted to be encased beside antique coins 
and medals, and to rank as museum pieces of a high 
order. There are oval -shaped guards of brass, 

yellow and granulated like roughly-beaten gold, and 
richly-figured big coin-like shajoes of blue tempered 
steel with gold damascening, with a deep red 
patina, and a surface like morocco. There are 
others in copper, chased and decorated by flowers 
in gold and silver. Some are in bronze, with 
a soft olive-green patina ; some have a patina 
of deep black like polished ebony, and are orna- 
mented with figurings in gold. All are wonder- 
ful for colour, quality of surface, and varying 
beauty of outline. But those which have forced 
admiration beyond all others are of iron, damascened 
with gold and silver. Those of copper and brass are 
pretty, even beautiful ; but these last of intractable 
warlike metal are truly sword-guards, boldly chiselled, 
not to grace the carpet-knight, but for soldier ser- 
vice in the field. 

From the variety of designs it would almost seem 
a first principle with the makers of sword-guards in 
Japan that there should be no two alike. There 
is nothing characteristic of wholesale manufacture 

about them. It is as if each swora had been 
specially commissioned and the fancy of its wearer 
considered, so varied are the motives of their decora- 
tion. They show similarity of class, of fashion, and 
of period naturally, but otherwise they bear readings 
of a greater individuality of character than can be 
attributed to difference of craftsmen, whose tendency 
is to produce variations on great models. Fre- 
quently there appears as a basis of design to be 
some such difference of idea as would result from 
the use of family badges and symbols varying as 
widely as names. Emblems, in which Japanese art 
is so rich, play a prominent part. Paradoxically 
enough, on an instrument of death there is often 
the crane, the emblem of longevity among the 
Japanese, to signify the desire of the wearer, we may 
suppose. An eagle about to swoop down on some 
timid birds appears to have been a favourite device. 
Many represent scenes and incidents. For in- 
stance, one, a massive rudely-shaped disc of brass, 
which may have been on a hunting-sword, shows 
a falconer at his sport ; he is on horseback, and 
about to fly his hawk at a bird of gay plumage. 
It is a fine bold piece, and in its big archaic forms 
reminds one of metal-work found at Mycense. 
One of the most remarkable conceits is wrought in 
brass and iron. The sculptor may have commenced 
with a nugget of brass about the size of a large 
walnut, which has been hammered into an oval disc 
a quarter of an inch thick. On this a rippled surface 
has been produced like in miniature to that left on 
the shore by the receding tide ; then chiselled out of 
iron is shown the form of a dragon chimera plough- 
ing its way through and through the brass as if it 
were golden sand. Appearing and reappearing, on 
one side is seen the head breaking furiously out, and 
the tail ; on the other, some of the limbs and part 
of the body, while here and there are cunningly 
modelled hollows showing the track of the animal 
where it has already passed. Words cannot convey 
the naturalness and art of this object. The realism 
of surface, the spirit of the action, and the work- 
manship must be seen to be appreciated. The 
Japanese passion for moonlight scenes is frequently 
exemplified by representations of the rising moon 
in varying surroundings, apparently always peaceful, 
and perhaps to suit the meditative calm of quiet, 
civil gentlemen who may have worn the sword as a 
matter of course or a mark of distinction. Fusiyama, 
the great and beloved mountain of Japan, is intro- 
duced in many of the guards ; and many tell of a 
gentle taste for the beautiful in the shape of sprays 
of flowers. The votaries of entomology have their 
interests met by a profusion of unclassified-looking 
insects in various colours of metal. 



So far I have described guards executed in the 
milder mediums of copper and brass, which, tliough 
exhibiting the usual great artistic skill and wealth 
of fancy peculiar to tlie Japanese, yet liave not that 
masculine art quality belonging to tliose of what has 
been termed the 'iron age' of Japan. Of the first it 
miffht be said that decoration was the chief end ; of 
those carved and damascened in iron the original 
intention has never been lost sight of — they are 
primarily sword-guards. Tliey form the epics of 
the subject, and would require greater space to do 

them justice than is at our command. It is remark- 
able tliat tliey possess that largeness of line and mass 
wliich is cliaracteristic of great art in all times and 
countries. Looking at those reproduced liere, we 
feel the ai't to be akin to that of ancient Greece, 
India, or Europe of the fifteenth century. Classic 
severity and sobriety of purpose, artistic conventions 
and perfect craftsmanship are in all alike. 

J. P. Macgilliveay. 

The Collection may be seen in the Salon of Mr. Grosvenor 
Thomas, 40 Gordon Street, Glasgow. 



THERE could liardly be a better opportunity for 
reviewing the position taken by women with 
regard to industrial art than that afforded at 
present bj' the Glasgow Exhibition, where women's 
industries are more widely represented than in any 
previous show. An attentive observer cannot fail 
to be impressed with the advance that has been 
made of late years in this quarter ; but while much 
has been done, more still remains to be accomplished, 
both by doing away with what is useless, and also 
by introducing, or by reviving and fostering, arts 
tliat may well be engaged in by women with success 
and profit. 

After noticing sliortly the most prominent of 
these, it may be well to consider the difficulties 
whicli lie in the way of women who wish to devote 
themselves to industrial art, and the points to which 
they should give special attention. 

Among the art industries of women, needlework 
holds, as it probably will always hold, the most 
prominent place ; not because it is either the most 
profitable, the most healtliful, or the easiest, but 
because the needle is still tlie tool whose use is most 
universally tauglit to girls. Therefore when necessity 
or inclination leads a woman to practise art as an 
industry, and not merely to indulge in it as a 
pastime, she turns more readily to tlie needle than 
to the brush, the chisel, or the hammer. 

There can be no doubt that the various schools 
of art needlework throughout the country have, by 
precept and example, done much towards raising the 
general standard of decorative embroidery ; and in 
country districts wliere such schools are not in 
existence, the efforts of amateurs, real lovers of the 
art, have had an equally beneficial effect, as witness 
the beautiful work, excellent as well in design as in 
execution, exhibited by the Wemyss and Houston 
classes, and by individual Ayrshire women who 

have been trained and guided by some of the 
country ladies. For those who can pay large sums 
for real works of art tliere is a supply equal to the 
demand ; but there is a department of decorative 
needlework as yet unvisited by the artist in design 
or colour. Who does not know the magenta table- 
cloth, edged with a yellow wreath ? or the brilliant 
blue tea-cosy, with an ' elegant ' bouquet of flowers 
in the centre ? These things are produced by the 
hundred or thousand to supply the demand for 
cheap ready-made articles of the sort ; they are the 
work, not of macliinery, but of swift and skilful 
fingers whicii under due guidance could trace as 
quickly and easily some simple and beautiful design. 
The work done by Mr. Ruskin's School of Needle- 
work in the English Lake District has shown what 
can be achieved by peasant women of the same class 
as those who in Ayrshire gain a small wage by 
' slabbing ' cheap tablecloths, tea-cosies, dressing- 
gowns, and the like. Under the superintendence of 
Miss Twehes, the women of Mr. Ruskin's school 
first spin the linen yarn of which the fabric to be 
embroidered is made ; and when it has passed 
through the weaver's hands they once more take it 
up and decorate it witli needlework more or less 
elaborate, but of colours always harmonious and 
design always fit and appropriate. Such individual 
cases, however, do not affect the general market, 
and it yet remains for some great textile manufac- 
turer to follow the example set by Sir Henry 
Doulton in the great potteries at Lambeth, and to 
send out to the public articles of the commonest 
use, at a price all can afford to pay, designed by 
artists who are thoroughly trained, not only in the 
general principles of ornament, but in the require- 
ments and jseculiarities of the material they are 
called upon to decorate. I may remark, by the way, 
that some of Doulton 's best designers are women. 



Designing patterns for different manufactures, 
especially for the potter and the weaver, is an 
industry successfully followed by large numbers of 
women in England, who do excellent work, and are 
well paid for it ; but in Scotland women have 
hitherto been backward in taking up this branch of 
industrial art. A few women are employed as 
designers in some of our best curtain and carpet 
factories, but the number is very small. Wood- 
engraving, which is a remunerative art, and one well 
suited to women, is largely practised by them in 
England. On asking a partner in a large Scotch 
printing firm where their woodcuts were done, ' We 
send them,' he said, 'to London, where they are 
all cut by ladies.' There are excellent schools of 
art in Scotland, where female students of drawing 
take high places : how does it happen then tliat an 
industry such as this is not carried on by Scotch- 
women in Scotland .'' The art of wood-carving is 
now beginning somewhat feebly to make its way as 
an industry for women in the north, though it has 
long been considered, and rightly so, as a delightful 
recreative employment for amateurs. Combined 
with a knowledge of design, wood-carving is both 
interesting and remunerative ; but like most other 
industries it requires a serious training, and there is 

some difficulty in obtaining this in Scotland. There 
are studios botli in Glasgow and Edinburgli (those 
of the Social Union and of tlie Home Arts and 
Industries Association) where ladies can learn this 
art, and where tliey are employed to a considerable 
extent both as teacliers and in executing orders ; 
but neither of these societies undertakes the regular 
training of apprentices as is done in London by the 
School of Art Wood-carving. This institution has 
now been established for some years, and is in con- 
nection with the City arid Guilds of London Insti- 
tute for the advancement of technical education : 
male and female students or apprentices are received 
on equal terms, a fair knowledge of freehand draAv- 
ing being an indispensable qualification. A lady, 
herself a professional carver, is at the head of the 
scliool as manager, two excellent master-carvers are 
the instructors, and a lady formerly an apprentice 
of tlie school assists in teaching : the work done is 
of a very high class, and a number of the female 
students as well as the men are provided with 
remunerative employment. It is much to be wished 
that the germ contained in the studios already men- 
tioned may one day develop into a floui'ishing 
institution such as this. 

C. P. Anstkuther. 


The Prize of Rome for 1888 in Architecture has been awarded 
to M. Joseph-Albert Tournaire, of Nice, a pupil of M. Andre. 
We find an interesting illustration of the system of the Ecole des 
Beaux-Arts in the fact that M. Tournaire was second in the com- 
petition for the Grand Prize in 1S82, and, after so nearly winning 
it once, has worked patiently for six years before his final success. 
Judging from the time usually necessary to enable a student in the 
school to win even a second Grand Prize, his course must have 
lasted at least ten years, and he has five years more of student life 
before him at the Villa Medici. For all this M. Tournaire, who 
is now in his twenty-seventh year, is rather a young man to have 
reached the highest academical honour, and he must have been an 
exceptionally brilliant student to gain the second place six years 
ago. The second in rank this year is M. Sortais, pupil of MM. 
Daumet and Girault, who gained the third position in 1SS6 ; and 
the third is M. Huguet, pupil of M. Elondel. 

* Artistic Japan ' promises to be a mine of richly varied artis- 
tic material, each number containing nine plates, many of them 
reproductions in colour of lanes from the sketch-books of celebrated 
Japanese artists. There are also reproductions of characteristic 
fabric designs, pieces of pottery and metal-work. The illustra- 
tions are among the best of the kind we have seen, and leave 
little to be desired. From the names given in the introduction, 
one or two of which are Japanese, we believe the work to be 
in thoroughly competent hands, and likely to prove the most 
valuable contribution on the art of Japan that has yet appeared. 

Mr. John Lavery's Exhibition Pictures. — We have been 
favoured with a private view of this interesting collection of pic- 
tures, which will be on exhibition at the galleries of Mr. Craibe 
Angus, Queen Street, during the present month. The pictures are 
about fifty in number, and consist of finished work studies and 
lighter sketches of various parts of the Exhibition and Grounds. 
Many of the pictures are exceedingly beautiful, portraying aspects 
of light and colour on the buildings which only the artistic insight 

and delicate perception of such an artist as Mr. Lavery could have 
been able to discern. The masterly drawing and skilful treatment 
of the crowds of people at the various sights throughout the Exhi- 
bition exemplify the artist's unusual power of rendering life and 
animation. To very many of the visitors and regular /labitites 
these pictures will come like a revelation of numberless points of 
artistic interest and beautiful harmonious colour and form which 
exist in scenes with which they have become familiar. For our- 
selves, we may say that since seeing these studies a new interest 
has been added to our visits to the Exhibition, as we are now con- 
tinually seeing beauties in the effects of sunlight and evening 
shadows which, combining with the bright colours of the buildings, 
the foliage and gay costumes of the ladies, form a series of exqui- 
site living pictures. The true aim of every artist is to make others 
see the subtle charm of nature as he sees it, to feel the beauty 
of colour-line and form as he feels it. Mr. Lavery has succeeded 
in these pictures in demonstrating to all who see them the won- 
drous power of art to enrich our interest in what goes on around, 
by opening our eyes and minds to innumerable beauties and charms 
whose existence we scarcely suspect. We will not at present 
single out any pictures for particular notice, but reserve giving 
a more detailed review till the Exhibition is open to the 

Two more busts were unveiled the other d.ay in the Hall of the 
Wallace Monument at Stirling, now making the number seven, all 
of them executed by D. W. Stevenson, Sculptor, Edinburgh. One 
would like to know if the custodiers have selected this particular 
artist to be their sculptor-in-ordinary. It would surely be fitting, 
if we are to have a collection of busts of great Scotsmen, that the 
art should be representative of the times, and not of an individual. 
Seven busts all seen together, even were they the work of a high- 
class sculptor, with a wide grasp of character, would be apt to 
appear monotonous ; so, what must be the effect in the present 





IF I have been fortunate enough to create an 
interest in the composer whose works were 
noticed in the September number of this Review, I 
venture to hope that those who liave made them- 
selves acquainted with some of his scores will 
welcome the following short sketch of Peter 
Cornelius'' life, for the materials of which I am 
indebted to his widow, Madame Cornelius of 
Munich. So prominent is the idiosyncrasy of Cor- 
nelius' music, that one's curiosity is involuntarily 
aroused concerning the man who wrote it. 

Peter Cornelius was born in Mayence on Christ- 
mas Eve of the year 1824. His father, tlie son of 
an actor, was himself a member of the Mayence 
city theatre, which at that time was one of the best 
in Germany. A highly cultured gentleman, occupy- 
ing a respectable social position, as actors often do 
in Germany, and especially so in the smaller towns, 
he gave his son a careful though somewhat unsyste- 
matic education, developing his early liking for 
foreign languages — Englisli and French — and par- 
ticularly for the stage. On tlie boards the boy 
played the parts of children with so much grace and 
courage that he became the enfant-gaU of the 
public, and tasted very early the intoxicating 
rapture of public favour and applause. In the 
meantime music was not neglected ; he practised on 
the violin almost before he could stretcli his fingers 
into the first position, and composed little songs 
before he was able to spell. While yet a boy he 
went to London as last second fiddler with the 
Mayence Orchestra, wliich fulfilled an engagement 
in the London German Opera in the season of 1840. 
Staudigl, Tichatschek, Madame Stoeckl-Heinefetter, 
and other great names of European fame figured on 
the opera bills of that brilliant season, and it may 
be imagined how deep was the impression received 
by the youth in the English capital. On his return 
to Germany severe disappointments were in store 
for him. He resumed his career as an actor ; but 
the spoiled child had become a man, and very 
different were now the claims exacted from his 
talents by the public. His debuts on the ducal 
stage of Wiesbaden were unsuccessful, and at his third 
appearance in the part of John Cook in Kean and 
of Peril! in Donna Diana, the marks of disapproval 
which the audience manifested were so unmistak- 
able that he made up his mind never to appear on 
the boards again.' The struggle by which he 
arrived at this conclusion must have been painful. 

indeed so painful that he fell seriously ill. On 
recovering from tlie attack of a malignant fever he 
decided to make known his resolution to his father, 
but was prevented by the latter's death — an occur- 
rence wliich left the family altogether without means. 
Peter was now twenty, and, though highly gifted, 
was practically without a profession, having left the 
one for which he was really brought up. The course 
of Jiis education had been unsystematic, irregular, 
broken, and in a country like Germany, where the 
career of a young man is clearly defined and 
regulated in advance by progressive schools and 
school examinations, this was a very serious obstacle 
to success in life ; but what would probably have 
been fatal to an ordinary man, was in Cornelius'' 
case the making of him. While supporting himself 
and assisting liis family with the meagre income 
derived from music-lessons, he managed with in- 
dustrious energy at the same time to fill up the 
gaps which he found existing in his knowledge, and, 
unfettered by the pedantry of school, he gave his 
mind the direction which his genius dictated. 

At this stage his celebrated uncle and namesake 
Peter Cornelius, the great German artist, and 
founder of a school of painting, provided the means 
for his further musical education under Deha in 
Berlin, then one of the most famous teachers in 
Germany, from whose school issued pupils such as 
KuUack, Bargiel, and Kiel. The young musicians 
of our day have little idea of the time and labour 
which the preceding generation bestowed upon the 
study of counterpoint. Cornelius' poetic nature 
often revolted against tliis discipline, to which five 
hours a day were devoted, but he had to acknow- 
ledge its beneficial influence upon his future artistic 
development. During all this time he made a 
modest living by giving private lessons, and by 
writing as a critic for some Berlin newspapers. 
The compositions and poetical productions of the 
year spent in Berlin are to a great extent lost, and 
those which were preserved do not rise above a 
respectable commonplace. But at that time there 
appeared on the horizon a phenomenal star, whose 
rays lighted up the prevailing darkness of musical 
mediocrity, and awakened the latent genius of 

Richard Wagner ! Who was he — of whom the 
musicians praised the poetical, tlie poets the musical 
talent, wliom the critics condemned absolutely, 
while the masses instinctively admired him without 



understanding ? The pedantic Berlin of 1852 had 
no answer to this question. Cornelius felt himself 
irresistibly attracted to the seat of the modern muses. 
To Weimar he went on a visit of a few days, as he 
thought ; but the days became weeks, the weeks 
months, the months years. Liszt received him well, 
but severely criticised his compositions. Under the 
magic personal influence of the great Abbe, under 
the power of tlie works of Wagner and Berlioz, 
which were well produced on tlie small grand ducal 
stage of Weimar, the budding genius of Cornelius 
expanded with marvellous rapidity. It was the 
turning-point of his life ; his tongue was loosed ; he 
was himself at last — the poet, the musician — by the 
grace of God. All this time his outward circum- 
stances were still precarious enough ; but while he 
struggled for a modest living by literary labours for 
the press, by translations for Liszt and Berlioz, and 
by giving a few private lessons, the plans for the 
text of a comic opera, The Barber of Bagdad, the 
materials for which he found in the Arabian Nights, 
were completed, and on New Year's Eve of 1857 he 
gave the last touches to the score of the opera. 
Liszt was delighted with it, and forthwith began to 
superintend the rehearsals. On the 15th of Decem- 
ber 1858 The Barber saw for the first time the 
lights of the stage, among the hisses of an organised 
noisy clique. That their disgraceful demonstration 
was directed against Liszt was quite apparent : there 
was at that time in Weimar a cowardly opposition 
to the new school, which had not the courage to 
attack the powerful Abbe himself, and thought it 
could strike him a blow in this indirect way. Liszt 
threw away his baton, and resigned his position as 
conductor and director of tlie opera. Two days 
afterwards Cornelius received an ovation in the 
theatre on the occasion of a prologue, spoken on 
Beethoven's birthday, which he had written ; a 
torchlight procession took place in honour of Liszt, 
but it was too late, for the Abbe ceased to reside 
permanently in Weimar, and Cornelius went to 
Vienna, where he spent five years of hard work, 
disappointment, and even want. Here he composed 

many of his songs and choruses, and a second opera. 
The Cid, whicli, much inferior to Tie Barber, sur- 
vived only two performances several years later in 
Weimar. The only rays of hope and happiness in 
Vienna were the short visits to the city of Richard 
Wagner, of whom Cornelius had become an intimate 
friend. At last in 1864, at a time when Cornelius 
was reduced to absolute poverty, the friend in need 
came to the rescue. Wagner had prevailed upon his 
royal patron, Louis ii. of Bavaria, to offer Cornelius 
an appointment as professor of harmony at the 
Royal School of Music in Munich. Incredible as it 
may seem, the appointment was at first refused, be- 
cause Cornelius feared, as he said, to be absorbed like 
a drop of dew in the radiant sun Richard Wagner, 
and it required all the efforts of the latter to induce 
him to accept the king's liberal offer. In the spring 
of 1865 we find him hajipy and comfortable in 
Munich, absorbed, not by Wagner's light, but the 
love of a fair lady of Mayence, whom he led to the 
altar in 1867. During all this time, and for several 
years longer, his activity was prodigious ; his pro- 
fessional duties occupied most of his time, yet he 
managed to begin a new opera, Gunloed, composed 
a large number of vocal works, and wrote aesthetic 
essays on works of Wagner, Berlioz, etc. His 
writings were in great request by the German editors, 
and will, it is to be hoped, some day be collected, 
for they will form a most interesting volume. 

In October 1874 Cornelius, with his young family, 
in the best of humours, full of plans and energy, 
though slightly indisposed, went to Mayence, his 
native town, for a change of air. Here, on the 26th 
of October, he breathed his last. 

In him the artist and the man were irreproachable 
and equally lovable. His youthful freshness and 
warm enthusiasm, enhanced by a touch of delightful 
hvmiour, enabled him to forget the stern troubles 
of daily life, and to pursue witli undeviating energy 
the ideal aims of his noble nature in their undimmed 

Emil Clauss. 

Munich, Sepleiukr iSSS. 


The substance of a Paper read before the Edinhtrgh Society of Ahisicia7is, April 2\st, iS 

MUSICAL education assumes several forms. 
The oldest and yet the commonest is pro- 
bably that of master and pupil, that close and 
sympathetic relationship by which the secrets of 

the divine art are communicated from mind to mind, 
and in which example and precept, theory and 
practice, are or should be most closely blended. 
Of a hoary antiquity also is the School of Music, 



that briiiffins: together, into one focus or centre, of 
many teachers and many pupils, whereby breadth 
and soundness of general musical education are or 
should be attainable. Turning to tlie schools of 
music of the present day, we find the academic system 
very fully developed everywhere except in our own 
country of Scotland, whose turn is coming, we hope. 
The system is indeed said to be rather over-devel- 
oped in tlie great metropolis. Recently a London 
musician of note, in advising as to the course for a 
young student coming to town to one of the minor 
'colleges of music,' said that there were now so 
many so-called colleges of music good, bad, and 
indifferent, that it needed a little caution and care 
to make a good choice. Professional musicians 
seem tliere to have been led by tlie prevailing 
fasliion and the force of circumstances into teaching 
combinations, which by their very numbers and 
mushroom growth are degenerate. • Still tlie abuse 
of a system impugns not the use thereof, and we may 
look with satisfaction upon the work done by the 
great schools — the Royal Academy, the Royal 
College, the College of Organists, the Guildhall 
School, etc. Our satisfaction is also heightened as 
Scotsmen by the knowledge that our countryman, 
the composer of the Rose of Sharon, is now at the 
head of the first-named institution, to guide and 
inspire it with his native common-sense and artistic 

Germany has long enjoyed the benefits of good 
schools and good teachers, which continue to attract 
students from our own shores, from America, and 
elsewhere. The names of Mendelssohn, Raff", 
Bralims, Rubinstein, Frau Schumann are powerful 
for good far and wide. As to our universities, it is 
a difficult task to determine the exact amount of 
educational work performed by the various classes 
of music. A university professor of music is, we 
fear, in Great Britain too little associated with tlie 
practical — that is, with the interpretation of the 
classics, whether in operatic, oratorio, orcliestral, or 
chamber music — to reach the people. The chair of 
music is one among many chairs, and does not 
officially include or possess the machinery for the 
rendition of music, if we except here and tliere the 
organ. There is however a mission which the 
university professor seems peculiarly called upon 
to fulfil. It is that of a leader in musical politics, 
a learned critic, a fosterer of the best scliools of 
composition. It is that of a musical historian, 
pliilosopher, and grammarian. He must be a man 
of light and leading, a theorist who is more than 
a grammarian, and wlio, going deeper into the mines 
of musical ore, can tell us what are the yet un- 
wrought seams, — how far, for instance, a system of 

improved temperament is possible or impossible. 
The giants, from Bach to AVagner, have apparently 
left so little room for newness of form or originality 
of expression, that we turn with eagerness to the 
declaration that has been made in a high quarter 
that elaboration of rhythms is the next musical mine. 
Whether from national feeling or original conception, 
Dvorak has in some of his music treated us to a 
freshness of rliythm that is undoubtedly charming, 
— witness The SjKcti-e"// Bride. But to return from 
a digression — if we have sought with a free hand to 
indicate the possibilities and ideals of a chair of 
music, let us not expect too much of the men who 
fill such hardly definable posts. 

Yet Sir Robert Stewart has for many years been 
the head and ornament of the musical profession in 
Ireland. He has kept up a school of church organ- 
playing and choral accompaniment, recalling the 
days of S. S. Wesley. He has lectured, examined, 
and composed — or as he himself once said : ' I have 
spoilt a good deal of music paper in my time.' 
The Rev. Sir Frederick Ouseley stands out as the 
greatest living British contrapuntist — the friend of 
all those younger musicians who have come under 
his fascinating and kindly influence. He, and pro- 
bably he alone, can extemporise a fugue on any given 
subject with a strictness, fertility of invention, and 
grandeur of effect never to be forgotten by tlie 
privileged listener. 

Every musician should be a theorist in order to 
methodise and render intellectually interesting his 
playing or singing. Much has been done for the 
teaching of the elements of music by such writers as 
Troutbeck, W. H. Cummings, Davenport, Hullah, 
Curwen and his coUaborateurs, and a host of others. 
There is no excuse for any one being ignorant of 
the rudiments of music with such a variety of 
excellent primers as are nowadays to be had. 
The whole series issued in recent years by Novello, 
under the editorship of Dr. Stainer, testify to tlie 
widespread interest in the study of music. These 
primers are marvels of condensation and of clearness 
of treatment. 

The scientific study of harmony is of immense 
practical value. As to the method of study doctors 
differ, as might be expected. Sir George Macfarren's 
system of harmony is, we think, defective in respect 
that it gives no play or freedom to the mind of 
tlie student, but reduces a partly cEsthetical science 
to a cast-iron rule and an equally unyielding code 
of exceptions, so carefully tabulated as to overreach 
the mark and cripple the young composer. The 
Oxford professor has done better. His text-book 
on harmony is philosophical, clear, and interest- 
ing. The professor's theories may not in toto 



meet with acceptance, but tliey are clearly and 
fully stated, they are progressive, and they are not 
beclouded with rules and exceptions ad nauseam. 
From his book we can proceed to a searching 
analysis of tlie works of the great composers — a 
course which all theorists will allow to be the true 
one for a student of harmony. The practice of 
analysis is essential to a thorough grasp of musical 
theory. Even a chorus-singer, in these days of 
music of doubtful tonality, needs some knowledge 
of harmony if he would be other than a blunderer. 

One of our great composers has been heard to 
remark that fugue is worked out. This may be 
in a certain sense, but thematic development, 
which is the raison-cTetre of a fugue, will never die. 
Tear the counterpoint from Mozart, and where 
would his music be .'' The fugues of Bacli are 
not entirely the outcome of a system peculiar to 
one age or one school, acquired by patient labour 
only to be discarded by another generation. We 
must remember, moreover, that the principles of 
counterpoint are only the means to an end. How- 
ever the outward form of music may change, a study, 
deep and patient, of counterpoint, imitation, and 
fugue, is still the requisite of a great composer. 

With regard to pianoforte-teaching, we always 

dread the extinction of musical feeling and expres- 
sion in young pupils by too long and too constant 
attention to mere technique. Art cannot exist 
without facile execution. It must be absolutely 
perfect in the ideal player, but it takes time. First 
make the young pupil a lover of music. Cultivate 
his imagination. Teach him artistic phrasing, and 
drown not head and heart in a sea of digital exer- 
cises. Our experience is that a truly scientific 
system of practice applied to the works of classical 
composers of itself induces technical proficiency, 
besides developing taste. 

To touch upon chorus-singing in conclusion. 
The hete-no'we of all conductors is false pitch. This 
can be mastered, but only by strict and constant 
attention (a) to the pitch itself, and (6) to voice 
production. Some may be sceptical as to the 
possibility of teaching vocalisation to large masses of 
singers, but the writer has tried it with the most 
encouraging results. Further, he has found that no 
harm is done to individual voices where a little care 
is bestowed upon the elements of singing. The 
aim of a conductor should be to leave his chorus 
fresh and bright at the end of a two-hours' rehearsal. 


Afns. Bac, Oxoii. 



WHILE yet on the threshold of tliat more 
distinctively Beethoven period inaugurated 
with magnificent daring by the Eroica symphony, 
our attention is drawn not only to those works which 
foreshadow a coming change of style, but to others 
which seem to mark a momentary pause in the 
career of the composer. Among these the Septett 
stands out prominently, a composition which, partly 
from the fact of its being essentially retrospective 
in cliaracter, won from the first the universal pojju- 
larity it still retains. The Septett represents, like 
the Haydn-Mozart period wliich in design and 
feeling it closely follows, the joyous spring-time of 
the art, and it is right and proper that its fresh 
beauty and transparent clearness should continue to 
exercise their undisputed power of fascination. 
But it has to be remembered that, unbounded popu- 
larity notwithstanding, the work does not represent 
Beethoven's genius in its maturity, that it has no 
special significance for the history of the art, and, 
above aU, tliat universal popularity is a distinction 
at no time bestowed quickly and promptly on any 
work of art strikingly in advance of the age that 

produced it. The main interest connected with the 
preliminary sketches for the Septett lies in the special 
attraction to Beethoven of a particular theme, and 
in the question of proprietorship regarding another 
on which the variations of tlie fourth movement are 
founded. The sketch-books which throw light on 
these points belong to the year 3798-99, and the 
rough drafts for the thematic material of the Septett 
are intermingled with others for the early string 
quartetts. Op. 18. There is no record of material 
for the first movement, and the order of the others 
is, as so often happens with Beethoven, inverted. 
The sketch-books are, however, known to be incom- 
plete, and this is only one of many gaps in the 
continuity of the material placed before us in the 
published collection. The following passage, 

M. Corno. 





shows that Beethoven at first intended to write a 



fresh subject for the third movement of the Septett, 
and that the transference of the theme from the 
little Sonata in G, Op. 49, to the larger work was a 
second, not a first thought. The twofold use of this 
familiar Minuetto theme is fully discussed by 
Nottebohm, and the conclusion arrived at is that, 
in spite of the conflicting opus numbers, 49 and 
20, the Sonata was earliest in possession of the 
tlieme. The pretty subject must certainly have 
been a favourite, for it occurs also in some outline 
si<etclies for the early pianoforte and clarinet trio, 
B Flat, Op. 11, as a probable commencement for the 
slow movement as follows : 




This intention, however, was carried out only so 
far as rhythmic structure of the plirase is concerned, 
for the melody eventually adopted is different. 
The theme for the variations appears from the 
first pretty much as we Icnow it, but without the 
second section. Nottebohm is doubtful as to the 
story that the theme is identical with a Rhineland 
Volkslied, pointing out that the second section of 
the familiar melody is not Volksthiimlich in cliar- 
acter. It is curious that the very passage on wliicli 
therefore he founds his theory of the originality of 
the tune should be the one left out when, in the 
first outline sketch, Beethoven passed at once from 
the first half of the melody to the first variation of 
it. The inference is, not that he meant to dispense 
with the second half of the melody, but rather that 
the original second part was unsuitable for his pur- 
pose, and that the passage by which it was to be 
replaced had not at the time occurred to him. 

Another early work, slighter in dimension, but in 
substance quite as attractive as the Septett, is the 
F Major Sonata for piano and violin, Op. 24, on tlie 
composition of which a sketch-book of 1800 throws 
some curious light. Again it is the last movement 
which is first considered, and its opening phrase 
makes its appearance under the strange disguise of 
a key with four sharps, intended presumably for F 
sharp major. 

II u Rondo^ ...^ 


Two different versions of the first movement of 
the Sonata follow, written out at some length, but 
differing from the finished work both by their 
inferiority in grace and elegance, and by their com- 
parative feebleness in modulation and harmonic 

structure. The melody for the lovely slow move- 
ment fixes itself readily, but the theme for the last 
movement, of which we have just seen the originating 
germ, undergoes many modifications before reach- 
ing its final shape. From the various changes which 
tlie sketches, in this case, enable us to trace, it is 
evident that the weak point of the phrase as it 
originally stood is exactly that where now we find 
the culminating weight and emphasis of the lovely 
passage. For as usual Beetlioven never rested till 
the end he had in view was reached. The first con- 
ception corresponds in general aspect to the phrase 
in its finislied form ; the main characteristics are 
preserved, but the passage, which as it originally 
stood grew more and more feeble in its progress, 
has eventually gathered strength and emphasis 
with every bar, and that without the sacrifice 
of that tender pathetic grace which first and 
last, in the sketches and finished work alike, is its 
distinctive quality. The Scherzo for this Sonata 
furnishes one of the many interesting examples of 
second, or as Sir George Grove has recently called 
tliem, ' after-thoughts,^ which in Beethoven''s music 
play a most important part. Here again we have 
tlie opportunity of observing the extraordinary 
influence of apparently infinitesimal trifles on the 
sum-total of artistic eff'ect. The first preliminary 
sketch for the Scherzo gives us the following : 



|?:g-rEg ^£i3E E^Egg^E:-g;E±EE ^ 










Here we find the key, time, and notes just as in 
the finished work, yet nevertheless as they first stood, 
without colour, life, or character, and altogether 
without suspicion of the roguish fun of which 
Beethoven has sliown the passage to be capable. 
The dotted rest after the first crotchet of the second 
bar, and the staccato, another after-thought, make 
all the difference. The scene is changed, and the 
phrase, which a moment before looked rather ponder- 
ous, is by a magic touch, the dot to wit, roused 
into vivacious life, sparkling, alert, and bubbling 
over with laughter and frolic. 

The same sketch-book of 1800 which contains 
the jottings for the Pianoforte and Violin Sonata, Op. 
24, throws new light on the production of the A 



Flat Pianoforte Sonata, Op. 26. The general char- 
acter of the Finale is from the first pretty clearly 
expressed, and as usual it is the Finale which is the 
first attacked. The first jotting for the second 
movement runs as follows : 






T r 



but a second attempt comes much nearer to the 
object aimed at, and it is tlie well-known march 
which gives the composer the greatest trouble. 
Here again Nottebohm intervenes to destroy the 
illusions of the anecdote-hunter. The story ran 
that the march had its origin in Beetlioven's annoy- 
ance at the popularity of another composition of 
similar purport by Paer. It now appears that the 

opera Achilles wiiich contained Paer''s March was 
performed for the first time in 1801, whereas Beetho- 
ven's Funeral March was written and ready by the 
middle of the year 1800. Be this as it may, the 
sketches show very plainly how little the first tenta- 
tive efforts realised the massive grandeur of Beetho- 
ven's conception. By slow degrees the stately 
musical structure assumed its present proportions, 
and more laboriously even than usual the artist 
evolved from the refractory raw material that 
gorgeous piece of tone-colouring which, in spite of 
its having been written for the pianoforte, yet so 
palpably teems with orchestral effects tliat it might 
pass for a transcription. 

Leonoea Young. 

[Erralum, — In the first part of this article, p. 72, column 2d, 
line 48, the phrase ' Beethoven was not merely casting about for 
ideas ' is so obviously absurd, that the reader will scarcely require 
to be asked to delete the word ' merely.'] 


AT tlie present day florid vocal music is unques- 
tionably not in vogue. One miglit even go 
so far as to assert that florid, when used in connec- 
tion with vocal music, is to many musicians synony- 
mous with trivial. By the leading composers of 
Germany, France, and England the a)-ia cTagilHa is 
almost totally neglected. The same state of matters 
is to be found in Italy, so long the home of the 
aria di bravura. This is the case in the different 
styles of music, whether it be opera, oratorio, or 
cantata. We have only to compare the Messiah 
or Judas Maccabeus with the Elijah or the 
Rose of Sharon to find what might be called the 
typical difference in the treatment of tlie voice by 
the old and modern schools. The Messiah and 
Judas Maccabeus make great demands on the 
flexibility, as well as on the sustaining powers of the 
voice, whereas the Elijah and the Rose of Sharon 
contain only sustained singing througliout. 

Now in this vocalists have to a certain degree just 
cause for complaint. The great composers of the day 
write for the piano, violin, and 'cello in a manner 
calculated to show off the powers of execution of 
the performer, and to bring out the different beauties 
of the instrument ; but singers, it would almost 
seem, are not to be encouraged to display their skill, 
or the wonderful flexibility of which their matchless 
instrument is capable. This is a great pity, as the 
power of singing a beautiful cantabile depends so 
much on the elasticity of the voice. Flexibility is 
also of first importance if truly beautiful legato sing- 
ing is desired. Tlie old Italian masters of singing- 

knew this. Benedetto Marcello (1686-1739), the 
celebrated composer of the Psalms, in his satire 
entitled II Teatro alia Moda, — ' The Theatre of the 
Day' — gives the following sarcastic advice to some 
singers of his time : ' The singer must be careful 
not to practise Solfeggi, as he might thus be in 
danger of acquiring a firm voice, just intonation, 
and the power of singing in tune, thing's useless in 
modern music.'' Would this sarcastic advice not be 
even more justifiable at the present day ? 

Yet it must be admitted that singers to a certain 
extent should lay the blame at their own door. 
This will appear if we strive to find out the reasons 
that in aU probability have led to this almost total 
abandonment of florid vocal writing. After con- 
sidering the subject, tlie writer has come to the 
conclusion that the neglect has been principally 
ascribed to three causes : — 

Firstly, to the influence of Richard Wagner, 
who, on account of his splendid genius and powerful 
individuality, has wielded an influence on the 
musicians and composers of his day perhaps never 
obtained by any composer of former times. Into 
Wagner's general treatment of the voice the writer 
does not propose to enter in the present article ; he 
only wishes to point out the lack of florid vocal 
music in any of Wagner's operas. His trenchant 
criticisms on the Italian School have also doubt- 
lessly brought anything approaching the old a?-ia 
d''ag-ilita into disfavour with our rising composers, 
most of whom look up to Wagner as to their teacher 
and model. 



Secoiidhj, to the trivial style of embellishments 
introduced by singers. 

A celebrated singer thought nothing of refusing 
to sing an air in an opera if it did not show off his 
voice to tlie best advantage. He would then induce 
the composer to write some bare trivial air to replace 
the one rejected, and was quite pleased so long as it 
served as an excuse for the introduction of countless 
and wonderful embellishments, as a rule entirely out 
of keeping with the dramatic situation and style of 
the composer. 

Few composers possessed the backbone of old 
Handel, who, as we know, promptly informed the 
rebellious prima donna that if she did not sing his 
melody as he had written it, he would pitch her out 
of the window. Frederick the Great also refused to 
tolerate any of this nonsense in his theatre. He 
generally stood behind the conductor and looked 
over his shoulder. If any unfortunate singer exer- 
cised his imagination a little, the king promptly 
stopped the performance and administered a sharp 
reprimand to the delinquent. The singer, strange 
to say, did not appreciate this beneficent drilling, 
the consequence being that we read of midnight 
flights from the opera-house at Berlin. 

Naturally this wholesale introduction of embellish- 
ments disgusted composers and artists of taste and 
education, and made them lose all sympathy with 
the florid style. Instead of guarding against its 
abuse, they were in favour of its total suppression. 
Yet surely there are situations in an opera, oratorio, 
or cantata where florid music would not only be 
legitimate, but proper. The Italian composers, 
although justly considered the chief offenders, could 
not maintain that they were following the principles 
of the great Italian Schools. The cardinal rule of 
these schools was 'expression the great object of 
study, embellishments to be valued only as tlie 
means of expression.'' There is a charming anecdote 
told of Farinelli, the most renowned singer of jiis 
time. When still a young man, he was invited to 
sing before the Emperor Charles, a true judge of 
good singing. The Emperor was astonished at the 
power and flexibility of his voice, and at the wonder- 
ful vocal feats he executed, but remarked to him 
afterwards, 'Remember, if you wish to reach the 
heart, you must take a plainer and a simpler course.' 
Farinelli had the good sense to take the advice, and, 
according to contemporary accounts, was simple and 
pathetic as well as grand and powerful. 

Thirdlij, the neglect of florid vocal music might 
be ascribed to the insuflicient training of present- 
day vocalists. 

In this connection it will be interesting to com- 
pare the routine of some of the old Italian Schools 

with the system pursued at present. The following 
is the routine of the Mazocchi School, as given by 
Bontempi in his Historia Mtmca : — ■ 

One hour to singing difficult passages, one hour 
to practising shake, one hour to feats of agility, one 
hour to Yocal exercises under a master, one hour to 
the study of letters. In the afternoon, an hour to 
study of letters, half an hour to the theory of sing- 
ing, half an hour to counterpoint, one hour to 
rules of composition, the rest of the day to practis- 
ing harpsichord or to composition. 

A^^lat would the majority of modern aspirants for 
vocal fame say if a similar course of study were 
suggested to them. As very little stress is now laid 
on flexibility of voice, many vocalists, after two or 
three years' desultory training, think tliey can sing 
a legato melody very well, and should a few scale 
passages happen to cross their path, why, they can 
manage to scramble through them. That this is no 
exaggeration any candid master will admit. How 
many singers do we hear either on the concert plat- 
form or in the drawing-room who are able to sing 
a scale passage smoothly and correctly. Our amateur 
singers of com-se cannot be expected to give so much 
time as professionals to practising, yet if they would 
only be less eager for songs and more jealous in 
practising exercises and acquiring flexibility of voice, 
tliey would find themselves amply rewarded by 
increased ease in singing. A slow and progressive 
method of tuition is the only one calculated to 
produce excellence. 

It is therefore in wliat the writer believes to be 
the best interests of good singing that he ventures 
to make this plea for a little more attention to florid 
vocal writing. Let our composers cease to neglect 
it, and vocalists will be obliged to study more, much 
to the benefit of their voices and to the advantage 
of the musical public. Many of our young com- 
posers are so anxious to give a definite musical 
colouring to the words, that they seem to forget 
they are not writing for an artificial instrument but 
for the human voice, the consequence being, that few 
singers are able to do justice to the composer's creation, 
no matter how innately musically beautiful it may be. 
There is every sign that a glorious era is opening 
for British music, when our composers will exercise 
much influence abroad as well as at home. Let 
them, by the careful study of the masterpieces of 
vocal writing of the old Italian masters — the 
Scarlatti, Stradella, Lotti, Calvara, Pergolesi and 
Piccini — regain the secret of writing for the voice, 
which almost seems a lost art ; they will then have 
the pleasure of hearing their own works well 
rendered, and they will earn the cordial gratitude 
of all true lovei's of il hel canto. S. W, 



NOW over the Mediterranean shore, fronting the sun. 
In the great woods where only the peasant comes. 
And brings his bottle of wine, and figs, and goat-milk cheese. 
The gods yet dwell, but are not seen of men. 

Steeply the ground slopes from the chestnut woods above. 
Thro' tangles of pine and arbutus, myrtle and rosemary, 
Down to the sea. 
Tlie tasselled evergreen oak grants densest shade ; 

the acacia showers its fragrance on the air ; 
In open spots the rock-rose blooms. 
And the green lizard's little heart beats fast in tlie sun. 

Here all day long, mindful of times gone by, 

The sun yet lingers ; from tlie slumbering sea 

(On wliose clear sands the yellow and liorned poppy loves to stray) 

Sometimes fair Aphrodite lifts an arm 

Unseen of mortals. 

The Dryads in the aspen branches wave 

Their trembling fingers, and young Hyacinth 

Flies from the fierce embraces of his lover. 

But none resume their ancient human form. 

He, the great Liberator, with the wand of love so wonderful, 

(Who dwelt on eartli, and dwells not, but must dwell again) 

He comes not — whom they wait. 

The rocks, the trees, the flowers, the loving animals, 

The sea, the lieavenly winds, 

Tlie human form that chained within them all 

Pleads for deliverance — 

He comes not whom they wait. 

Only the train sln-ieks by with monkey faces staring out of the windows ; 

Hotel and villa desecrate the land ; 

Wealth trails its slime ; the Greek has fled ; and 

civilisation like a dismal dragon guards its prey. 

Edwaud Carpenter. 


WHEN it is remarked, as in these pages recently, our inquiry need not be complicated by any such 

that Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson ranks at aesthetic issue. When we can decide whether the 

the head of Belles Lettres in Scotland, the assent truly representative Scotch manner and point of 

instantly given is just as promptly followed by a view are tliose of Burns, of Hume, of Scott, of 

musing question as to what it is that Mr. Stevenson Wilson, of Carlyle, of Hugh Miller, or of John 

is at the head of. The writer of the criticism in Brown, it may be possible to accurately gauge the 

this Review guarded his proposition witli the avowal Scotchness of Mr. Stevenson ; in the meantime it 

that there was nothing specially representative can but be said that if his is a new note, so were 

of Scotland in Mr. Stevenson's tone and style ; but tlie notes of these others in their day, and so nius 



always be the note of the original writer. Scottish 
literature must just be, for our present purpose, tlie 
literature written by Scotclimen with a direct or 
indirect bearing on Scottish life. This of course 
excludes, as is desirable, any idea of parocliial rivalry 
between Scotchmen and Englishmen in matters of 
unlocalised art or thought ; there being no question 
as to how the two kingdoms compare in the litera- 
ture of the sciences or of philosophy ; nor even any 
comparison on the side of pure poetry. By Scottish 
Belles Lettres one naturally means those works of 
imagination inspired by things Scotch ; and perhaps, 
in addition, Scottish history. 

How then do we stand ? Mr Stevenson has con- 
tributed to Scotch letters by way of vernacular 
verse, prose fiction, and historic and other criticism. 
On the first head he is facile princeps, by virtue of 
the universal ineptitude of our home-staying lyric 
patriots, whose common distinction is treason to the 
very idiom they gratuitously elect to employ, 
whether because of sheer ignorance or of dulness of 
sense let us not linger to ask. Vernacular apart, 
however, Mr. Stevenson is less of a Scottisli poet 
than Mr. Robert Buchanan, whose Idylls and 
Legends of Inverhurn, if not the sort of book that 
one confidently counts on re-reading, figures in one's 
memory as a creditable attempt in a given genre ; 
so that, his output of Scottish criticism and strictly 
Scottish essay being inconsiderable, the novus homo 
takes his asserted rank mainly on tlie score of his 
fiction. Now, if his rank be really allowed, this 
fact is a remarkable reflection on the other fictional 
literature of the country. We have three novelists 
of popular standing, Mrs. Oliphant, Mr. George 
Mac Donald, and Mr. William Black — all of whom, 
while dealing with life other than Scotch, yet have 
repeatedly handled that : the two last having indeed 
mainly won their reputation in this direction. If 
then Mr. Stevenson be the most notable fictionist 
of the four, whether as regards Scotch or as regards 
English characterisation, it would seem to follow 
that the others, with their much larger product, 
are of little account as makers of native literature, 
however popular as public entertainers. And this 
is really the opinion one is led to after a critical 
comparison of the authors in question. Nobody 
can deny them ability and industry ; and yet no 
roomful of Scotchmen is ever found to pronounce 
favourably on their presentment of Scotch life and 
character. Between treatment and choice of theme 
they have contrived to avoid any convincing repro- 
duction of the life of their time, and to live for us 
in Scotland as agreeable or suggestive romancers, 
who happened to lay the scene of their romances 
more or less in Scotland, and to give their characters 

Scotch names. To realise how entirely destitute 
we are of real contemporary Scotch fiction, we have 
but to contrast the treatment of American life by 
Mr. Howells and Mr. James with tlie Scotch work of 
our Scotch novelists. In the American cases we feel 
we are at least partially introduced to a living society. 
Americans may indeed dispute over the representa- 
tion; and Bostonians may repudiate Mr. Howells' 
accounts of them ; but any one can see that Mr. 
Howells, up to his limits, has his eye on something ; 
and if Bostonians knew when they are well off they 
would be grateful for tlie element of culture in- 
volved in the possession of a school of fiction which 
makes their normal life an art subject. A composi- 
tion of normal Boston experiences has become a 
matter tliat can interest, more or less, an instructed 
reader in any civilised country. Can anything 
similar be said of the fiction of contemporary 
Scotland ? 

It is with a curious sensation that we thus realise 
our exclusion from part of the world's literary heri- 
tage. People living in any of the important towns 
of continental Europe are accustomed, like tliose of 
London and New York and Boston, to see their 
society treated with some measure of confidence and 
competence of portraiture in novel after novel : we 
in Glasgow and Edinburgh have to turn back to 
Scott to get a similar sensation. Some sections of 
our community, indeed, can have it after a fashion ; 
they get it in stories in which an impersonal detec- 
tive of Ulyssean craft and experience tracks con- 
ventional criminals through streets of known name 
and runs them to earth in closes of supposed actu- 
ality. Those of us whose palates are too nice for 
that fare must just get along without the desired 
pabulum. We have a society full of characters and 
experiences, ups and downs, comedy and tragedy, as 
well as Boston ; but there lacks for us the vates sacer, 
and our whole human polity will die unremembered, 
or dimly inferred from the faint cartoons of our 
idealistic novelists. If we turn from fiction to 
drama, the case becomes overwhelming. We no 
longer attempt to represent Scotch life on the stage 
at all. Rob Roy, the Lady of the Lake, and 
Jeanie Deans, those compositions out of composi- 
tions, conventionalised at the second remove from 
imagination, keep our boards with a perdurable 
hold : they have come to stay ; but of any attempt 
to 'make' afresh from the native life of to-day 
there is not even a whisper. Mr. Stevenson, indeed, 
did once perpetrate, in complicity with Mr. Henley, 
a melodrama on the history of a murderous deacon 
dear to tradition ; of which the withdrawal is only 
to be explained on a hypothesis of conscientious 
motives, since it cannot conceivably have been too 



bad, as melodramas go. But beyond this, one 
remembers nothing worth an alUision. We get our 
plays, such as they are, from London ; and the bat- 
tered metropolitan play-manufacturer, despicable to 
the eye of the literate playgoer, becomes in contrast 
with our provincial paralysis an energetic and im- 
aginative figure, looking at life for liimself and in 
a manner concerned with the representation of it. 
We cannot even make our own rubbish. And for 
a number of years one of the most popular repre- 
sentatives of Jeanie Deans in the minor theatres 
has been a lady who does not even pretend to speak 

To say that tliis state of things means degenera- 
tion is not provincialism, but the reverse of provin- 
cialism. It is provincial, if you like, to let use and 
wont override reason in law, or to ' think the rustic 
cackle of your bourg tlie murmur of the world.' It 
would be provincial to prefer your own man of 
science, or imaginative painter, or musical com- 
poser, on parochial grounds, to the great scientists, 
painters, and composers of tlie period. But it is 
not provincial to desire that the life of your pro- 
vince should form subject-matter for fictional and 
dramatic art, any more than it is provincial to want 
a painting of your own landscape. Rather this is 
to seek that the life of the province shall acquire 
cosmopolitan value ; the true provincialism consist- 
ing in a contented fall below cosmopolitan standards, 
whether tlie content come from an over-estimate 
of the existing environment or a blindness to its 
lacuruje. The Scotchman, who is unalterably com- 
placent over the music of his country, is on all fours 
with him who conceives the novel as a form of art 
properly concerned with any society save that at 
his own doors — not to speak of him who thinks it 
is brought to his own doors by the cheaj) serials. 

To thus found a charge of literary degeneration 
on destitution in tlie two fields of fiction and drama, 
may seem a course implying a false idea of moral 
proportion ; but let the objector squarely ask 
himself whether there are any lines of literary 
production that can better give clues to the mental 
life of the time. If further tests be demanded, 
there remains the department of history, in which 
the phenomena are closely similar. Some fresh 
research there has been of recent years on the 
periods of Mary and the Restoration ; but we are 
at this moment barely able to produce a single 
historical scholar of the highest rank ; and the 
epoch which for many reasons might be supposed 
most to apjjeal to our literary men for treatment — 
the century and a half since the Union, or tlie cen- 
tury since the Rebellion — remains much less familiar 
than the corresponding period of English life to the 

Scottish generation which has grown up with Mr. 
Stevenson. One goes back, however, to the question 
of novel and play, satisfied tliat these give a decisive 
criterion. That country, one says, whose current 
imaginative literature includes no first-rate or fair 
second-rate presentment of its own contemporary 
life is on that side of human effort behind the age, 
and is inferentially backward in its general culture. 
And this is the present condition of imaginative 
literature in the land of Scott, our most brilliant 
contemporary UtUrateur shining in other walks than 
that of present-day naturalist fiction. 

It is much easier, of course, to point out the 
shortcoming than to suggest how it is to be made 
up. But at least, supposing any cure to be in store, 
we shall be a little the likelier to come by it if we 
realise how the trouble arose. The kind of decline 
that, alongside of much material improvement, has 
overtaken Scotch life, is of course nothing different 
from the tendencies set up in the provincial towns 
of England by the drift of intellectual activity to 
London. Our defect on the side of the novel, taken 
with our sterility in drama, is the best evidence of 
what has happened to us since Scott's day, because 
the novel has since Scotfs day become the typical 
literary form of the age, and because it is, as before 
noted, that form of literary art which, positively or 
negatively, best reports local colour. In the two 
generations covered by Scotfs life, we see in Scot- 
land a peculiarly ample crop of intellectual and 
literary capacity, in which not only does Scott pro- 
duce Scotch fiction of the most important order, 
but Gait and Miss Ferrier (to cite no other names), 
seem to promise a persistence of native art. But 
just as our literary men in general have since tended 
to drift to London, so has our fiction tended to dis- 
appear. Carlyle's work could be done better — 
thanks partly to libraries — in London than in 
Edinburgh ; so, in him and in a number of lesser 
men, we lost the culture-force of a local literary 
atmosphere ; and defect superinduces defect, till it 
becomes almost a matter of course that our best 
men, unless tethered by professorships, go south. 
Edinburgh has become provincial as Manchester, 
and Birmingham, and Bristol are provincial, not for 
lack of Scotch capacity, but because London is the 
Scotch as well as the English capital, and drains 
all the provinces alike. All round there is locally 
lacking, with the literary atmosphere, that cosmo- 
politan inspiration which makes all the best fiction 
of the world ; and thus it comes that, j ust as the 
best English fiction plays freely on London life, and 
much on the life of tlie country and the small towns, 
but never on that of Birmingham or Liverpool, so 
what tolerable Scotch fiction we have tends only to 



deal fragmentarily with rural lives and never with 
the collective life of our larger towns ; tliougli it 
also readily takes the paths of English fiction. All 
round, in short, our 'provincial centres'' suffer from 
the centripetal habit which makes London the 

If it be asked, then, in what way the desired 
improvement is likely to arise, the answer would 
seem to be that it will be from a general culture 
movement which shall yield a soil for productive 
intellectual life. The development which has gone 
on in Scotland in the past fifty years is essentially 
commercial, the ' theological thaw ' being thus far in 
the main superficial. A period of plain living and 
high thinking has been succeeded by one of plain 
(in a sense) thinking and (comparatively) high liv- 
ing, in Scotland as in the English provincial cities ; 
and salvation all round must be sought in a readjust- 
ment of activities, bottomed on a general bettering 
of education. We want on all hands a higher con- 
ception of life, which can only come of a manifold 
intellectual fertilisation. It will not come from the 
Cliurch, which has, curiously enough, always flour- 
ished inversely to the prosjierity of literature among 

us. Our two brilliant periods since the Reformation 
have been the latter half of last century, which our 
ecclesiastics now pronounce to have been religiously 
torpid ; and the first generation of this century, 
before the Disruption opened a new ecclesiastical 
era. And to-day our attention to our preachers is 
the measure of our neglect of our literary men. Let 
us ask ourselves what amount of honour, compared 
with that given to the pulpit, has been given to 
Burton and Skene ; how our consumption of sermons 
compares with our reception of Masson's Dnimmond 
qf' Hmathornden ; nay, what degree of interest we 
show in our new writers, as Mr. Lang, or even Mr. 
Stevenson, compared with the talk over the last new 
preacher. Mr. Lang's reputation rests on English 
suffrages ; and Scotland waited till Mr. Stevenson 
was widely famous in America, after being compara- 
tively famous in England, before she showed any 
overt satisfaction in his performance. Some of his 
earlier effbrts, one remembers, were stupidly snubbed 
in the Edinburgh press. It is satisfying to be able 
to think that the swift turning of the tables in his 
case is prophetic of a general metamorphosis. 

John M. Robertson 


CJ HOULD books as they come from the press have 
^O a cloth cover or a paper one 't This is a ques- 
tion which, if fairly asked, would, no doubt, result 
in an answer favouring a change from the prevalent 
fashion of binding in cloth, covers and stiff" boards. 
Looked at from an artistic pomt, cloth covers are 
unsatisfactory. Bookbinder's cloth seldom has any 
of that beauty of grain or texture admired so much 
in leather, silk, and wool ; and when attempts are 
made to rib or grain it in order to make the surfaces 
catch the light and let the shadows fall, the result is a 
mean and unsuccessful imitation. Besides, as a piece 
of decorative furniture, a cloth-bound book is seldom 
chosen with success ; often too strong in colour for 
anything to come near it, there is always a cold 
shine that prevents the eye from resting on it with 
satisfaction. It is difficult, too, to understand why 
those who want to have their best books bound 
in leather of their own liking have to pay for 
cloth binding which has to be destroyed. Surely 
if a book is worth keeping it ought to be bound 
in leather ; and if it is only one of fashion's fancy, 
and passing interest, paper covers are expensive 

enough for it. And what designs and illustrations 
could be printed on these paper covers ! Some 
would, of course, be as impudently advertising 
as an importunate poster, but others, and the 
most of them, would be so charmingly beautiful, so 
subtly artistic and refined, that we could afford to 
despise the existence of the few vulgar prints. And 
when these covers became dirty and torn with suc- 
cessive liand-graspings of the interested reader, the 
book loved and thought worthy to be treasured 
would be bound in leather of a colour and ffrain 
chosen by the owner, and if possible an original and 
beautiful design tooled in gold upon it. Tlius 
would the almost forgotten but ever beautiful Art 
of Bookbinding be encouraged. They manage these 
things better on the Continent. In Paris the artist- 
designer and the printer are engaged upon the first 
— the paper — cover of the book, and produce what, 
if not a good piece of colour, is at least a fine piece 
of draughtsmanship, and often both ; and then 
the binder, in sumptuous leather and fine gold, 
eventually binds it for the library. Here we manu- 
facture, first and last, cloth cases. 




There is much to be said for Mr. W. L. Courtney's suggestion, 
in the Universal Review^ that our contemporary novehsts should 
betake themselves to delineating, ' not theologians, but men and 
women, warm with the actual blood of life,' and for his contention 
that * those who would fain be artists must worship at the old 
altars and learn the old lessons.' The truth or falsehood of Ag- 
nosticism is a question altogether distinct from that of its value as 
a theme for artistic treatment. After all it is the common — we 
had almost said the vulgar — emotions of humanity that must form 
the staple of art material in fiction, and so far these are entwined 
almost inextricably with the mental habits which go to make up 
belief in the ancient creeds. No doubt the conflict of faiths is a 
fascinating subject, but in the contemplation of it one's sym- 
pathies inevitably go not with the Agnostic, but with those whom 
he offends, for a man's household, or, at least, the women of it, 
are almost invariably devout. The hero of an Agnostic novel is 
in reality not a person, but a cause, and a cause is almost the 
worst possible subject for a work of the imagination. Of course 
there is always the saving clause for genius, which can do what- 
ever it pleases, secure of that success without which it would not 
be itself. But for ordinary aspirants there can be no safer example 
than that of George Eliot, the secret of whose unbelief is undis- 
coverable save for the large tolerance of her altogether objective 
treatment of the religious life. 

One of the most interesting of recent publications is Letters to 
and from Charles Kirkpatrick S/mrfie. The Horace Walpole of 
Scotland, as he has often been called, was a character of that type 
which is dear above all others to the literary gossip, possibly 
because he was almost an ideal gossip himself. Half Oldbuck 
and half Sir Benjamin Backbite, his life was spent in collecting 
the trivialities of antiquity, and retailing the scandal of his own 
day. No one had a keener eye for old ballads or a sharper tongue 
for comment on the last faux fas. Of course it was not to be 
expected that such a man should do any serious or memorable 
work. A few dusty texts reprinted, a few clever caricatures 
dashed off, that is all that one can look for from an aristocrat who 
deigns to turn dilettante ; and at this day Sharpe is remembered, 
if remembered at all, only as the author of a most audacious 
forgery, which imposed upon Sir Walter Scott, and is still to be 
found in the notes to Marmion. Yet, as a bit of social decora- 
tion he was indispensable, and the memory of him is what he 
himself would most have valued, an antique for the delectation 
of the elect. 

In asserting for The Pilgrim's Pmgress the claim to be called the 
first English novel. Canon Venables has indicated what is likely 
to be the final place of Bunyan in our literature. It is not as a 
master of allegory, and still less as a devotional writer, that Bunyan 
will be remembered, but rather as the author of a fascinating 
story-book, and the creator of a v^hole host of types of the popular 
religious character. There is indeed no book which reproduces 
for us more vividly than The Pilgrim's Progress the everyday life 
and thought of the lower-class Puritans in seventeenth century 
England. In Christian and Talkative, Muchafraid and Mr. 
Worldly Wiseman, there live again the very men and women who 
tore down the village maypoles and built the Bethels and Ebenezers. 
Viewed in this light, the book itself, like every good novel, acquires 
a certain historic value as an imconscious representation of con- 
temporary life. It is very questionable, however, if it can be called 
the first of English fiction in the sense of having had much effect 
as a model upon the writers who came after. The romance, which 
comes down to us proximately from the tales of chivalry, was first 
modernised by Defoe, while it is to Richardson that we must trace 
back the novel which is known familiarly as realistic. 

Mr. Walter Scott of Newcastle is decidedly one of the most 
enterprising of present-day publishers. Allowing for the short- 
comings inevitable to all cheap reprints, his Camelot Classics and 
Canterbury Poets are among the very best things of their kind, 
while the series o^ Great Writers is invaluable, if for nothing else, 
for the excellent biographies with which its volumes are enriched. 
In the September volume of the Camelot Classics Mr. Scott has 
broken new and welcome ground to the reading public of England. 
The plays of Henrik Ibsen, the great Norwegian dramatist, are in 
some sense, perhaps, the most notable productions of the century. 
Nowhere else is there a more vivid literary presentment of the 
Revolution ; nowhere else is the modern spirit of criticism, the 
return of society upon itself, more adequately rendered. It is 
characteristic of Ibsen that he is always critical, and nowhere 
assumes the rSle of a prophet. He professes not to write the 
drama of the future — he has no vision of the good time coming — 
it is the present with all its manifold anomalies and impossibilities 
that he sees and describes. Superficially, of course, he is pessi- 
mistic, but there is an eminently Norse sobriety and a quiet strain 
of humour that speak more of hope than all the homilies of Dr. 
Pangloss. In the good old Philistine sense of the term, his works 
are probably the most dangerous books of the day. 

'I FEEL the flowers growing over me,' said poor Keats, as he 
lay at Rome a-dying, and now the news comes, ' on apparently 
good authority,' that his grave is about to be dug up for the forma- 
tion of a new road. It is melancholy tidings, and yet not without 
a spice of consolation in it to the much-abused utilitarianism of 
Great Britain. There are others evidently as bad as we, and even 
in the Eternal City and under the pyramid of Caius Cestius the 
demon of desecration is abroad. To be sure the Italians probably 
know next to nothing about Keats — he is one of the lowly ground- 
flowers of literature, the beauty of whose blossom is undiscemible 
from afar. But all the more it becomes those who have drunk of 
his rare fragrance to see to it that the grass of his bed shall be 
perennially green. All art lovers should bestir themselves to 
defend from sacrilege the grave of one who is, as indubitably as 
Spencer, the poets' poet. 

Messrs. Blackwood are just about to publish the second and 
concluding volume o{ Maitlaiul of Lethington, a7id the Scotland of 
Mary Stuart, by John Skelton, C.B., LL.D. Commencing with 
Mary's return to Scotland, it will present an estimate of the astute 
statesmanship of Maitland, and the antagonistic attitude of John 
Knox towards the Queen, together with an examination of the 
famous Casket Letters, which Mr. Skelton altogether rejects as 
evidence. The volume should be a most interesting one, for 
there are no two characters in our history more striking than 
Queen Mary and her dubiously famous Secretary. In many re- 
spects they are the two least Scottish figures of their time— we seem 
to find in them all the litheness and laxity of the Italian Re- 
naissance, with, in the Queen, a touch of the cruel Catholic reac- 
tion superadded. 

The second volume of Mr. Samuel Rawson Gardiner's History 
of the Great Civil War is in the press. It will bring the narra- 
tive down to the point where the Scottish army, on its retreat 
from England in 1647, delivered up the King to the English 

A NEW edition is promised of the Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, 
the brilliant collection of political satires and parodies written 
by Canning, Hookham Frere, and others. The reprint will be 
illustrated with the caricatures of Gillray. 


T. and A. Constable, Prittters to Her Majesty. 

The Scottish Art Review 

Vol. I. NOVEMBER 1888. No. 6. 





HOW shines the gold amid the brown 
Of heavy tresses tumbling down 
In art's despite ! 
How Nature blends her red and white ! 

Ah, hapjiy painter ! It is thine 

That ' sweet disorder ' to confine. 

If thou should''st order it aright, 

Ah, what delight ! 


A Picture by Florence Sjiali., Royai, Academy, 1887. 

Oh, Autumn leaves ! 
Bind in thy tresses, maiden fair, 

These Autumn leaves. 
See liope fulfilled in ranged sheaves, 
See in dead nature love's despair ; 
For brooding joy, for russet care, 

These Autumn leaves. 

Ernest Radford. 




TO those who can recollect the condition of 
Glasgow some twenty years ago, the advance 
which has been made since then, both with regard 
to the production of works of art and their appre- 
ciation, must warrant reflection. 

It has long been generally accepted that Edin- 
burgh is the centre of culture in Scotland, Glasgow 
being supposed to rest content with its cotton-mills, 
shipbuilding yards, and philanthropic efforts, leaving 
the capital to monopolise what of literature, music, 
and the arts of design Scotland could boast. Never 
entirely true, this charge, as time goes on, loses all 
significance. It is unnecessary to claim that Edin- 

burgh is, barring the climate, one of the most 
charming cities in Europe, — this is universally 
granted ; but that smoky Glasgow has other attrac- 
tions, and that its citizens have other pursuits than 
money-making, is still in need of demonstration. 
The change, which is undoubted, is shared more or 
less by other large provincial cities ; the causes to 
which it is due, however, do not come within the scope 
of our present purpose. The reproach that Glasgow 
as a city is absolutely non-productive in the region 
of tlie iine arts may still be often advanced ; and it 
is our aim to dispel this delusion, and to point out, 
in the cosmopolitan collection of pictures now open 
to the public at the Exhibition, certain works 
which worthily hold a place as good art, even when 
compared with the acknowledged masterpieces among 
which they are hung. 

In the nine galleries which contain the Ai't Section 
of the present Glasgow International Exhibition (we 
omit that devoted to examples of the various photo- 

graphic processes), a fair opportunity is granted for 
the study of tlie painters in the West of Scotland, 
past and present. More might have been done, 
however, with the material available ; in many cases 
artists are inadequately represented, and tlie educa- 
tional value of the collection would liave been 
increased tenfold had the so-called local works been 
grouped in something like historical sequence. It 
would seem that art did not exist in Glasgow before 
tlie early days of this century, or that examples of 
sufficient merit could not be secured. Horatio 
Macculloch (1806-1867), J. Milne-Donald (1819- 
1866), J. Graham-Gilbert (1794-1866), Sir Daniel 
Macnee (1806-1882), are undoubtedly the outstand- 
ing, if not the only local names whose reputation 
has stood the test of time. Their successors, and 
more or less their followers, J. Docharty (1829- 
1878), Joseph Henderson, J. A. Aitken, Robert 
Greenlees, David Murray, A. K. Brown, William 
Young, and others, have yet for the most part to 
pass through the crucible of endurance. There are 
grave difficulties and disadvantages in endeavouring 
to estimate calmly the comparative qualities of con- 
temporary art. We are tempted either to under- 
value or to overpraise, its limitations as well as its 
attainments being to a lai-ge extent a reflection of 
our own. The landscape painters already alluded 
to were all mainly self-taught men, who, lacking the 
opportunity of any regular training, were disposed 
to minimise its advantages for others. They knew 
little of, and cared less for, the work of the masters, 
and deprecated their influence in forming the style 
of modern painters. It is impossible to ignore the 
fact that of late years a very great change has taken 
place with regard to the aims and tendencies of a 



considerable body of artists who are mainly iden- 
tified with Glasgow. This has been ignorantly 
attributed to a mere fashion, and the exodus 
of young students to Paris, with the abandon- 
ment of the traditions of their predecessors, has 
been seriously regarded as not only foolish, but 
unpatriotic, and almost criminal. No charge could 
be more unfounded. Tlie pursuit of serious study 
ill Paris has been but an incident rendered in most 
ctises imperative by an overmastering desire to attain 
a knowledge of form, as tlie basis of good art. 

ardently strive to attain. These among others we 
deem to be perfect tonality, the intelligent sacrifice 
of small things in nature if the great trutlis of 
structure, atmosphere, and dignity of presentation 
be obtained. To a greater or less degree all tliese 
qualities, or at least an indication tliat they are 
being sought, is evinced in a considerable number of 
canvases by young men in the Exhibition. We have 
not scope for the analysis of all the works in question; 
there are pictm-es in botii tlie Loan and Sale Gal- 
leries by Messrs. AV. Y. Macgregor, Jos. Crawhall, 

Tlie impetus which induced the temporary expatria- 
tion was the discovery that there were greater things 
in art than were dreamt of in the local jihilosophy. 
Familiarity with the works of Turner, Constable, 
Corot, Millet, Israels, Mauve, Mesdag, and the 
brothers Maris revealed to some the comparative 
narrowness of aim and feebleness of methods identified 
with what was called the Scotch School, and while a 
number of the young men alluded to were able to 
take advantage of the splendid facilities afforded in 
Paris, some of the ablest among them have never 
studied out of the country, but have independently 
arrived at much the same conclusions as to what 
qualities in art they most value and must most 

Geo. Henry, James Paterson, T. Corsan Morton, 
Alexander Mann, and others well deserving study, 
but for the present we wish to draw attention 
to certain pictures by five artists, Messrs. James 
Guthrie, E. A. Walton, T. Millie Dow, John 
Lavery, and A. Roche, who are all well represented. 
The ' Rev. Andrew Gardiner, D.D.," by Mr. Guthrie, 
is, we say advisedly, one of the ablest modern 
portraits in the Exhibition. The dignity of the 
pose, the distinction in the drawing, the able dis- 
position of the masses of light and shade, the sub- 
dued charm of its colour, are most welcome after 
the perfunctory and mannered portraits of public 
men we are so well accustomed to. In later works 



Mr. Guthrie has achieved more freedom in tlie use 
of liis medium ; the painting is liere somewhat 
laboured, but for the lasting qualities which pro- 
claim an accomplished work of art, we prefer his 
'Dr. Gardiner' to his more recent portraits. Mr. 
Guthrie's only other exhibit is ' To Pastures New,' 
No. 353, a picture painted some years ago, since 
which time lie has made great progress. Its striking 
unconventionality, subtle drawing of the flock of 
oeese, and beautiful scheme of colour are somewhat 

artistic qualities, it is somewhat unsympathetic, and 
a feeling of paintiness runs all through the canvas, 
though it is least ajoparent in the surroundings. In 
No. 1343, ' Pastoral,' a water-colour, we again find 
that unquestionable distinction which marks all 
Mr. Walton's best work. Very charming in its 
scheme of colour, the quality and proportion of the 
deep blue sky with ruddy cloud form a most happy 
harmony with the warm tones of the hillside. 

Mr. T. Millie Dow has received but scant justice 

marred, to our thinking, by the uncompromising 
ungainliness of the girl, and the hard insistence on 
the shadow under her hat, which forms a spot in 
the pictui-e. Of Mr. Walton's exhibits, five in 
number, that to which we wish particularly to refer 
is the very impressive ' Landscape,' No. 108. This 
great expanse of sky, hanging over the darkened 
land, has an expressive force which grows with 
increased familiarity. There are few finer pure 
landscapes in the rooms, and an admirable decora- 
tive quality, so rare hitherto in Scottish art, is here 
of permanent value. In Mr. Walton's portrait of 
a little girl in riding-habit we do not consider he 
has done himself justice. Possessing undoubted 

at the hands of the hangers. His ' Hudson River,' 
No. 173, is hopelessly skied, and its pearly grey 
tones are killed by the surrounding dark-coloured 
canvases. A similar fate has been meted out to 
Mr. G. F. Watts's delicate ' Island of Cos,' No. 185. 
Mr. Dow's dream of a distant river — for the fore- 
ground is not realised to the same extent — has 
qualities very different from those of Mr. Walton's 
landscapes, but if less striking they are quite as 
valuable. Its delicate observation of the subtlest 
tones of colour, enveloped in an atmosphere of 
keenest light, studied with loving care, give this 
picture an entirely etiiereal charm. It is full of 
imagination. In ' Roses,' No. 1229, we liave one 



of the most perfect flower studies in the Exhibition. 
Treated with grecat reserve in colour the observation 
of visual form and the decorative arrangement of 
spaces give tlie educated eye constant pleasure. 
The flower painters of France have, it seems to us, 
sacrificed ftir too much of the exquisite construction 
which is one of the greatest charms of the floral 
world, to attaining an intense and marvellous glow 
of colour. In the work of Miss Swan, 1304, 1352, 
we find flowers forming the motive of very lovely 
art in which form is not lost in an intoxication of 
luxuriant pigments. We now come to Mr. Lavery's 
name, and liis picture of Queen Mary in the wood, 
entitled 'Dawn, 14tli May 1568,' wliich arrests the 
spectator in spite of liimself. The traditions wliich 
have stifled the presentment of historical painting 
are here entirely abandoned ; the subject is treated 
with a keen perception of the real conditions of tlie 
episode. Hei-e we have none of the laboured leai-n- 
ing that pleases the antiquarian ; details are not 
insisted upon ; but in that dreary dawn we feel this 
is how the poor Queen looked and felt. The 
beauty and thorough keeping of the whole is no 
surprise to those who know Mr. Lavery's ' Tennis,' 
on which it is a distinct advance. The last 
of the works to which we can refer at tliis time 
is Mr. Roche's ' Shepherdess,' No. 403. After the 

reserved grey tones of Mr. Lavery's ' Queen Mary,' 
this curiously composed picture, with its rich 
mingling of browns, purples, yellows, and greens, 
impresses us as a little forced in colour. The 
tenderly felt and beautifully drawn little girl 
kneeling in the foreground is treated in a natural- 
istic manner, while the sumptuous baclvground of 
hillside, trees and sky, is distinctly romantic in 
conception and execution ; iience a certain confusion. 
The individuality and strong feeling of the picture 
are unquestionable. There is nothing in the least 
like it that we can find in tlie galleries, it is the 
work of a man who has sometliing of his own to 
say, who means to say it in his own way. Want 
of space alone forbids us to dwell with adequate 
attention on several other remarkable works by 
men connected with Glasgow, either by birth or 
residence. Those to which we have referred are, we 
think, among the most interesting, though they by 
no means exhaust the list. That they are different 
in all important respects from what has been 
hitherto accepted as naturally emanating from local 
studios is granted ; that they are representative of 
an advance to a fuller and deeper knowledge and 
a more independent expression of individuality in 
pictorial art is confidently claimed. 


IT is probably known to most of the readers of 
the Scottish Art Review that an Art Congress 
is to be held in Liverpool at tlie beginning of 
December. It is to be organised after the manner 
of Congresses, with division into sections, and the 
like now familiar arrangements. Tlie Presidential 
Address will be delivered by Sir Frederick Leighton 
on December 3. Mr. Alma Tadenia is to preside in 
the section of Painting, Mr. Alfred Gilbert in tliat 
of Sculpture. Architecture is to be under the 
leadership of Professor Aitchison, Applied Art 
under that of Mr. Walter Crane. Mr. Sidney 
Colvin is to be President of a section devoted to 
Art History and Museums, and Mr. Mundella is to 
open the section tliat will deal with National and 
Municipal Encouragement of Art. Numerous jiapers 
by leading authorities have been arranged for in 
all tlie sections, and promises of attendance already 
sufiice for the confident prophecy that able discus- 
sions will arise upon all subjects of general interest. 
It may, however, be asked, what probable result 
such a Congress as the one in contemplation is 

expected to effect, and why it slioukl be held in 
Liverpool. The last decade has certainly not been 
barren in talk about Art. Has that talk been pro- 
ductive of good ? We, for our part, are of opinion 
that it has. Little has been accomplished in any 
day without mucli individual persuasion. Formerly 
this was done by the contact and conversation of 
individuals. In our own time the press and the 
platform perform many of the functions which 
could in days of a smaller society be as well or 
better performed by private intercourse. It is only 
by aid of some organisation that the persons inter- 
ested, or willing to become interested, in any subject 
can now be reached. Hence the growtli of con- 
gresses, periodicals, and other organised methods of 
bringing opinion to a focus. 

The fact that there has been, in tliese latter days, 
so much talked and written about Art is proof, were 
such needed, that some Art problem does exist. The 
world is so full of interesting problems that nothing 
has a chance of getting itself talked about which 
does not intimately affect the comfort or delight of 



some considerable class of persons. What, then, is 
the Art problem of the day ? How are we affected 
by it ? How should we benefit by its solution ? 

A century ago the people of these islands were in 
the main a country-living folk ; they are now a 
town-livinff. Steam and machinery have effected 
this change. Our forefathers knew from long- 
experience how to live in the country with comfort. 
The whole apparatus and circumstance of country 
life was harmoniously developed. With town life 
this is not as yet the case. The last half-century 
has been occupied with tlie rapid buikling of towns, 
with getting them paved and drained, and supplied 
with gas, water, and police, with making railroads 
from one to another, and generally with supplying 
the bare necessaries of existence to the people of a 
new epoch. Moreover, the methods and processes 
of manufacture have been revolutionised. The old 
traditions of hand-work are no longer of use. New 
methods demand a new spirit of design to animate 
the products of manufacture with beauty. 

Beauty indeed has dropped into neglect in the 
hurrying times that came upon us. Linen and 
cotton and woollen goods, and cast iron, and all 
like products, have been made in such increased 
quantities, and at such decreased prices, that the 
markets of the world have been widened, and the 
manufactories of the world have been kept busy to 
supply the demand of new strata of society for the 
simple commodities which previously they did with- 
out. A rapid increase of population has co-operated 
with these other conditions towards the same result. 

But now the supply of the simple necessaries has 
overtaken the demand. Enough of them is pro- 
duced to satisfy the needs of that part of humanity 
capable of purchasing. An insane race of competi- 
tion at underselling one another has come to pass 

between different countries. Profits have thus 
been reduced in many trades almost to vanishing 
point. Competition is now trying to get itself 
done away with amongst the producers of raw 
materials, and eventually, no doubt, great ' Com- 
bines ' will cause it to cease. But the cessation of 
competition will not come to the manufacturers of 
more complicated goods. Of two things capable of 
being beautiful as well as useful, an intelligent 
public will always buy the prettier, all Combines 
notwithstanding. Hence competition itself will 
make the manufacturer pay increasing attention to 
design. In some trades, notably in that of pottery, 
the fact has long been apparent. It will become 
increasingly so in many more. A pretty object 
always commands a market. The houses of this 
country are not so full that there is not room in 
them for pretty things. The world may be supplied 
with all the yards of plain linen or cotton that it 
wants or can use, and yet a pretty patterned stuff 
will still find some one to want it for its own sake, 
and to invent a use for it previously unthought of. 

Henceforward, therefore, time and the self- 
interest of manufacturers work for, instead of 
against, the lover of Art. His hobby, if so you 
please to call it, has become an important factor in 
the future of our national prosperity. Artists and 
manufacturers are being brought together by the 
progress of events. It is time that they met to- 
gether and considered their mutual interests. Such 
a meeting will for the first time take place at 
Liverpool on December 3d and the following days. 
It is to be hoped that this will be the first of a 
series of such annual congresses ; and if the second 
were to be held at Glasgow in 1889, the future of 
our movement might be regarded as secured. 

W. M. Conway. 


CONSIDERABLE attention has of late years 
been directed to tlie fading of water-colour 
drawings, and this has consequently given rise to 
searching investigations being made as to the causes 

In April 1886, Dr. W. J. Russell, F.R.S., and 
Captain Abney, F.R.S., were requested by the Lords 
of the Committee of Council on Education to carry 
out an exhaustive series of experiments on the 
action of light on water-colour drawings. Subse- 
quently, at the request of the Royal Society of 

Painters in Water-Colours, a representative com- 
mittee of artists was appointed with wliom those 
gentlemen were invited to confer upon the subject. 

As these gentlemen state in the introduction 
of their first report, which has been issued in the 
form of a blue-book, an investigation of the causes 
of the fading of colours naturally divides itself 
into at least three parts — first, the nature of the 
optical changes ; second, the nature of the chemical 
changes; and third, the causes which initiate and 
accelerate these changes. To carry out such an 



investigation necessarily requires much time ; many 
of the changes, more especially the chemical ones, 
can only be brought about by brilliant sunlight, 
acting for a considerable length of time. The 
report is therefore divided into two sections, the 
first of which is now presented, dealing especially 
with the nature of the optical changes. 

As this is a question of very great interest to 
water-colour painters, the following resume of the 
report may not prove uninteresting. 

It was expedient in conducting the experiments to 
choose the light which would most readily adapt 
itself to giving a clue as to which colours were 
affected by exposure in a time which would be 
measured by months instead of years. After deli- 
berate consideration, the experimenters decided to 
avail themselves of as much sunlight as could be 
secured, together with the diffused and sky light 
when sunshine was absent. Some writers have 
declined to accept deductions as to the fading of 
pigments when exposed to the bright liglit of the 
sun, but they have never given any serious reasons 
for their doing so. Their arguments have usually 
been based upon their own convictions rather than 
on experimental proof of any kind, or if experi- 
mental proof has been quoted from other writers, 
half the truth or more is most frequently and pro- 
bably unwittingly concealed. 

A popular fallacy is that if the light be very 
feeble, a bleachable colour, no matter how long it 
may be exposed, will not fade. It has been fully 
proved by experiment that, if a certain tint be 
exposed to an intensity of light, say of 100, and is 
bleached by it in, say one hour, a similar tint, 
exposed to an intensity of 1, would, with 100 hours 
exposure, undergo the same bleaching. 

As to the liglit to which pictures are ordinarily 
exjDosed in a room, there is no doubt that they are, 
as a rule, carefully protected from direct sunlight, 
but it is nevertheless true that the greater portion 
of the light they receive is reflected sunlight. On 
a bright day clouds reflect sunlight, and on a dull 
day the principal part of the diffused light is also 
sunlight, which is reflected according to tlie laws 
of geometrical optics from particle to particle, a 
certain percentage eventually reaching the earth 
througji the clouds. There is of course also a fair 
proportion of the light due to the upper sky, and this 
light is bluer than reflected or diffused and weakened 
sunlight. In cases where the windows of a gallery 
are in the vertical walls, and have an uninterrupted 
view of the horizon, the blue light reflected is com- 
paratively small, the light near the horizon being 
distinctly more like sunlight than is that nearer the 
zenith. In galleries lighted like those at South 

Kensington by skylights, the light to which pictures 
are subjected is on the whole bluer. 

The artificial lights to which water-colours are 
exposed are gas-light, the arc and incandescence 
electric liglits, and, as will be seen by the results, the 
first and last of these are very deficient in blue rays. 

Doubtless, to the eye, the hue of the lights men- 
tioned above differ considerably ; but unless the 
cause of tlie difference had been tracked out experi- 
mentally, and with scientific exactness, it would 
have been unwise to have selected any one of them 
with which to conduct experiments, since the results 
obtained with it might not be applicable to any 
other. Happily, however, for such work, the spec- 
troscopic analysis of light furnishes irrefutable 
evidence that, from the results obtained from ex- 
posure to one light, correct deductions may be made 
as to what would happen* were the exposure made 
to another. If, by a prism, we analyse all the 
different kinds of light mentioned above, we find 
that in the visible spectra so obtained no colour is 
absent ; but, if we compare the intensity of the 
same colours in the different spectra, we find that 
there is a variation. 

Since, then, all these sources of light emit the 
same rays, but of different intensities, which can be 
measured, it follows that if we know which rays are 
cliemically active, and the amount of work which, 
wlien of a certain intensity, they perform, we can, 
from the work done by the light from one source, 
deduce the work that would be done by another. 
The most perfect manner of noting the action of 
light would be to expose the pigments for a given 
time to the action of the spectrum formed by an 
unvarying source of light, and to measure the 
amount of chemical action (fading of the colour in 
most cases) which had taken place under every part of 
the spectrum. When the relative intensities of the 
different parts of the spectra from other sources of 
light compared with this standard spectrum were 
known, then the length of time during which it 
would be necessary to expose the colour to any one 
of them to produce that same total effect could be 
calculated. Months being often required, however, 
even in full sunlight, to effect a visible chemical action 
on some of the pigments, resort was therefore had to 
the use of coloured glasses, in order to hasten the 
investigations, to ascertain the part of the spectrum 
which was most active in producing the fading 
action. The glasses used were red, green, and blue. 
In every case where any fading took place, it was 
always found beneath the blue glass, much less 
often, and to a far less degree, under the green, and 
only twice under the red glass, and was then barely 



The experimenters, after carefully considering the 
different kinds of light their pigments (hung out of 
doors) would receive during their exposure from May 
1886 till Marcli 1888, and estimating their probable 
values, calculate that they received a total illumina- 
tion equivalent to 10,800 hours of blue sky light. 
To produce results similar to those obtained from 
this light, it would have been necessary, had they 
been placed in a gallery such as those at South 
Kensington, to expose them for at least 480 years, 
and to gaslight continuously, allowing for the dura- 
tion of darkness, for 9600 years. 

For tiie experiments, the moist colours of one firm 
were used. The action of light was tried on single 
colours, and on mixtures of two or more colours. 
Those mixtures were avoided in which a change 
would of necessity take place without the action of 
light owing to the known chemical composition of 
the colours. The paper used was Whatman's, and 
in order that no variation of quality should occur in 
different experiments, sufficient was obtained at once 
for the whole investigation. The colours to be 
tested were applied to the paper in a series of 
washes, the first wash extending over the Avhole 
sheet, the second one leaving a strip one inch wide 
and the length of the paper untouched. In most 
cases as many as eight washes were applied, giving 
thus a complete series of eight tints. In the 
experiments strips two inches wide and eight inches 
long having all the tints upon them were used. 

In the first series of experiments the colours were 
exposed to the action of light, air, and moisture, as 
are pictures, only to a greater extent. Two strips 
of the coloured paper cut from the same sheet were 
inserted into a glass tube, open at both ends, the 
upper end being bent over to prevent the entrance 
of wet and dirt. A piece of American cloth was 
carefully bound round one-half of the tube, tluis 
effectually protecting one strip of the paper from 
light. The two pieces of identically tinted paper 
were therefore under exactly the same conditions, 
except that one was exposed to light whilst the 
other was in darkness. The tubes were hung 
vertically out of doors against a wall facing nearly 
south, where all the sunshine until after 8.30 p.m. 
could fall upon them. During the exposure of the 
papers, they were observed for the fii'st time in 
August 1886, again in December 1886, and in July 
and November 1887, and finally in March 1888. 

In some cases the colour entirely disappeared, as, 
for instance, in carmine. In the majority of cases 
only a part of the colour disappeared, the thinner 
washes fading out, but twelve pigments remained 
unchanged, and two others, after this long exposure, 
were only very slightly faded. The following table 

shows approximately the order of instability of the 
tliirty-nine single colours tried, beginning witli the 
most fugitive : — 

Crimson lake. 
Purple madder. 
Scarlet lake. 
Payne''s grey. 
Naples yellow. 
Olive green. 

Brown madder. 
Vandyke brown. 
Brown pink. 
Indian yellow. 
Cadmium yellow. 
Leitch's blue. 
Violet carmine. 
Purple carmine. 
Rose madder. 

Permanent blue. 
Antwerp blue. 
Madder lake. 
Emerald green. 
Burnt umber. 
Yellow ochre. 

Indian red. 
Venetian red. 
Burnt sienna. 
Chrome yellow. 
Lemon yellow. 
Raw sienna. 
Terra verte. 
Chromium oxide. 
Prussian blue. 
French blue. 
Ultramarine ash. 



All of these, except Prussian blue, are purely 
mineral colours. Of the thirty-four mixtures tried 
only three remained from first to last unchanged — 
Venetian red and raw sienna, Antwerp blue and 
raw sienna, Indian red and cobalt ; but six mixtures 
containing Prussian blue, although at first unaltered, 
on placing in the dark for six weeks more or less 
returned to their original colour. 

It is of considerable interest to note that in the 
cases in which any change occurred it had com- 
menced before December 1886, though not in all 
cases before August. 

In another series of experiments, carried out at 
the same time with mostly the same pigments, the 
atmosphere to which they were exposed was free 
from all moisture. The glass tube was freed from 
all damp, as also the tinted paper, and the tube 
hermetically sealed. Thirty-eight experiments were 
made with single colours ; but under this altered 
condition twenty-two instead of twelve were found 
to be permanent, princijDally those colours which in 
the former experiments were only very slightly 
faded. In one case, while the colour in the oj^en 
tube was not acted upon, tliat in the dry tube was, 
this being Prussian blue. The colours which were 
unchanged in dry air, but were acted on in ordinary 
air, are madder lake, cadmium yellow, Naples 
yellow, emerald green, olive green, Payne's grey, 
sepia, and burnt umber. Again, with the exception 
of maddei- lake, all the above which were not acted 
upon in dry air are mineral colours. 




THE eleventh annual exhibition of the Royal 
Scottish Water-Colour Society was opened to 
the public on the 20th of last month, in the gal- 
leries of the Fine Art Institute. The collection 
numbers 283 works in all ; and although the averapc 
merit of the exhibition is not high, yet distributed 
over the walls are many works of distinguished ex- 
cellence, showing more artistic promise than any- 
thing we can see in similar exhibitions throughout 
the kingdom. Witli regard to the hanging, Messrs. 
Melville, Nisbet, and Laing, who formed the com- 
mittee, while performing a difficult task, can scarcely 
be credited with unqualified success. Neither in 
point of harmonious effect, decorative scheme, 
balance of colour, nor in the matter of dealing strict 
justice to the exhibitors, have they accomplished all 
that could be desired with the materials tliey had 
in hand. In the case of Mr. Crawhall's work this 
is specially noticeable, as his pictures are unques- 
tionably amongst the finest in the exiiibition, and 
in some cases they have been hinig in positions 
where they cannot be seen to advantage. 

The President, Mr. Francis Powell, is represented 
by four drawings, which, wliile rather mechanical 
in manipulation, are remarkable fi)r precision and 
general truth of effect, lacking, however, freshness 
and virility of art expression. ' Torr Aluinn 
Woods — Spring,' No. 53, compares favourably 
with the others in point of execution, and having 
greater vigour and vitality in colour. 

One of the features of the exhibition is the work 
of Mr. Wm. M'Taggart. He is represented by five 
drawings, all showing the expression of a thorough 
artist. ' In the Surf,' No. 188, is a remarkable 
work, full of air and life, and vigorous with the 
vitality of movement. In it will be found none of 
that lifeless conscientiousness, which is the guiding- 
star, or forlorn hope, as occasion demands, of so 
many weak painters. Swift to seize the dominant 
motive which impresses him, his art instincts prompt 
him to reveal it in the most direct way, and by the 
simplest methods. Every brush-mark, every separate 
bit of tone or colour, every line, has a distinct part 
in. perfecting the completion of the picture. You 
cannot take away or add to his work without de- 
stroying the unity and balance of the whole. 

W. Y. Macgregor's two drawings, ' On the Stour 
near Christchurch,' No. 44, and ' In the Gardens, 

Bournemoutli,' No. 107, are excellent examples of 
a judicious and intelligent finish in water-colour. 
Tlie drawing ' On the Stour,' while very fine in its 
quite refined scheme and tone, with skilful adjust- 
ment of colour values, is very valuable in result as 
giving an artistic expression of landscape sentiment. 

Of Mr. Joseph Crawiiall's work, tlie most import- 
ant and in some respects the finest, 'The Snake- 
Charmer,' No. 218, is hung so high that it is 
almost impossible except for an artist to see and 
appreciate its peculiar beauties. 

In the particular phase of art expression in which 
Mr. Crawhall is best known, viz. tlie artistic realisa- 
tion of animal life, though lacking somewhat in 
reserve force, yet, nothing equal to his work can be 
found in England to-day. His subtle analysis of 
characterisation, keen accuracy of drawing, and 
perfect mastery of methods, renders his work quite 
unique. Any of his drawings will suffice as an 
example. Note in them the originality of composi- 
tion, the sense of decorative quality, the charm 
of colour, the range and harmony of tones, the 
knowledge of exactly what to do, and where to do 
it, combined with intelligence and deftness in the 

Of tlie six drawings by Mr. Duncan Mackellar, all 
of which are marked by careful manipulation, we 
prefer 'Harmony,' No. 201, and 'Expectancy,' 
No. 246. These are finer in quality and more 
successful as regards tonality than his other work, 
which, though seldom crude, and never careless, is 
somewhat deficient in spirit and movement. 

Tlie same may be said of the drawings by Mr. A. 
S. Boyd, which, thougli smartly put down and 
cleverly handled, are wanting in tliat outcome of 
the art instinct, viz. a true capacity for acuteness 
of feeling. The result is an occasional element of 
coarseness or sentimentalism. 

Of the art of Mr. Arthur Melville we have two 
drawings, of which ' Street Scene, Bagdad,' No. 97, 
is certainly the finest. It is a brilliant drawing of 
great wealth and range of colour, painted with vital 
decision and thoroughly artistic expression, strong 
in its refinement, showing consummate skill and 
knowledge in the composition of the background 
masses, and in the treatment and grouping of the 
figures, giving a most vivid impression of the East, 
with all its glamour, sparkle, and movement. 



Mr. E. A. Walton is perhaps seen at his best in 
' The Duck Pond,' No. 27, a charming drawing, re- 
markable for its subtlety of tone and delicate scheme 
of colour. The artistic completeness and refinement 
of expression in this artisfs work have a rather 
deleterious effect on most of the pictures placed 
near it. He has several other drawings all full of 
painter-like qualities, and particularly noticeable 
for richness of colour and strength of effect, marred 
in one or two instances by a slight tendency towards 
density and solidity in the masses. 

Of the six drawings by Mr. James Paterson, some 
of which might surely have been better hung, we 
might single out 'Early Spring near Dunglaston,' 
No. 143, and 'Under Craignee,' No. 179. The 
former, a very fine drawing, serious, almost severe in 
design, large, simple, and broad in treatment, sombre 
in colour, and complete in tone, is somewhat marred 
by a slight mannerism in the grey of the greens. 
Work of this kind is entirely devoid of that triviality 
in multiplying of petty irritating details, answering to 
no end or purpose, which earn the bubble reputation 
so many painters seek, and which the unenlightened 
parvenu searches for so diligently, and when found 
rewards so generously. The other drawing, ' Under 
Craignee,' is remarkably fine in the reserved quality 
and tenderness of the tone, and is full of expres- 
sion of that peculiar sentiment of Nature when in 

Mr. Hunt has, amongst others, two drawings, 
viz. ' The Village Cobbler,' No. 10, and ' Old '34,' 
No. 211, which, while remarkable for their rich, 
full colour, sound drawing, and clever characterisa- 
tion, and in the latter presented with consider- 
able humour and spontaneity, yet are wanting in a 
certain charm of expression, specially noticeable in 
' The Cobbler,' to which water-colour, as a medium, 
lends itself. 

Mr. J. H. Lorimer has three charming drawings 
of architectural subjects, most interesting in their 
artistic qualities, and beautifully executed. 

In the work of Messrs. T. Scott and R. B. Nisbet 
we have good examples of the result of a certain 
accomplished capability and precision, of a rather 
mechanical kind, however. Their work is lacking 
in artistic vitality, being commonplace in concep- 
tion, and uninteresting in expression. 

Of the several drawings by Mr. Robert Little, we 
prefer his ' Ancestors of Maximilian,' No. 174, a 
study, almost in monochrome, well drawn and skil- 

fully painted, and possessing more spirit than his 
other works. 

C. J. Lauder is represented by several drawings of 
Continental interiors, of which ' The Cathedral, 
Antwerp,' No. 7, is a very good example. Executed 
in pale grey tones, which are cleverly empliasised by 
the darks surrounding the altar-piece and the colour 
of the stalls and pulpit. 

' The Cottar's Kitchen,' No. 216, and ' The New 
Dress,' No. 237, by Mr. Tom M'Ewan, are interior 
motives, prompted by tlie sympathetic feeling for 
the sentiment of home and child life so strong in 
the artist. While always having something to say, 
and never wanting in vitality, a lack of technical 
ability in his work often seems to hinder him in 
giving expression to a more definite and perfect 
artistic rendering in the completeness of his 

Hung in a prominent place is the ' Solway Sands,' 
No. 155, by Mr. A. K. Brown. The sky is evidently 
the motive of the picture, and while possessing a 
certain sweetness, is thin in colour, very flat, and 
completely out of tone with the landscape, which 
should be much darker. The cattle and figures 
introduced in the distance are rather pottering, and 
lacking in artistic intention in the result. 

' Old Bridge of Dee,' No. 157, by Mr. William 
Young, is a small drawing painted with evident 
appreciation for the architectiu-al structure and 
feeling of the old bridge. His ' Auld Ayr — TJie 
Twa Brigs,' No. 4, is slightly black and mannered 
in colour and lacking in subtlety. 

It is perhaps wise to remember that painting 
portraits of places is not art, artistic motive and 
impulse being of vital importance. 

Among other exhibitors are Messrs. T. A. Aitken, 
who has several drawings, of which ' Glencoe,' No. 
242, is powerful and spirited, though rather lacking 
in refinement of colour ; Alex. Macbride, who has 
.several very sAveet and pleasant drawings ; J. G. 
Laing, Wellwood Rattray ; R. W. Allan, whose 
' Dordrecht Cathedral ' is very interesting, bright, 
and sparkling in colour ; Andrew Black, Jos. Hender- 
son, David Murray, J. Denovan Adam, and P. Mac- 
gregor Wilson, and others. 

The o-eneral eflfect of the rooms has been made 


very pleasant by a skilful scheme of decoration. 

Above the pictures is a frieze of grey canvas, 
stamped with a design, rich and bold in form, and 
most simple and artistic in effect. 

Geokge Henry. 




E. BuKNE Jones, A.R.A. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 

THESE two typical works of kindred yet con- 
trasted idealists may be not inappropriately 
looked at, as their originals are now exhibited, 
together. For most people Burnc Jones is probably 
here seen at his best ; there is little of that high 
straining after symbolic interest, and none of that 
meditative pain wliich mark his more ambitious 
efforts ; what we have in this is above all things a 
skilful decorative design in wliich the results of 
long and thouglitful studentship in figure, drapery, 
and foliage are gathered up without any marked 
effort to transcend tlieni. Hence, although far less 
bold in conception and rich in colour than his adja- 
cent ' Sea Nymph,' this picture will be for most 
people all the more pleasing. Not only is the colour 
in the painter's gentlest and most familiar chord, but 
tlie harmonies and contrasts of line and sliadow and 
texture, in the ' Sea Nynijjh ' so sharp and startling, 
are here simple and unforced. Tlie luxuriant ever- 
green foliage crowding over the square panel edge, 
like serried lance-sheaves over a wall ; the misty 
grass below ; the lithe well-poised figure swinging 
lightly with the wind, its own free yet well-gathered 
lines almost leafy in their simple sweep and curva- 
ture ; again, the breadth and simplicity of the lights 
and shadows of the flesh and drapery, contrasted 
with the separate keenness of the individual leaves 
— all these and other resources of the designer are 
wrought into an effective and harmonious whole. 
Drawbacks may be freely granted, whicli tlie need of 
conventionalising cannot be permitted wholly to 
condone. The leaf-drawing becomes weak and some- 
what monotonous upon the right, and the exclu- 
sion of foreshortening gives excessive flatness. The 
tree thus becomes pressed, as it were, and the figure 
laid upon, not embowered within it ; while, despite 
the beauty of the drapery, its undisturbed perfec- 
tion of orderliness befits rather a princess upon her 
dais than a wood-nymph wild. 

Now, although the Philistines are comfortably 
assured that science has been wholly trimmed of her 
wings, and safely bound to the wheel of lower 
industries, she is in reality swiftly bearing us to- 
wards a new world of higher art. For the fairy 
tales, however we may grudge to believe it, are all 
absolutely true — not idle fancies, those long-for- 
gotten dreams, but prefigured generalisations all. 
Hence the botanists, whom everybody, whether 
Philistine or painter, still fancies mere academic 

Dryasdusts jargoning over mummy weeds, have this 
many a year been wandering down the world's forest 
glades no less deeply than the painter or even poet. 
So to them the Dryads are no more mere fainting 
echoes of Hellenic song, but have been seen anew — a 
multitude of living presences whose happy sun-fed 
sleep fills the leaves, and whose dreamy awakening it 
is that shapes and stirs tlie flowers. 

So it will be for later painters to see the Dryad 
fully in the open wood, and draw her with bolder 
and freer hand, with more exuberant colour ; to 
show us Flora rising from that changing foam of 
blossom which covers the earth as the waters cover 
the sea. In those days our Wood Nymph may seem 
but a dim shadow wrought by an early master ; yet 
it is much to have dreamed of her, more to have 
imaged her, in these dull days at all. 

But enough of what in another mood must seem 
mere ' vapid vegetable loves,' for the Rossetti draw- 
ing deals witli ideals of altogether higher order, albeit 
less completely expressed. Technical inferiority is, 
of course, clearly marked alike in the drapery and 
the figure — witness such obvious points as the mis- 
modelled shoulder, or the crude drawing of the 
hands. The imperfect primary education in accurate 
presentment of reality, the unattained mastery of 
technical resource, which so long retarded Rossetti's 
general influence, and still render him useless or 
hindersome to so many professed painters, are mani- 
fest here at a glance. Yet although truth be 
great, and skill precious, there is another road to 
art, and it is this man's historic merit to have re- 
opened it. Since the revival of learning the artist 
has been everywhere trained to begin with the dis- 
cerning intellect and its uncompromising delinea- 
tion of fact, next at best encouraged to presentment 
of this with due regard to aesthetic harmony. These 
given us, he seeks little more ; the faintest spark of 
feeling or fancy will suffice, and so painter and critic 
are usually content. But Rossetti began from the 
opposite side ; for him, as for a child, a drawing was 
neither primarily the recording of a fact nor the 
designing of something pretty, but the notation of 
imagination — a wholly different matter. There- 
after, of course, came as much technical grasp as 
solitary labour could win ; but the deficiency of this 
mattered far less than to the orthodox painter. 



' Tlie best in this kind arc but shadows,' and con- 
ditions even of accuracy and skill become of minor 
importance, when the work makes no claim upon 
our wall as an accomplished product, but only marks 
where its maker paused in liis vision and took foot- 
hold for fresh imaginative flight. Hence, and- hence 
only, the permanent value of this drawing ; it gives 
us a new human type, a strongly personal ideal of 
course, not a universal one, yet touching the uni- 
versal also in the noble fulness of its union of the 
flesh and spirit, in its saying as no painter had done 
since the Madonna vanished, that Love may be in- 
carnate in Womanhood, yet none the less also 
divine. See the stately head firm set upon its ivory 

tower, the grave wise eyes over full luscious lips, the 
broad and lofty brain covered by its dark dome and 
sweep of rippled hair. Strange she is, yet akin to 
us ; for she too has plucked tlie fruits of life with 
their mingled sweetness and pain. Yet this is no 
ordinary daughter of Eve, but a Sybil, and whether 
we think her fair or no, she will give her message : 
drawing aside the curtain of fresh possibilities, she 
still reconciles for us the claims of the Real and the 
Ideal with either hand. There is no other work of 
Rossetti's which puts more simply and clearly his 
masterthought within our reach. 

Patrick Geddes. 


'The Wood Nymph,' by Edward Burne Jones, A.R.A., has 
been reproduced by the permission of the owner, Mr. William 
Connal, jun., to whom are due our grateful thanks. ' SILENCE,' by 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, has been reproduced by permission of the 
owner, Mr. Thomas Carlile, to whom also we desire to express 
our sense of obligation. Both pictures are at present in the 
Glasgow Exhibition. ' Silence ' is a drawing in crayons executed 
by Rossetti in 1S70. This was the year of his greatest activity, 
for then he not only published his poems, but painted * Dante's 

Dream,' and a great number of smaller works. Mr. William 
Sharp thus briefly describes the * Silence ' drawing : ' With her 
right hand this figurative Silentia slightly raises the heavy curtain 
which may be considered significant of sleep, or of those places 
whereinto no sound ever breaks, and above her hangs up-gathered 
a muffled bell.' The drawing is No. 202 in Mr. William Sharp's 
Catalogue, and No. 279 in Mr. J. P. Anderson's Catalogue of 
Rossetti's Works. Ed. 


WE regret to note the death of Frank O'Meara, 
which took place at his father's house, Carlow, 
Ireland, on the 1 .5th of October. He died of malarial 
fever, contracted while engaged at his painting in France. 
He was thirty-five years of age, and had lived mostly 
in France since his twentieth year. At first he went 
to Paris to study, and spent some time in the studio of 
M. Carolus Duran ; but finding that he was not in sym- 
pathy with tlie work in the Paris studios, he soon went 
to live in the country. He was one of the earliest of 
British students to join the Barbizon School of 
painters. At Barbizon and at Gretz he studied nature 
for himself, not uninfluenced by the work of the great 
Barbizon men; but while adopting their principles, in 
their application he developed an individual style. He 
was quick to recognise the capacities for decorative 
landscape treatment in the plein-air development which 
has reached such special manifestations in the hands of 
Puvis de Chavannes and Cazin, and, in another way, in 
those of Lepage. O'Meara's work shows strong sym- 
pathy with the art of Cazin and Puvis de Chavannes, 
yet it is an individual expression quite his own. 

By the many British students v/ho have since gone 
to France, O'Meara was recognised as one who had 
early set out in the ' new movement,' which is now so 
wide in its influence — the movement towards a treat- 
ment of landscape with special regard to atmospheric 

planes, the various tones tlius searched out lending 
themselves to a strongly realistic, yet beautifully 
decorative treatment, in harmony with the modern 
spirit, which demands scientific truth, yet has not lost 
sight of Nature's loveliness, which is capable of noble 
pictorial treatment, without the extreme conventional- 
ism that some schools of painting have regarded as 

hi the Glasgow International Exhibition there is an 
excellent example of O'Meara's work — a large picture, 
hung in the Sculpture room — No. 1(55.5, ' Evening in the 
Gatinais.' Simple, broad, and true, it happily illustrates 
the aim of the younger painters of to-day — to combine 
realistic fidelity with decorative beauty. 

Owing to his long residence in France, O'Meara is 
comparatively little known to the public of this countiy, 
and but few of his pictures have been seen here. Yet 
his work is well known to the many artists who of late 
years have gone to France to study, and O'Meara has 
had a considerable influence in kindly encouraging and 
judiciously directing others in the path in art in which 
he himself was one of the pioneer men. It is a peculiar 
and significant testimony to the estimation in which 
his work is held, that it has nearly all been bought by 

O'Meara's untimely death is especially to be deplored 
in view of the fact that when art conditions are at such 




a low ebb in Ireland, one of the few men who might 
yet have done something to better these conditions has 
been taken away. It is almost needless to say that 
under existing art conditions in Ireland no artist could 
hope to achieve anything like the success which Frank 
O'Meara achieved in the more congenial, because more 
sympathetic, art atmosphere of France. There, as has 
been indicated, he became nothing less than one of the 

pioneers in the art movement of to-day. It was his 
hope, had he lived, to be enabled, in his native land, 
to devote himself, in the ripe years of his manhood, to 
doing something to better the art conditions of his 
country, and thus help to make it possible for an Irish- 
man to be true to art without the necessity of expatriat- 
ing himself 


ON the landing just lialf-way up the main stair- 
case at the Louvre, one's attention is arrested 
by a very beautiful and commanding figure with 
flying drapery and outstretched wings, every line 
and curve of whose form is expressive of motion, 
strength, and life. A goddess type, radiant with 
energy and absolute youth — sucli indeed she seems, 
this victorious 'Nike,' dating from the centuries before 
Christ ; fashioned by the wonderful hand and brain 
of some Hellenic sculptor, in all likelihood a pupil 
of the great Pheidias, in any case undoubtedly 
inspired by his creative genius. Does she not, in 
truth, seem to be of the immortal race, raised above 
human needs and weaknesses, as she literally enough 
is above the common clay, on this stone figurehead 
of some old-world trireme ? By whom was she 
fashioned, and for what occasion ? It is assumed that 
the statue was executed to commemorate a victory 
won off Salamis by Demetrius Poliorcetes somewhere 
about the year 306 b.c; but of the master nothing 
whatever is known, the breadth of conception, tlie 
style, dignity, and poetic truth alone serving to 
connect it with a period subsequent to the great 
Pheidian era, more akin, as Mr. Murray thinks, to 
that of the sculptures in the ' Museum,' the well- 
kno\ni ' Reliefs from Priene,' the frieze of Magnesia 
in the Louvre, and that of Pergamus in Berlin. As 
he admits, all these differ in important respects, yet 
nevertheless he contrives to detect a fundamental 
base for them all — a certain strain of realism in 
their greater energy of movement, which has been 
grafted, as it were, on the abstract generalisations 
of the art of the Periclean age — a racial resemblance, 
in short, which incorporates them in one great group 
but little removed in artistic perfection from that 
of the greatest period of Hellenic art. 

The figure is headless ; yet, guided by the design 
on some ancient coins of Demetrius Poliorcetes — 
whence the reconstruction of the marble, found in 
fragments, has been effected — we may surmise that 
the head was set on the bust in such a way that 

the fiice inclined upward and outward, following 
in the direction of the raised right shoulder ; for 
this and the play of the supple torso suggest that 
the hand and arm were raised; and probably too 
she held a trumpet in her hand, which was raised 
to her lips. 

Yet despite the headless condition of this beauti- 
ful figure, it hardly seems to lose in interest as other 
less abstract conceptions might and do. This may 
be in part due to the loveliness and dignity of 
physical form ; the technical splendour, as if the 
work were wrought by a Titan's hand ; in part also 
to that nobly idealised and generalised character of 
Attic art, which, in its foremost development, cul- 
minated in the achievement of a high abstract of 
mental and physical beauty, qualities which are 
nowhere more perfectly united than in the Venus of 
Milo, the Hermes of Praxiteles, or in those other 
mutilated, draped, and lieadless torsos by Plieidias 
at the Museum known as ' The Fates.' For they, in 
their recumbent grace, subtle and refined modelling 
of sinew, flesh, and bone, seem to be the embodi- 
ment of so much intellect, that when we have looked 
upon the wide-eyed calmness of the passionless heads 
of tlie Partlienon frieze, it seems almost possible to 
predicate from them the attributes of these. Not, 
however, that this implies that the head is not the 
dominant organ of the mass. Only that it, with 
the trunk and limbs, is of equal physical develop- 
ment, and part of an organic whole, whose parts 
maintain towards one another mutually dependent 
and harmonious relations, in which the physique is 
made to express the brain capacity of a healthily 
balanced noble type, as fully as it sums up the 
mental expansiveness of the sculptor himself. 

For the old Greek, gifted as he was with keen 
and single-hearted power of observation, interpreted 
mental forces and physical facts as he conceived of 
them, as things to be defined as good or ill, and 
massed by simple forms and general lines ; so that 
his projections become for us on that very account 



comparatively easy to understand, because they Hence it is, one must suppose, that we are 

cognisant of the dominance and will of the goddess 
by lier action and splendid form. For it is not as 
if there were here any complex web of ideation to 
unravel, such as one sees in that subtlest surely of 
all subtle works, the wonderful ' La Joconda ' of 
Lionardo, wliich answers one's closest study by an 
unfathomable smile, that lies as deeply in the 
shadowy lakes of her eyes as on her lips — a smile 
which bespeaks a consciousness as of tlie accumu- 
lated experience, not of a lifetime, but of centuries, 
and which fitly enough is environed by a mystery of 
mountain shapes, slow-moving rivers, and hurrying 
streams, that wind about and fret the rocky ways 
into fantastic jagged peaks and gnawing tongues of 
land, fading and receding by greyer tones into the 
canvas ; even the piercing summits of the mountains 
fading also, in their turn, into an obscurity of mist 
and space, typical of things past as of things to 
come — into which also those trembling waters mix 
and blend their currents. 

In truth there is none of the subtlety of the 
brilliant Renaissance painter in this majestically 
simple and powerful creation of the old Greek 
sculptor; this 'Nike' who stands there upreared as if 
against some cloud-filled tempestuous sky ; rather 
does she seem a part of the air and wind and the 
sea which once washed about the weather-beaten 
prow of the victor s galley as it roundeol the rocky 
promontories of tlie Rliodian coast. For the wind 
wliicli fills the sky seems to beat upon tlie concave 
spread of her extended wings, to sweep and rush 
about her breasts and forward-moving limbs, play- 
ing with the half-transparent draperies, and fluting 
out the folds into lissom curves about her flying 

The golden wall at her back, with its pictured 
iirmament of stars, less happy as a background than 
would be a space of open sky, yet illumes this great 
Victory witii a yellow glamour, making the marble 
flesh glow with life and faint colour, as if tlie dying 
sun liad touched it with his vivid fire before sinking 
beyond the luminous sea. Mary Reed. 

generalise the intellect, passion, and will of man as 
ably as his physical beauty is synthesised. 



EXISTING at our very doors, amongst our own 
people, and, I believe, peculiar to them, tliere 
is an art industry, for so it may truly be called, which 
is but little known to the outside world; its products 

are to be found only in the homes of the workers, 
and are not laid out in fashionable shop-windows 
to catch the eye of the tourist. This is the manu- 
facture of rugs — bed-rugs and floor-rugs — in the more 



remote districts of the Higlilands. The fabric is 
rough and coarse, but well adapted to its purpose ; 
the colouring is varied, and often very beautiful. 
Women card the wool and spin it into thick yarn 
on the picturesque old spinning-wheel : women carry 
on the knowledge from one generation to another of 
the various plants and trees from which delicate 
and artistic dyes are extracted : women weave the 
yarn into bed-covers and rugs, blending the colours 
in simple patterns at the cumbrous old-fashioned 
loom. The industry is already declining ; shop 
dyes are superseding the extract of native plants and 
roots ; cheap and gaudy materials are beginning to 
replace the durable homespun woollen, and one of 
our few remaining home arts will probably succumb, 
in a generation or two, to the ' advance of trade.' 
As a means of liveliliood not much can be said now- 
adays for tlie spinning-wheel and the handloom — 
machinery has driven them from the field; but as an 
adjunct to other industries, women may ply them 
still witii some advantage. In the intervals of 
household work, or in tlie long winter evenings, the 
old homely arts may still be remembered and pur- 
sued ; still our homes may be made beautiful and com- 
fortable by fabrics which tell, not of a mill-hand's 
drudgery, but of a thrifty woman's thought and fancy. 

Tiie lace-making industry, which, in spite of 
machine-made imitation, still employs so many 
women in other countries, seems never to have 
fairly taken root in Scottish soil. English and Irish 
laces are well known, but Scottish lace is unknown 
to fame, though tradition says the patterns of the 
fine Shetland shawls were copied from Spanish lace 
when some storm-driven vessels of the great Armada 
took refuge in the island ports. 

Beautiful reproductions of ancient Venetian and 
other point laces are worked in Irish convent-schools 
and in Irish cottage homes under skilled superinten- 
dence ; but though most kinds of needlework, neces- 
sary or decorative, are admirably wrouglit by Scottish 
hands, lace-making takes no place among the art 
industries of our women. The earnings of women 
employed in making the most rich and delicate lace 
are but small, but insignificant as is the daily wage 
of the worker, lace must, from the length of time 
necessary to produce it, remain one of the luxuries 
of the very rich, and it is not likely that tlie 
industry will spread to any extent. 

The question may now be asked. In which of 
these art industries is it most desirable for women 
to engage who are about to choose a profession .? 
And I would reply without liesitation tliat tlie art 
of design, demanding as it does the greatest intelli- 
gence on the part of the student, yields also the 

highest measure of success to those who attain pro- 
ficiency in it. Wlien combined with the practice of 
mechanical art, a knowledge of design places the 
worker at once on a higher level than those who can 
only follow tlie lines sketclied out by others ; and 
when studied in detail with a view to the require- 
ments of any special manufacture, design is in itself 
one of the most necessary and best paid of industries. 
Of the manual arts it matters little which is chosen ; 
let it be tlie one in which tlie greatest interest is 
felt. But whichever that may be, let no pains be 
spared and no time grudged in obtaining a com- 
plete mastery over it. Let tlie stigma of ' un- 
workmanlike,' or the faint praise of 'very well 
done for a woman,' be overcome by earnest 
thoroughness and steady application. Here we 
touch the chief difficulty experienced by women who 
wish to embark in one of these industries, viz. the 
difficulty of obtaining a sufficient training. This 
stumbling-block has been felt in other countries 
besides our own, and in Germany a society has been 
founded called the Lette-verein, whose object is to 
give women thorougli instruction in various arts and 
handicrafts by which they may earn a living. Tlie 
comparatively few wiio sliow an artistic bfent are 
tauglit to engrave on copper, to carve wood, to 
emboss leather or metal, to decorate pottery, and so 
on, while the many wlio have no aptitude for such 
pursuits are duly instructed in household matters. 
The greatest care is exercised in making the train- 
ing really serviceable by impressing the earliest 
rudiments of every industry firmly on the mind; 
each successive step is practised till tlie student is 
perfect in it, and advance is thus made sure and 
steady. The Society interests itself in obtaining 
employment for those of the students who attain 
proficiency in any branch. It bears a certain resem- 
blance to the Working Ladies Guild of London, 
but seems to have a wider and firmer base, and a 
more extensive field of operation. 

If women are not more largely employed in the 
different industrial arts than is the case at present, 
the fault is their own. Let a real proficiency in 
any brandi be once attained, and success will surely 
follow. Women often ask, If I learn such and such 
an art, is there any guarantee that I sliall obtain 
employment afterwards P I would answer, No one 
can guarantee you employment but yourself. Be 
you only ready to take what work is offered, and 
able to satisfy an employer's reasonable demand that 
it shall be well and punctually performed, and your 
hands will not long be idle. If there are any who 
doubt this, let them try ! 

C. P. Anstuuther. 




TO review the ordinary exhibition catalogue would 
seem to be as strange as to read a dictionary, but 
the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society in placing before 
the public a somewhat novel departure in the matter 
of exhibitions, have further supplemented such by the 
issue of a catalogue which is as unique as it is requisite. 
They have essayed the task of educating those of the 
public who visit the New Gallery into a right under- 
standing of what they are called upon to see ; an object 
which would not be altogether without its value could 
it be carried out in exhibitions other than that of the 
Arts and Crafts. 

The authorities of that exhibition tacitly assume 
that their visitoi-s require knowledge, and, judging 
from the way in which even those pseudo teachers ot 
the public, the art critics, have either seemed to fight 
shy of this exhibition, or have reviewed it by filling a 
column of their newspaper with a recluntffee of the 
catalogue, it would appear as if that assumption was 
not altogether unwarranted. Prefacing the catalogue 
proper with a series of short essays on the history and 
technique of the various handicrafts under review, a set 
of practical object-lessons is the result, and the casual 
visitor finds what would probably have been a dreary 
hour of monotony, converted into a visit full of informa- 
tion, and he emerges a wiser and certainly not a sadder 

In a short preface, the President of the Society, Mr. 
Walter Crane, in insisting upon the importance of the 
handicrafts, points out how, under our mechanical 
system, all sense of the personal element is lost. As 
the machine leads, so the people follow. Practically 
this is true, but after all the machine is but the servant 
of the producer, and if the design supplied be bad the 
issue is bad, but the means taken to produce are no 
factor in the transaction. Not for a moment can the 
ordinary production of the machine be defended, but a 
good deal could be done and is done by recognising 
the machine itself as a fact ; and if it be the spirit of 
the age it cannot be altogether ignored. 

All great missionary enterprises succeed only by 
accepting the conditions of life under which the people 
live to whom salvation is brought ; and the Arts and 
Crafts Society, as missionaries of a movement, might 
turn their attention to this side of the question. 

Of the enviable position the Society holds there can 
be no question. The difference between the ordinary 
manufacturer or middleman and the skilled designers 
and workers whose works are exhibited in the New 
Gallery lies in the fact that the latter fitly claim to be 
teachers of the public, whilst the former is usually the 
servant. The power capable of being wielded from 
this position is very great, and the education of the 
people will speedily mean the education of the manu- 

facturer. Meanwhile the people question not and have 
nothing to say in this matter. A little leaven will in 
time leaven the whole lump, but there is always the 
preparation of the ' sponge ' to receive even the yeast. 
The president fitly ends by calling attention to the 
series of papers which follow as being written by men 
whose names are associated with the subjects of which 
they treat, not only in the literary sense, but as actual 
designers and workmen. 

The principles which guide the practice and methods 
of Mr. William Morris are apparent in the paper on 
Textiles, which leads off the series. In the thirst for 
oi'iginality which prevails to-day, it seems to be lost sight 
of that the heritage of past work is ours, and to accept 
it and adapt it to our needs is but following the practice 
of all good designers at all times. If by the process a 
new style of architecture, and with it, of ornament, be 
evolved, such is simply a repetition of history. Viewed 
in this light, Mr. Morris's utterances on tapestry, 
carpets, and textiles generally, lose much of their 
apparent dogmatism. Take, for example, carpets. The 
principles which guide carpet-designing are seen at 
their best in the work of the old Persian designers, 
where fitness and beauty go hand in hand. Therefore 
let carpets be designed and coloured as are the works 
of the Persian masters. Should the public desire 
carpets whereon highly shaded rococo ornament glares 
in all the glory of aniline dyes, simply do not gratify 
the desire ; and when it is borne in mind that the 
public can only desire to have that which is in the 
market, the matter becomes less difficult than at 
first appears. 

This insistence upon the principles contained in the 
work of the past is apparent in the whole series of 
papers, though Mr. Walter Crane, in his essay on 
Decoration, would seem to include the man, and to 
demonstrate that the requirements for a decorative 
artist are not always and at all times met by the 
ordinary painter of easel pictui-es. Decorative painting 
exacts peculiar and special knowledge and training, 
and the present paramount influence of the purely 
pictorial painter is not always advantageous to the 
other Arts and Crafts. 

In the essay on Wall-Papers, which follows, more 
might have been made of the complete conquest and 
disappearance of the French designer in this branch of 
decoration, if for no other pui-pose than that of showing 
the absurdity of the notion, so prevalent among a large 
class of fabric-printers, that designs for such can only 
be had from France. 

That figures should not merely be 'stood about,' 
but be an integral part of the building they adorn, is 
the dictum of Mr. Somers Clark in his article on Stone- 
carving, and he might have illustrated his remarks by 


a reference to the Municipal Buildings in George 
Square, just as the same wi'iter in his essay on Stained 
Glass could have told his readers to visit the Cathedral 
at Glasgow in order to learn how not to decorate a 
church with that material. Altogether^ this part of 
the catalogue is an excellent idea well carried out. 
The public obtaining their art wares through the 
medium of the manufacturer, who more than often 
believes that that design is the best which sells the 
best, are here admitted, as it were, behind the scenes, 
and made sharers of those principles which, animating 
as they do the best work of past ages, are as much to 
be desired now as they were realised by the Greek, and 
followed by the mediajvalist. 

A casual inspection of the exhibits leaves an im- 
pression of the existence somewhere of a particular 
line of thought in the conception, and of action in 
the execution, which mark them as being the work 
of a school. This impression disappears when the 
objects are examined in detail, but the fact is that, 
whilst rigid adherence to first principles is insisted 
upon, each craftsman has been left free to give his 
individual fancy full play. Be a man ' Goth,' or be 
he ' Classicist,' provided he gives in his adherence to 
the aims and objects of the Society, his work is accepted, 
though a far healthier feeling is evinced in the desire 
of some of the members to work outside the Historic 
styles of ornament, and to endeavour, by a return to 
natural forms, to realise similar results. The out- 
come of all this is a collection of work which is 
neither common to our houses, nor usually seen in 
the windows of the tradesman, but is of that character 
which, stigmatised as ' sesthetic ' and ' artistic,' has 
nevertheless dui-ing the past twenty years completely 
revolutionised our whole system of interior decoration. 
That some of the efforts are not successful goes in the 
saying, but there is nothing really bad ; all are re- 
deemed so far by a recurrence to the salvation of first 

The woven and printed textiles are completely 
under the dominant influence of Mr. William Mon-is, 
and are carried out largely on the system of the 
use of usually not more than three tints either on a 
white or a self ground. The designs are naturalistic, 
with a fair sprinkling of adaptations from early Sicilian 
and North Italian textiles. This same designer, in his 
short paper, as above, lays down how carpets should be 
designed and coloured, and here is seen the practice of 
the theory in the hand-made ' Hammersmith carpets ' 
coming from his looms. Persian in feeling and design, 
they yet have a character all their own, and a com- 
parison with pin-e Persian can be made in a repro- 
duction of an example coming from the fii-m of James 
Templeton & Co., of Glasgow. 

Similarly, the class of wall-papers exhibited is an 
almost English creation, and is the result of the long- 
labours of Mr. Walter Crane and Mr. William Moms 
in that direction. They are surpassed by the work of 
no country, and though the former designer gives the 

credit of this to William Morris, there is little doubt 
of the strong influence of his own work, an example 
of which, 'Wild Woodnotes,' is a pastoral in paper. 
Furthermore, the use of the ornament of the various 
styles seems to have entirely disappeared, but has 
happily left us no cause to regret its absence. The 
works in decoration are shadowed by the personality 
of Mr. Burne Jones with its peculiar mannerisms. Mr. 
Heywood Sumner has, however, escaped far enough 
to give us an unique treatment of wall decoration in 
polychromatic 'scraffito,' and Mr. Walter Crane 
evinces quite as strong a personal feeling in his 
designs for mosaics and friezes, and in his effort to 
revive the art of ' gesso ' painting. A good example of 
this latter class of work is seen in the piano case 
designed by Burne Jones and decorated in gesso gilt 
on a green ground by Miss K. Faulkner. This piano 
is the property of, and lent by Mr. Alexander lonides. 
In no branch of art-work are the efforts of a strong 
school of young men more evident than in this 
department, though Mr. Lewis F. Day might give us 
something less slight than anything here shown, and 
Mr. Henry Holiday might execute an example of work 
which might look less like a study from the nude. 

Mr. Stephen Webb's remarks on furniture require 
exemplification by exhibits which are somewhat want- 
ing, and the 'cassone' of Mr. Burne Jones and' the 
hanging cupboard of Mr. Spencer Stanhope will have 
but a very indirect influence upon popular taste in 
such matters. 

The fictiles are largely imitative of the wares of past 
periods ; and present producers are troubling less 
about forms and ornamentation than about the imita- 
tion of the peculiar glazes which old ware pos- 
sesses. So far, success seems to have crowned the 
effort of Mr. W. de Morgan, and a splendid example 
of what a large firm of manufacturers can accomplish 
in the education of public taste is seen in the exhibits 
of Maw & Co., just as in wall-papers Jeffi'ey & Co. 
and Woollams & Co. have done similar praiseworthy 
work. Messrs Minton are tersely stated to have 
' three cases of pottery,' and the absence of the 
efforts of Doulton & Co. in art wares would imply a 
fault either on the side of that firm or on that of the 
Executive of the Exhibition. 

Many of the examples of metal-work look as if they 
had been taken in hand in the spare moments at the 
craftsman's disposal, or as a relief from more exacting 
strains. Noteworthy exceptions are the productions of 
Messrs. Longden & Co., but who might possibly do 
more to caiTy on the traditions of the moulder's box, 
first taught the world by the late Alfred Stevens. The 
pair of wrought-iron carriage gates by Robinson & 
Robson keep alive the spirit of the Georgian iron-work, 
and a brass and copper fountain by W. A. S. Benson, 
though suspiciously like a binnacle lamp, aflferds an 
example of the combination of different metals to obtain 
a pleasing effect. In a silver loving-cup by George 
Simmonds, the sculptor is slightly weak in its figure 



treatment ; and lastly, but by no means least, comes 
the balcony of W. Kellock Brown, which effort has, 
according to Mr. Walter Crane, discovered something 
very like a genius. Less anatomy in the figures would 
have kept them better within the framework of the 
design, but the treatment of the thistle leaf in the side 
panels is decidedly a revelation. 

The work under the heading ' Stained Glass ' is seen 
to better advantage in the cartoons for, than in the 
actual productions of, that branch of art. Of course 
there is always the difficulty of exhibiting this latter, 
but sufficient is shown to enable the visitor to form 
an idea of what is meant by the revival of glass-stain- 
ing. Mr. Burne Jones is largely represented, and Mr. 
Lewis F. Day, Mr. Hamilton Jackson ; and among firms 
Messrs. Campbell, Smith, & Co. and Messrs. J. & W. 
Guthrie, the latter with a most praiseworthy frame of 
domestic glass, are among the chief exhibitors, but the 
Arts and Crafts Society could have made the collec- 
tion more educative by showing a piece of the painted 
glass they condemn. 

Though the paper on book-binding is the most 
technical of the series, yet the specimens, both of that 

art and of printing, are too limited in number to allow 
an appraisement of their true value. Tradition weighs 
heavily upon efforts in this branch, and a cheap press 
means too hurried a production for the purposes of 
art. The machine-printed book covers of Lewis F. 
Day here exhibited are a proof of the acceptability of 
such to the authorities, and regret may be expressed 
that the firms of Field & Tuer and T. & A. Constable 
are not exhibitors. 

The strictly amateur element is confined to examples 
of needlework, though much of this rises into excel- 
lence ; and more than a passing notice might be given 
to the really beautiful specimens of illumination. Taken 
as a whole, the exhibition has signally succeeded in its 
objects : firstly, that of demonstrating the existence of 
the highest class of art work in our midst other than 
painting ; and secondly, of bringing before the public 
heart-whole efforts of craftsmen who are as truly 
sharers in the generic term ' artist ' as any follower of 
the purely pictorial side of art, but who, as employes, 
are compelled to use the medium of their employers' 
show-rooms to bring their unsigned productions before 
the public. F. Elliot. 


Royal Scottish Academy Life School.— Distribution 
of Prizes. — On the 19th of October, in the Libraryof the Academy, 
the annual distribution of prizes to Life School students took place. 
The attendance during the session, as shown by the Secretary's 
report, showed a distinct increase over that of the previous year. 
The prizes had been awarded as follows : — The Chalmers Bursary, 
W. Marshall Brown ; for the best drawing from the life, A. G. 
Sinclair ; for the second best, John Stewart ; Maclaine Watters' 
medal for colour, D. Noble ; extra prize, W. Milne ; the Keith 
prize for the best work by a student in the Exhibition, W. S. 
M'George. The Stuart prize will not be awarded till early next 
month, as the time for the designs being sent in has not yet expired. 

Decoration of Glasgow Municipal Buildings. — There 
has been a good deal of talk to and fro, and some notes and sug- 
gestions in the newspapers, about getting something done in this 
matter. Is nothing going to be done after all ? A lavish expendi- 
ture has been made on the Architecture. But Architecture is not 
the only art necessary to worthily complete these buildings. The 
interior walls should be decorated with frescoes ; and Glasgow 
would do a good service to art, and do honour to herself, by 
arranging that these frescoes should be carried out by some of the 
artists among her own citizens who have already demonstrated 
their capacity for such work. 

Mr. G. F. Watts, R,A. , has presented to the nation thirty- 
seven of his finest works, among them a number of his imagina- 
tive poems and allegories on canvas, besides many of his remark- 
able portraits of notable men These portraits will be a standing 
example of what can be achieved in portraiture by pure sincerity, 
when allied to insight into character. The collection at the Man- 
chester Exhibition demonstrated that in spite of a lack of manipu- 
lative power Mr. Watts had, by sheer insight and sincerity, pro- 
duced the finest portraits of our time. 

Portrait-Painting is a branch of art in which every one can 
at least have some interest. Intelligent understanding of what 

constitutes good portrait-painting is, however, a different matter. 
Public attention has been specially called to the subject by two 
recent lectures— one by Mr. Hubert Herkomer, R.A,, at Leeds, 
and another by Mr. Hany Furniss, at the Birkbeck Institute. 
Both lectures were pretty generally rej^orted in the daily papers. 

The Grosvenor Gallery Pastel Exhibition was opened 
on the 20th October. The exhibits number three hundred. They 
will be duly noticed. Meanwhile, could not the Glasgow Institute 
of the Fine Arts arrange to exhibit some of these pastels and others, 
to be contributed, in the forthcoming Spring Exhibition. 

Mr. Harry Furniss being himself a clever character-sketcher, 
with a turn for caricature, his lecture naturally dealt chiefly with 
the expression of character in portraiture. As a means of becom- 
ing thoroughly acquainted with the character of his sitter, he 
suggested that the artist should have long and intimate knowledge 
of him — to an extent which the exigencies of life would make quite 
impracticable. A man about to have his portrait painted might 
not find it convenient to be under continual artistic surveillance, 
and the painter might conceivably have other work to do than to 
haunt his intended victim for months beforehand. 

' It is not too much to say that a fashionable portrait-painter 
often receives ;!f900 for his name, and ;^ioo for the value of a 
picture, as a portrait — it is the artist's autograph with a dashed-oft' 
something attached.' So said Mr. Harry Furniss. 

Apropos, Professor Herkomer in the course of his lecture 
said, * I want to impress on you the necessity of being painted 
not necessarily by a portrait-painter. I can get ten young men, 
any one of whom would do a portrait for ^50 as well as a better- 
known man will do it for ^500.' Indeed, portraits by young men 
are really, as a rule, better, for they are generally better studied 
and more carefully wrought out. Whatever they may lack in 
artistic resource, and facility of execution, they usually more than 
make up for in downright sincerity. After all, sincerity has tlie 
charm that endures the longest. 




II" an unimaginative geologist were suddenly con- 
fronted in the street by a Pterodactyl from the 
Oolite, liis emotions could hardly be stranger than 
those aroused in the musician wlio finds a magazine 
article of no earlier date tiian last niontli declaring 
that the Wagner movement lias proved a bubble. 
Wliat do these unshapely old-world products here ? 
botli surprised persons may justly exclaim. The 
seas of change have long swept over their race ; a 
new spirit has breathed on the once perturbed waters; 
new lands have arisen bringing fortli things fairer 
to see, and of decenter manners. How, then, lias 
the law of evolution been evaded .'' The startled 
musician must seek his answer from Mr. J. F. 
Rowbotham, who stands sponsor to one survivor of 
the unfit — the Saurian of the Wagner floods. So 
far as may be guessed, Mr. Rowbotham cherislied 
the creature into life ten or fifteen years ago when 
a good many snappish members of the same species 
were about, then permitted it to lapse into a sort 
of preliistoric slime, where dreamless and dark it 
lay, until one fine morning, by a violent effort, it was 
rescued and led down the highways of an astonished 
world, with the help of the editor of the Nineteenth 

If this theory does not please, there is another. 
At a period not yet very remote Mr. Rowbotham 
was an interested observer of the activities, social 
and intellectual, that derived their stimulus from 
Wagner's personality and writings ; in his sojourn- 
ings he met a numerous apostolate spreading un- 
orthodox doctrine with a zeal not untouched by 
fanaticism ; he may liave taken up arms against tlie 
zealots, and got a little damaged in the combat. 
Then years pass and kindly oblivion wraps Mr. 
Rowbotham round. In the fulness of time he 
emerges, rubs his eyes, shakes up his faculties, finds 
no one quarrelling about Wagner, and promptly con- 
cludes that the whole thing was a portentous bubble, 
whicli has burst. The possibility that silence may 
mean consent does not strike him ; so lie proceeds 
to blow the bubble afresh in his own masterly fashion, 
j ust to show us how it looked. He restates the old 
charges in the old way ; he musters the original 
prejudices with the dew of freshness still upon 
them ; he restores in their pristine form the fantastic 
ideas once created in unprepared minds by the 
phrase the ' Music of the Future.' The result is an 
article having the rare value of a piece of ancient 
history written with all the force of living convic- 
tion. To the student of dead disputations it must 

be jiriceless. Imagine a contemporary of ficcini 
miraculously preserved to tell us to-day, with the 
fulness and veracity of an eye-witness, what the 
Paris of 1780 thought of Gluck : so may we gain an 
idea of the service rendered by Mr. Rowbotham. 
jMuch use it will be observed may be made of this 
inability to admit that the lying down of contro- 
vei'sial din occasionally signifies tacit acceptance of 
the thing once disputed. Let this only be pleaded : 
no one sliall arise to argue from the absence of daily 
asseveration that Queen Anne is dead that therefore 
that royal personage must be alive. 

Of course Mr. Rowbotham liad the option of a 
much liigher office tlian that of illustrator by lime- 
light of past ignorances and -antipathies. It is too 
soon by many a day to expect a final estimate of so 
potent a centre of assthetic disturbance as Wagner ; 
but it is not too soon to begin first studies. The 
sheer mass and momentum of Wagner's energies 
would have carried him to excess, as they have 
carried the initiators of every new movement ;, vio- 
lence of opposition begat violence of assertion ; and 
a rather well-stocked armoury of dislikes, personal 
and national, was matclied by a public dislike wliich 
had the advantage of concentration. Perhaps it was 
to Wagner's individual loss, and not ultimately to 
tlie great gain of the world, tliat he possessed a great 
faculty of literary analysis and construction ; able, 
not only to render himself in musical tone, but also to 
give a cool intellectual statement of the motive and 
purpose of the inner vibration. To his loss, because 
it fostered the impression that liere was a man with- 
out any native gift of melodious speech setting out 
ambitiously to argue and hector the world into 
accepting music which the ear resented. Mozart 
and the elders had piped but as the linnets sing, 
why should Wagner philosophise .'' Not to the 
world's great gain, because the main value of art 
theories is in tlieir demonstration ; and a few operas 
such as Trhtun would have liad more convincing 
power than any niuiiber of jiages of tlie grosser dia- 
lectic. A critic of Wagner, who made it his busi- 
ness to sift this dialectic without fear and witliout 
favour, would not go luirewarded. But Mr. Row- 
botham has not tlie stuff'of sane criticism in him. To 
put the matter mildly, he seems to labour under a con- 
genital incapacity to appreciate, or even to tolerate, 
great genius at the distance of less than a hundred 
years. If he could have admitted the possibility of 
a new impulse, such as he elsewhere acknowledges in 
history, being communicated to the musical art 



witliin liis own lifetime, he would Jiave put liiniself 
on the lines of a scientific criticism ; and once safely 
there, lie could hardly have missed the engagingly 
obvious fact that Wagner's music has conquered in 
Germany, being the work from which musical natures 
derive their keenest emotional excitation. ' A singu- 
lar aberration of musical art,' as Mr. Rowbotham 
respectfully tei-ms Wagner's product, it must indeed 
be which affords operatic managers abroad their 
mainstay. Hopelessly unable to winnow and weigh, 
Mr. Rowbotham falls back very artlessly on a theory 
of Wagner's character, and on a doctrine as to his 
true duty, that have only to be generally applied to 
form the double bar to all progress. In brief, the 
theory and doctrine are that Wagner was a man 
without the genius of a true artist ; miserably fail- 
ing in his first attempts to hit tlie taste of the day, 
he rushed to polemics, and asserted that there were no 
heroes before Agamenilion, and from that time forth 
all was madness. Now, quoth Mr. Rowbotham 
paternally, lie ought to have ' subdued the wilfulness 
of his thoughts, and taught them to travel in that 
groove which the cultivated world of the time had 
agreed to admire as the true one.' A naive recom- 
mendation in sooth ! AVhat is it but the advice 
of the typical country gentleman to those restless 
people who think the great world is no better than it 
should be — Don't move ; do to-day as the world was 
doing yesterday ; and in every emergency consult 
your grandmother. Happily for art, when an 
original nature appears he objects to make these 
domestic references. He brings the cultivated world 
in time to his feet, and equips it with a new stan- 
dard of cultivation. History wrongs Beethoven if 
he did not hold the opinion of his elderly female 
relative in profound disrespect. There was a public 
in Vienna of irreproachable taste, which found no 
satisfaction in his rebellion against the canons ; there 
were even great musicians who thought him a master 
of cacophony ; there must have been many who 
recommended him to consult his grandmother. And 
indeed the world has high sanction for treating 
musical genius cavalierly. To recall but one instance 
— did not Handel call Gluck an idiot, who knew no 
more of counterpoint than ' mein cook ' ? 

The truth is Wagner's music has found favour — 
just as Beethoven's found favour — by its own inherent 
attractiveness, proving once more that what justifies 
itself to the sense of a supreme musical genius will 
in good time justif}' itself to the average man. Mr. 
Rowbotham sets down the polemical side of Wagner's 
productivity to disappointment and spleen ; it is 
wholly unnecessary that he should thus foolishly 
theorise, because Wagner's written principles, while 
helping to the understanding of his work, never 

helped to its toleration where the musical speech 
was not in itself authoritative. In point of fact, 
Wagner's theoretical works have been extremely 
little read ; his own admission to this effect stands. 
It really appears as if Mr. Rowbotham had deter- 
mined to be the last Philistine ; and he is likely to 
succeed ; everything being possible to his triple con- 
servatism. Moreover, he seems especially fitted to 
resist the most alluring advances on the Wagnerian 
lines, having scrupulously preserved his dramatic 
sense from evolution. In its way that is a feat, but 
one fatal to critical pretensions ; for anything more 
certain cannot be than that progress on the lyric 
stage means greater recognition of the necessities of 
drama. Gluck did something to decry if not to 
abolish the pestilent tenor with his gymnastics, 
decorations, and notes shouted on tip-toe, keeping 
the stage waiting, and who had learned to lord it 
over poet, composer, stage-manager, and all. In the 
famous preface to the Alceste there is tlie germ of 
Wagner's method — the recognition of tlie principle 
that the function of music is the seconding of poetry 
by enforcing the expression of sentiment and the 
interest of situation, without interrupting action or 
weakening it by superfluous comment ; the use of 
instruments in proportion to the degree of interest 
and passion in the words ; the sacrifice of rules when 
necessary for effect. Precept, of course, was much 
ahead of practice. Gluck's addiction to a frigid 
classicism retarded his influence ; Mozart came with 
more instant magic, humanised the lyric stage, and 
carried the drama to the liighest point it has yet 
attained within the lines of formal music. Wagner 
appeared on tlie scene with a personality as amply 
endowed on the dramatic as on the musical side — 
a phenomenon in the history of music. There is no 
denying that had destiny ordered his course so, he 
might have become chief among the masters of 
spoken drama. Standing, then, in the line of 
musical development with tlie doctrine and practice 
of Gluck and the culture of the Beethoven orchesti'a 
in and behind him, what was tlie natural outlet for 
his creative energy ? Mr. Rowbotliam suggests that 
Wagner should have taken example by his betters 
and slaved in the domain of pure music, making the 
right choice of subjects, giving tonic and dominant 
their dues, and attending to tliematic development. 
So doubtless did the Rowbothams of Wagner's own 
day suggest. He united his gifts, instead, in pro- 
duction for the stage ; the distinguishing aim, stated 
concisely but not completely, being to render action 
associated with music at least as truthful as action 
in ordinary drama. Wagner's merits apart, what 
has been the effect on the critical standards of to- 
day ? Poverty of operatic production limits tests, 



but do we give the palm to the musician who has 
^vorked with a loosely-liung plot, converts the stage 
every few minutes into a mere concert platform, and 
the orchestra into a large agency of accompaniment? 
Or is it not the case that opera is subjected to 
as severe an ordeal from the standpoint of the 
dramatist as from the standpoint of the musician ? 
There seems to be but one demurring person — that 
is Mr. Rowbotliam. He is still content that the 
chorus should be arranged in a semicircle, permitted 
to make an occasional automaton-like jerk of the 
hand, otherwise strictly attending to the delivery 
of the music which is their proper and conventional 
business. He prefers that the tenor should leave 
his mistress at the back of the stage, take up a 
position at the footliglits, and pour fortli liis im- 
passioned sentiments to the audience who have paid 
to hear him. And so on through the whole archaic 
method ; Mr. Rowbotham finds it natural, and there 
an end. He simply does not realise that a dramatic 
sense has been formed in audiences who are now 
finding infringements of the logic of drama as 
ridiculous or as painful as false notes are to an 
ordinarily fastidious ear. 

It is never wise to take on his own terms an 
artist's statements of his motives and ideals, but 
Mr. Rowbotham will not even accept Wagner's 
performances. Had he chosen to be reasonable 
instead of frenetic, he might have shaped a criticism 
helpful to Wagnerians and useful for general edifi- 
cation. It is not necessary to salvation that one 
should believe the Trilogy in its complete form to 
be immortal ; the conditions gf time and space are 
against it; the exclusiveness of its appeal to the 
Teutonic genius also argues impermanence. Nor is 
it an article of faith that Wagner's system of 
aesthetics with its wider sociological extensions is 
impregnable. Wagner was by no means moderate 
in his claims, and the future will have to discount 
them. Mr. Rowbotham's oifence is in slumping 
Wagner's whole work as extravagance in aim and 
nothingness in result, originating in audacity and 
proceeding in ill-temper. He crows, for example, 
over Wagner's ambition to be known as a poet 
rather than as a musician. A fair-minded critic 
would have asked. What of that 't Milton, as 
all know, was less in love with Paradise Lost than 
with another poem which the world sets much less 
store by. Goethe was proud to think that the world 
would remember him, not as a poet, but as the author 

of a theory of colours now known to be three-parts 
error. Such curiously awry personal estimates and 
revelations are to be utilised in the all-round sum- 
ming up of character, not for the belittling of 
specific achievement. In the same narrow spirit, 
and at no small length, Mr. Rowbotham quotes 
passages of declamation from Tristan, demanding 
triumphantly, Is this jargon poetry ? Well, it is, 
and it is not. It is poetry if a good half of Words- 
worth's ponderous preachments be entitled to that 
description. It is not, if Tennyson's formal perfec- 
tion or Browning's complexity be vital constituents 
of poetry. There is no obligation to accept Wag- 
ner's librettos as fine literature for enjoyment in the 
quiet of the study ; it is enough that they are a 
sufficiently poetised material containing the right 
quality and quantity of ideas for serving along 
with music as a vehicle of emotion. But with what 
can Mr. Rowbotham compare them ? With the 
jingles set to airs for brigands, roystering soldiers, 
and the other picturesque riffraff of Italian opera ? 
One, indeed, is constantly at a loss to know where 
Mr. Rowbotham finds his standards. He speaks of 
the 'little' opera of Lohengrin. Where is the 
larger overshadowing work outside this charla,tan of 
a composer. Music, he tells us, has gone one way, 
Wagner another ; and the musical enthusiast an- 
xiously searches among the giants of to-day to find 
the man of might who has outstripped Wagner, or 
has even escaped his influence. Wagner, we are 
assured, had not the genius to work within the lines 
that satisfied his predecessors, and we are driven to 
ask where, in respect of mere musical accomplish- 
ment, there is evidence of a greater abundance of 
ideas and of richer fertility in their management. 
And lastly, one wants to know in what quarter to 
find, outside the productions of this great arguer 
and poor artist, an equal number of noble concep- 
tions nobly sustained. It is the sovereign virtue of 
Wagner — the splenetic musical iconoclast — that 
every part of his work is impregnated with thought, 
so that one may turn to it again and again, and 
still depart rewarded. But this cannot appeal to 
Mr. Rowbotham. He does not desiderate any 
application of intellect to the work of imparting 
vividness and consistency to the lyric stage, and 
making the theatre the home of the unified arts. 
His heart is with the tenor at the footlights, and 
with composers who do not agitate the world. 

T. Caiilaw Maiitin. 





BEFORE entering upon our regular correspond- 
ence concerning present musical life in Ger- 
many, we tliink that the readers of the Scottish Art 
Revieio will be interested in a general account of the 
history of music as it has been cultivated in the 
ancient town of Leipzig. The name of Leipzig is 
associated in the minds of most people witli its fairs, 
its book and music trade, its Conservatorium, its 
Gewandhaus Concerts, and possibly even with its 
larks ! The latter we may dismiss from the list, 
while duly appreciating their songs ; seeing that 
there is no longer the danger of their being de- 
stroyed to satisfy the appetite of the gourmand, 
they having been placed under the protection of tlie 

The Gewandhaus Concerts and tlie Conservato- 
rium must be first noticed, seeing that these consti- 
tute the centre of musical activity at Leipzig, and 
to some extent the musical life of Germany also. 
The institution of the concerts is ancient, the first 
dating as far back as November 1781. Their origin 
may be traced to the year 1701, when Telemann is 
said to have founded the ' Collegium Musicum,' tlie 
conductors of its concerts having been — from 1705- 
1715,Melchior Hoffmann ; 1715 to 1719, Joh. Gott- 
fried Vogler ; 1719 to 1729, Balthasar Schott ; 1729- 
1736, Johann Sebastian Bach ; 1736-1746, Gerlach ; 
1746-1781, Johann Friei, and others. These concerts 
afterwards gave place to those of the Gewandhaus, 
to the first of which allusion has already been made. 
The programme of this concert was as follows : — 

Part 1st. 
Symphony by Jose|)h Scliraidt. 
Hymn, set to music by Reichardt. 
Concerto for Violin, played by Herr Berger. 

Part 2nd. 

Sympliony by J. S. Bach. 

Aria by Tacchini, sung by Madame J. Podleskar. 

Symphony by C. W. Wolff'. 

The end and aim of tliese concerts from tlie first has 
been a serious one. By some tlie management may 
have been considered to be too conservative in its 
character. But this accusation is unjust in face of 
the fact that tlie Gewandhaus never closes its 
doors to any productions of real merit, and has 
brought them into publicity, regardless of any pre- 
conceived opinion that may have been opposed to 
them. The statistical reports more than confirm 

this assertion ; although there are those who com- 
plain that tlie compositions of Wagner, Liszt, and 
Berlioz have not had that prominence given to them 
which their merit ought to have secured. For our 
own part, our opinion quite accords with the direc- 
torate in the course they have taken ; for it must be 
borne in mind, in reference to Wagner, that he 
wrote little which was adapted for the concert-room, 
while all his works, with the single exception of Par- 
sifal, are very frequently given at the Opera House. 
With regard to the artistic value of the programme 
music of Liszt and Berlioz, no satisfactory conclusion 
has yet been arrived at by musical critics, and we 
may wait a long time before the question will be 
decided between the directors of the Gewandhaus 
and the defenders of the new German School. Never- 
theless, it must be borne in mind that we find 
Wagner's music has been performed some fifty times, 
while the name of Liszt occurs still oftener on the 
programme, and it was only last winter that we 
heard the overture to King Lear by Berlioz, and a 
year before that the Corsair by the same com- 
poser, while his symphony Harold in Italy has 
been repeatedly performed. 

Returning to the history of the Gewandhaus Con- 
certs, when under the direction of Johann Adam 
Hiller, we find the orchestra is composed of six first 
violins, six second violins, three violas, four basses, 
two flutes, two oboes, two flagiolets, two horns 
and trumpets, and cymbals. Notwithstanding tlie 
modest pretensions of this assemblage, they appear 
to Jiave entered at once into the study and perform- 
ance of the most celebrated works of the day both 
for orchestra and chorus, introducing also botli 
vocal and instrumental soloists, amongst whom ap- 
pears the name of the distinguished Corona Schroter. 
The composers who in that day were most esteemed 
were Hasse, Naumann, Schickt, Phil. Em. Bach, 
Rolle, Cimarosa, Tomelli, Pergolesi, Gretry, Paisiello, 
Piccini, Salieri, etc., etc. From 1785 to 1810 the 
concerts were conducted by Schickt (cantor of the 
Thomaschurch). Under his direction music was 
performed by Campagnoli, Aug. Eberhard, Muller 
(known as Caprice Muller), Dotzaner, Dussek, 
Fredricli Schneider, and others, and we soon notice 
the now familiar names of Haydn, Mozart, Beet- 
hoven, Cherubini, Paer, Reiche, A. Romberg, Mehul, 
Spontini, Neukonim, etc. Mozart himself gave a 
concert on Tuesday, May 12, 1789. Besides other 
works performed on this occasion was his Symphony 



in D Major (without the minuet). Rochlitz relates 
a curious httle incident which occurred at the re- 
hearsal. Mozart displayed the most determined 
energy in his efforts to preserve the tempo, and 
whenever the instrumentalists retarded, he stamped 
the measure so violently witli his foot tliat one of 
his shoe buckles fell to pieces ! To tliis day the 
symphony is called in Leipzig the ' Buckle Sym- 
phony,' and we have been told tliat it is still played 
from the same copies of the parts that were used on 
that occasion, and one of the first-violin copies is 
said to contain a remark confirming tlic trntli of 
tjiis incident. 

From 1810 to 182T T. P. C. Schulz occupied the 
position of conductor. Under his guidance de- 
menti played, and Mendelssohn's name first appears 
in connection with the performance of his own Sym- 
phony in C Minor, printed as 'Opus 11.' 

From 1827 to 1835 Pohlenz, tlie composer of the 
well-known song, ' Der kleine " Tambour Vert," ' 
conducted the concerts. Under his auspices Clara 
Schumann, then Clara Wieck, made her first 
appearance. In the year 1835 Felix Mendelssohn 
Bartholdy rose to the zenith of his popularity, and 
with him as conductor the universal renown of the 
Gewandhaus Concerts begins. He was the first who 
conducted orchestral works from the desk, with the 
baton. Hitherto tliey had been directed by the 
Concertmeister from the first-violin desk, with a 
violin bow, and before that froni the clavicembalo. 
Under Mendelssohn's regime we encounter for the 
first time the names of Schumann, Gade, William 
Sterndale Bennett as composers. Few men were 
more fitted for the post of General Director than 
Mendelssohn ; nevertheless, he disdained the easy 
fame which may be gained by learning orchestral 
works by heart, so as to be able to conduct from 
memory. So remarkable was his capacity in this 
respect, however, that he was said to be able to 
write whole orchestral works in score from memory ! 
Alfred Doiff'el, in describing his powers as a pianist 
in his History of the Gewandhaus Concerts (to which 
we are indebted for the information contained in 
this sketcli), exclaims, ' How gloriously he rendered 
the Liedcr ohnc Worte ! How magnificently and 
grandly he revealed to us the genius of Mozart and 
Beethoven ! ' 

David took the place of conductor for a short 
time, but the post did not suit him ; he was, more- 
over, missed as an excellent Concertmeister, and 
Mendelssohn again resumed the baton. In tlie year 
1843 Mendelssolni was called to Berlin, and his place 

was filled by Ferdinand Hiller. During his director- 
ship we first hear the name of Carl Reinecke, tlie 
present conductor of the Gewandliaus Concerts. He 
began his career as a pianist, and it is interesting to 
notice that he made his debut on the same day, and 
at the same concert, as Joachim. In less than a 
year Hiller left Leipzig, and his place was filled by 
the young Niels W. Gade who directed alternately 
with Mendelssolin for a short time. 

From 1848 to 1860 Julius Rietz held the position 
of Director, and proved himself well able to sus- 
tain the high reputation which by this time the 
orchestra had attained. 

AVe now meet with the names of Johannes 
Brahms, Carl Reinecke, Bargiel, Albert Dietrich, 
and other composers of the present day, whose fame 
is known and acknowledged. 

It was wlien Rietz removed to Dresden in 1860 
that the present conductor, Carl Reinecke, assumed 
tlie direction of these concerts, and he has held the 
position for twenty-eight years, being longer than 
any of his predecessors in office. He has introduced 
works by Volkmann, Max Bruch, Hermann Goetz, 
Brahms, and others. Under his direction the con- 
certs have risen so high in popular estimation that 
a new concert-room has become necessary. The 
new Gewandhaus, which has now been in use for 
four years, is a magnificent edifice, and as regards 
acoustics is said to be quite unequalled by any other 
in existence. The present orchestra consists of twenty 
first violins, twenty second violins, twelve violas, ten 
'cellos, eight basses, so that it numbers nearly ninety 
artists. Twenty-two concerts are lield every winter. 
These include four clioral concerts. Tlie main part 
of the performances consist of a symphony and an 
overture, but other forms of music are also intro- 
duced, which give additional interest to the wjiole. 
Besides these concerts there are ten evenings for 
chamber music. The members of the orchestra 
have to undergo a rigorous examination previous to 
their admittance, and have then to stand a year of 
probation previous to membership. Amongst them 
are to be found men of very high talent, such as 
Henri Petri, the Concertmeister. Klengel Schrodu 
and Schultz, violincello players, Hinke, oboe player, 
Gumpert, horn, etc. ; and when we add that at the 
desks of the first and second violins there stand 
many young artists wlio can play with ease the 
violin concerto by Joachim, it will be easily under- 
stood that the assembly represents no ordinary 
amount of musical knowledge and talent. 




TRISTAN AND ISOLDE' is the one of all 
Wagner's operas which has the ' power 
over tears.' The sad faces of the lovers look out 
from the canvas less shadowy than those whom 
Dante saw, more noble than the two who live in 
Tennyson's ' Guinevere.' Fate is tlie keynote, and 
among tlie rocks of Fate's hungry wliirlpool — 'more 
dark than the wide sea's womb' — all tlie love, all 
the longing, is crushed in niglit. 

The poem was finished in 1859. The music was 
performed at Munich under Bulow, some years after 
it was written, in 1865. 

The Vorspiel is based on the expression of 
' Sehnsuclit,' a word which is only imperfectly trans- 
lated by ' yearning.' 

' Sehnsucht' Motive. 










Tlien come the few notes which tell of the first 
time Tristan's eyes met those of Isolde. These flow 
on into the tale of their love, their fate, their 
defiance of death, and the Prelude closes pp. witli 
the unsatisfied notes of longing with wjiich it began. 

The first act shows Isolde with her maid, Bran- 
gane, on the ship which Tristan is steering to Corn- 
wall, tlie realm of liis uncle and benefactor. King; 
Mark. Tristan stands at the helm with a set, 
white face, and Isolde's name burning into his 
heart. For he, ' the soul of honour,' had not felt 
at liberty to woo the lovely Irish Princess for him- 
self, bound as he was in gratitude to King Mark, 
and stained with the blood of Isolde's kinsman, 
Morold, whom he had slain in single combat. 
Isolde, won in the blunt old fashion for the Kine", 
feels cruelly wronged by Tristan's conduct. She 
tells Brangane how she had discovered the slayer of 
lier betrothed kinsman in the wounded stranger 
' Tantris,' who had come to the palace to be healed 
by her mother's well-known liealing art, and how 
her uplifted sword had fallen when tlie stranger's 
eyes were fixed on hers instead of on the threatening- 
blade. She now summons Tristan, and when he 
offers her his sword to avenge on his unprotected 
breast the deatli of Morold, she demands instead 
that he drink ' Expiation ' (Slihne). He, under- 
standing her intention to mix poison in the cup, 
agrees to embrace death ; but when he has drunk 
only half the cup, Isolde snatches it from him — 

' Traitor, wouldst tliou here also deny my right .''' — 
and drinks the rest. Having by this act silently 
confessed their mutual love, they stand looking in 
each other's eyes and await death. But the faith- 
ful Brangane has substituted the ' Love Potion ' for 
the ' Death Potion,' has prepared lifelong misery 
stead of sharp, kind death, and the passion which 
grows in their eyes is henceforth to overmaster them 
and ' to lead these twain to tlie life of tears and 
fire — to the lifeless life of night.' 

' Each on each 
Hung with strange eyes, and hovered as a bird 
Wounded, and each mouth trembled for a word : 
Their heads neared and their hands were drawn in one, 
And they saw dark though still the unsunken sun 
Far through fine rain shot fire into the south ; 
And their four lips became one burning mouth.' 

The second act glows with passion from the 
beginning to the end. The Introduction pour- 
trays Isolde's impatient expectation of her lover. 
She is now in King Mark's castle, but the Court is 
out hunting witli the King — all save Tristan, who 
only waits the extinction of Isolde's torch to fly to 
her arms. The night draws do%vn, the hunting- 
horns die away in the distance, and in spite of 
Brangane's entreaties and warnings, Isolde seizes the 
torch. ' Even were it my life's light thus would I 
quench it, smiling.' The duet, or rather the series 
of duets, which follows, is pitched in an ever more 
impassioned tone, and the intensity is only relieved, 
as in mere physical exhaustion, by the soothing- 
slumber motive, and by tlie song wliich 
sino-s on her watchtower. 



Motive. I 




















The second last duet is formed of the ' Dedication 
to Death,' the only release the hapless lovers may 
look for, and infinitely pathetic are the notes in 
which the words find expression. 

stiir - ben wir gar 



/} 1, 1 1 

E - 


ein - ig oh - ne 




2 i • 





l-S- |_I^^,,,^ ,^_3 

to - geth 

with • out 

The mad passion of the last duet is interrupted at 
its height by the return of Mark, who has been 
informed of the treachery of his friend and hero. 
Though he knows nothing of the Fate in whose 
hands the lovers are as clay, his chief feeling is 
a wistful disappointment in his cherished ideal, 
Tristan, and it is Melot, the betrayer, whose sword 
is stretched out against the unguarded breast of the 
friend for whom he had feigned unbounded admira- 
tion — 

' Melot smote aright 
Full in the wound's print of his great first fight.' 

Mark is avenged, and Tristan is carried home to 

The third act is introduced by a new form of the 
' yearning ' motive, dark with the death which is to 
be the lovers' expiation. 




- n 





delirious, and raising himself from his couch, he tears 
the bandage from his wound— 

' " Iseult"— and like a death-bell faint and clear 
The virgin voice rang answer — " I am here." ' 

But she is only just in time to pillow his head on 
her breast and to catch the last faint breath which 
dies away in ' Isolde.' 

'And ere her ear might hear her heart had heard, 
Nor sought she sign for witness of the word ; 
But came and stood above him newly dead, 
And felt his death upon her ; and her head 
Bowed, as to reach the spring that slakes all drouth, 
And their four lips became one silent mouth.' 

Brangane has told King Mark of the potion, and 
how hers was the blame. The generous king has 
taken sliip and hastens after Isolde, to assure her 
and Tristan of liis forgiveness ; but Kurwenal in his 
despair only sees the avenger, and, single-handed as 
he is, tries to defend the castle gate. Melot is the 
first to force an entrance, and pays the penalty to 
the old henchman's sword. Kurwenal falls at last, 
and drags himself to die beside his master's dead 
body. Isolde wakens under Brangane's care from 
her swoon, and raising her head a little she begins 
that wonderful ' Death Sonsr ' which Wagner has 
surely drawn from the fountain-head of tears. The 
unaccustomed moisture stands in not a few eyes as 
the lovely girl, in notes which we heard in- the second 
act as the ' Dedication to Death,' pours forth the 
death of her broken heart at the altar of her dead 
love. The curtain falls as she sinks lifeless in Bran- 
gane's arms. 

Such is the story which has attracted poets of all 
ages, and which has been told in our own times with 
various modifications by Matthew Arnold, by Swin- 
burne (from whom I have drawn my quotations), 
and, with all the added glory of music, by Wagner. 

At times there comes from the seashore the melan- 
choly strains of a shepherd's pipe, which is to give 
warning of Isolde's arrival. Tiie faithful Kurwenal 
has sent a trusty messenger to beg her to come, ' for 
her art alone can cure the wound.' Tristan, lying- 
in the courtyard of his deserted castle in Brittany, 
hungers with the longing of a dying man to see 
once more the sweet face of her who is his life. 
This scene is, indeed, rather long and exceedingly 
difficult, but it serves to relieve the tension of 
passion and to prepare the audience for tiie last 
scene. Tristan's dying eyes see Isolde's ship before 
the changed and joyous notes of the shepherd's pipe 
carry the tidings to Kurwenal, who hastens down 
to the shore to meet the Princess. Tristan becomes 

Frau Sucher, from the Hamburg Opera — she who 
sang Eva at Baireuth, — chose this opera to appear 
in at her debut on the Berlin stage, where she is now 
engaged for a few months. The veteran Wagner 
singer Albert Niemann played Tristan ; and though 
his magnificent voice has lost its power (he is nearly 
sixty years of age), it is still true as steel, and his 
acting goes very far indeed to make up for all 
defects. The difficult death scene at the beginning 
of the last act was splendidly rendered. Frau 
Sucher has a sweet pure voice, and acts well, but 
she is not so ' intense ' in her acting as Fraulein 
Malten of Dresden, nor is her voice so rich. Indeed, 
taken as a whole, tlie Dresden performance of 
Tristan can only be equalled, and perhaps excelled, 
at Baireuth, where it is to be given next year. Such 



a pair of singers as Praulein Malten and Herr 
Gudehus will hardly be found elsewhere, and the 
orchesbra and staging leave nothing to be desired — 
the violins especially are the realisation of the 
dreams and the eitbrts of all musicians from the 
Cremona makers to Joachim and Sarasate. 

The Berlin Opera House cannot compare for a 
moment with that of Dresden. In the former every- 
thing looks tawdry and confined. In the box where 
I sat (3d Rang) I could not stand upright, and 
those who sit in the fourth Rang can touch the roof 
of the house with their hands ! The art of how not 
to ventilate is carried to the pitch of perfection, and 
that is no joke in a German summer. 

In view of the less abusive parts of Mr. Row- 
botham''s article in the Nineteenth Century of 
last month, it may be well here very shortly 
to speak of the distinctive work Wagner has 
done for opera, and the objections raised to his 
compositions. In the first place, he has made all 
incoherent plots like that of the Magic Flute, and 
all senseless ones like that of Don Giovanni, im- 
possible. Even at the risk of tiring his audience, 
as he certainly does, for example, in the Rheingold, 
he only allows a pause where dramatic unity per- 
mits — unlike that between the acts in Fidello, where 
the audience has twenty minutes' grace to drink 
beer and smoke or walk while Rocco and Leonora 
descend a flight of steps. Lohengrin and the 
Meister singer, again, gain greatly by the action 
being confined to two days. The almost total 
exclusion of 'airs' («o< melody) — the natural 
outcome of Wagner's method — is a great bar to the 
popularity of his operas in England ; and yet it is 
the English in Germany who are his most enthusi- 
astic supporters. In short, Wagner's attempt to 
bring back the opera from its aberrations, and to 
lead it on the way to realise the conception of its 
founders, may be said to be now successful. There 
is much to object to, much to criticise ; but his 
operas have a unity, a coherence, and in general a 
human interest which are only too absent in the 
magnificent works of his great predecessors. 

This is not the place to talk of his tone-painting, 
his orchestral colouring, or the intimate relation 
between words and music, both alike his own work. 
That belongs to a more strictly musical criticism. 
But I should like to say a word about the question 
which is so regularly answered in the affirmative by 
Wagner's opponents, and is often left unanswered 
by his supporters, 'Does the Wagner style injure 
the voice ? ' Madame Patti, for example, says 

' Yes,' and intimates that though her ambition 
would be to sing 'Elsa' in Lohengrin, she would 
only do it the year before she retired. And she 
would then probably have every reason to retire. 
Her voice is not fitted for such a role by nature or 
education, and it would be impossible for her, at 
the end of her artistic career, suddenly to enter on 
a new and difficult path with any chance of success. 
She would make a charming Rhine-Maiden or a 
Flower-Maiden, but Elsa, Eva, Brunnhilde, Isolde 
— danke schon. I have it on the best authority — 
that of Frau Materna, who has sung Wagner for 
seventeen years, and Wagner only for twelve ; of 
Herr Gudehus, who has made Wagner his special 
study for fifteen years ; and of Fraulein Malten, the 
most fascinating of all the army of Wagner singers, 
who has sung Wagner for thirteen years — that with 
suitable training, which is pre-eminently necessary, 
the voice should be able to undertake the work with 
no more damage than can be detected in the singing 
of these renowned artists. 

I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity 
of a long conversation with Fraulein Malten about 
Wagner and his music. She considers her ' Kundry ' 
(Parsifal) her most successful impersonation. Frau 
Cosima Wagner said that never had Kundry been 
so performed as Fraulein Malten had performed it 
this year. Curiously enough, the next character she 
chose as her favourite was Elisabeth (Tannhuuse?-) 
— the first and the last of Wagner's feminine 

She takes her stand with those who hold that it 
is necessary to enter wholly into the character which 
it is intended to set forth, and says that the emotion 
which is so apparent in her acting, and which is the 
secret of its charm, is actually and keenly felt by 
her, and moves her to real tears. Those who have 
seen Jier pleading for Tannhauser's life, or praying 
for his salvation ; timid and sorrowing in the second 
scene of Lohengrin, or caressing and doubting in 
the third act ; full of exuberant life as we see her 
first in the Walkiire, or crushed to the earth as in 
the last act ; cruelly tried in the Gotterdammerung, 
and swift to self-sacrifice for love's sake ; but most 
of all, I think, when she raises her head from Tristan's 
dead body, and compels the emotion of the whole 
assembly as of one heart — those who have seen her 
in these scenes cannot believe otherwise than that 
it is Elisabeth, Elsa, Briinnhilde, Isolde who lives 
before them. 

FiiANKi.ix Peterson. 

Berlin . . . Dresden, Sefl. iSSS. 




AS a Scotchman, it is impossible not to feel 
thankful that the manufacture of 'English' 
song is not carried on to any extent worth speak- 
inff of north of the Tweed. Yet these sonars find 
a ready enougli sale in all our large towns, and this 
is not so satisfactory. 

It is the writer's privilege, or fate, to be obliged 
yearly to wade through scores of such ditties, and 
anything more insipid than the words, and more 
worthless than their musical setting, it would be 
difficult to conceive. Rarely does one come across 
a song not hopelessly commonplace, words inane 
and full of false sentimentality, the music utterly 
colourless, showing no depth of feeling, and some- 
times a very superficial acquaintance with the ele- 
mentaiy rules of musical grammar. 

Most of the songs come under one of the follow- 
ing categories — Sentimental, Narrative, or Nautical. 

The greatest number belong to the first category, 
and when not wholly unintelligible — at least to 
ordinary minds — are masterpieces of insipidity. 
Take the following lines as a sample : — 

'You love me not, or else while I am yearning, 

You could not stand, with folded hands, apart, 
With cold, calm eyes, that once with tears were burning, 
Tears of wildXove against my beating heart.' 

Everything in these sentimental songs becomes 
' icilcl.^ We have wild love, wild j)nssion, icild remorse. 
In fact there are very few true love-songs written 
nowadays, and the attempt is made to make up for 
lack of feeling by vehemence of diction. It would 
be easy to give samples ad infinitum of this style of 
writing, but it is familiar to us all. These ditties 
are sung a great deal in London society. They are 
sung by languishing gentlemen to languishing ladies, 
or ince versa, the scene being anything but calcu- 
lated to give the casual visitor a favourable impres- 
sion of the influence for good exercised by ' Society,' 
on music. The narrative songs are as a rule all of 
one pattern. They chiefly deal with poor friendless 
orphans. The poor creatures are usually carried up 
to heaven by an angel sent down for that purpose. 
The coming of the angel, in nine cases out of ten, 
is announced by triplets in the accompaniment. 
This figure is kept up to the bitter, or rather to the 
sweet end, as we are usually — rather unnecessarily — 
informed that the orplians are nozo at rest. Of tlie 
nautical songs we should prefer not to speak. Seeing 
we ' rule the waves,' and are proud of our ships 

and seamen, it might be expected that good sea- 
songs would always be fortlicoming. Truly it is 
a wonder tliat tl;e ghost of Dibdin arises not to 
reproach the gentlemen responsible for flooding the 
market witli stuff that gives no real picture of sea 
life, and that enters not into true sympathy with 
the hardships and struggles of our brave, tars. In 
setting songs coming under this category to music, 
the cliief aim of the composer seems to be to pro- 
vide a popular chorus, as like the last popular 
chorus as possible. 

Now the question arises : can nothing be done to 
put an end to a state of matters alike pernicious to 
our national life and national art ? The following 
suggestions have occurred to the writer : — 

Let our conductors cease to concentrate all their 
attention on the orchestral and instrumental music, 
and let them strive to make the vocal music more 
worthy of the rest of the programme. 

What can be more absurd and out of place than 
to hear a symphony or movement from a symphony, 
by one of the great masteis, followed by a worthless, 
silly ditty ? By all means let the song be pleasing 
and bright, so as to give pleasure to many who do 
not appreciate too much classical music ; but surely 
this could be accomplished without permitting 
vocalists to sing songs which are an insult to the 
musical intelligence of the audience. It would also 
be advisable for those who desire good vocal music 
to applaud in an extra hearty fashion those singers 
who seek to introduce high-class sonss. 

Teachers also might, as far as is practicable, refuse 
to teach rubbishy songs, and they should lose no 
opportunity of interesting their pupils in high-class 
vocal music. 

Could not singers exercise more judgment in 
buying songs.? Let them remember that they 
ought to feel some responsibility in making a selec- 
tion. By buying trash, no matter how flashy, we 
give a direct support to music of a low order. If it 
did not pay them, publishers would cease publishing 
songs of this class, and composers would find it to 
their interest to make better use of their talents. 
Every year the circle of earnest music lovers is 
widening. Every opportunity is given to the public 
to become acquainted with the finest orchestral and 
instrumental works of the great composers. Should 
we not now endeavour to introduce their loveliest 
songs, at present seldom heard, and seemingly little 
known ? S. W. 



SHE has set a spell on me, 
I may nevermore be free : 
What but seems to be, I see, 
And I see not what I seem — 
So she weaves a spell for me, 
My Lady of Dream. 

I called her not, she came by stealth, 
I knew not why, I cared not how, 
Ensnared witli all the wondrous wealth 
Of her wild beauty — moonlit brow. 
Miraculous drifts of stormy hair, 
And maddening eyes that looked me through. 
Brimming with light so strange and fair 
That a swift passion stirred and flew 
Towards her with pain'd cries, then drew 
Affrighted back, and did not dare 
Approach her standing silent there. 

She has touched me with her gentle hand. 
More white than whitest lily-bud. 
Or foam new fallen on the sand ; 
I felt it flame througli all my blood. 
And blind me so I could but see 
The visions that she wove for me. 

She has kissed me with her perfect lips : 
And nevermore can maiden''s breath 
Fan spark to glow and glow to flame ; 
With a shuddering sense of shame. 
Cold and grey it scattereth 
Ashes of death. 

So I wander through the earth — 
Oh, but it is drear and cold ! 
Like to me are moan and mirth. 
All is long outworn and old. 
Still she comes, a glorious gleam, 
Still her beauty fills the gloom — 
But she passes from her place, 
Vanishing from my embrace. 

My Lady of Dream, 

My Lady of Doom. 

Thus is this the pain to me — 
I may nevermore be free, 
Yet may never call her mine. 
So unkind and cold is she. 
Ah, so cold ! and yet I deem 
She is perfect and divine ; 
Thus she sets her spell on me, 
My Lady of Dream. 

Mortimer Wheeler, 




HENRIK IBSEN, poet, dramatist, and theatri- 
cal manager, is the chief among the few 
Norwegian men of letters whose works find a place 
on English bookshelves ; and, for at least his more 
ardent admirers on the Continent and in this 
country, he stands worthily alongside the great 
poets of other nations. 

It seems to smack of exaggeration to say that 
Ibsen ' is the chief figure of European significance 
tliat has appeared in the Teutonic world of art 
since Goethe ^ ; and yet it were hard to find a Teuton 
of whom this miglit more justly be said. 

There has indeed arisen in no country, Teutonic 
or other, any artist so deeply imbued witli the 
modern spirit as Ibsen. Perhaps none of the 
European poets has so thoroughly thrown aside 
conventional trammels of thinking as Ibsen has, 
and none of them has so fairly faced the great 
human problems of the century. There is no great 
poet in Germany, and if heterogeneous England 
may be called a Teutonic nation, there is not among 
her writers of Saxon type one of whom it could be 
said that he had grasped in an artistic sense the 
palpitating life of the civilised world to-day. It 
were futile to run over the names. Mr. Browning, 
vmparalleled as a psychologist, has never seriously 
attacked sociological problems. Mr. Swinburne has 
long ago turned his back upon liis too iconoclastic 
past. For serious grip of modern conditions one 
must indeed go elsewhere than among the Saxon 
poets. In comparing Ibsen with any of these we 
need do so, not on the ground of literary form, for 
here he is, judged by conventional standards, if not 
deficient, at least not conspicuous, but on the ground 
of strenuous thinkins; alone. And it will go well 
with us if on this ground we find liis equal among 
our own countrymen. 

The dramas and poems of Ibsen have nearly all 
been translated into German, and five of the dramas 
have been translated into English. These are 
Emperor and Galilean (by Miss Ray — Tinsley, 
1876) ; Nora, or the DoWs House (by Miss Lord 
—Griffith & Farran, 1882) ; The Pillars of Society 
(by William Archer) ; Ghosts (by Miss Lord and 
William Archer) ; and An Enemy of Society (by 
Mrs. Aveling). The three last have recently been 
published by Mr. Walter Scott in liis Camelot 

Mr. Havelock Ellis, in his excellent introduction 
to the Camelot translations, divides Ibsen''s works 

as a whole into three sections. Historical and 
Legendary Dramas, Dramatic Poems, and Social 
Dramas. The most striking of the first series is 
Emperor and Galilean, which is a double drama, 
each part consisting of five acts. The subject suits 
Ibsen's genius perfectly. The spectacle of Julian 
' the Apostate ' attempting to resist the new religion 
by becoming tlie apostle of a newer paganism, has 
special cliarm for a mind like Ibsen's. In the second 
category there are Peer Gynt, in which it is said 
that Ibsen depicts his own childhood, and which is 
regarded as a great national drama, and Brand, a 
poetic drama of Norwegian life, in which the ordi- 
narily commonplace existence of a Norwegian pastor 
is employed as a stage for the display of ideals of 
self-sacrifice broken by the pressure upon tliem of an 
unsympathetic environment. 

It is his social dramas with which we wish now 
more immediately to concern ourselves, for there he 
unfolds in his peculiarly subtle and elusive manner 
his philosophy of society, and there also he brings 
skilfully conceived scientific ideas to aid him in fol- 
lowing and describing the development of character. 
The Rougon-Macquart series of Zola is certainly 
a more elaborate working out of the principle of 
heredity ; but it is no wliit more striking an exposi- 
tion than Ghosts, which compresses into a few- 
pages an example of heredity which burns into the 
brain. But Ibsen is not a faddist, the balance of 
influence of environment on one hand, and of heredity 
on the other, is maintained with scientific precision. 
One finds this conspicuously exemplified in Nora 
where the dolFs house reacts on the character of 
Nora, and makes her less of a woman than she liad 
it in her to be. 

The leading feature of Ibsen's work is its immense 
suggestiveness. His style is compressed in the last 
degree ; and Ghosts alone might be expounded in a 
treatise. One would indeed rather send him readers 
than spoil their appetite by offering him up at second- 
hand. The reader of Ibsen must be prepared for 
something to which, perhaps, he has not been accus- 
tomed, that is, the treatment in a work of art, and in 
the manner of an artist, of matters wliich have been 
the subject of controversy. When one thinks it out 
calmly, there does not emerge any solid reason why 
that which has unfortunately been the sport of, for 
tlie most part, uninstructed and invariably one-sided 
polemical writers and speakers, should not be ex- 
amined afresh from a scientific or from an artistic 



standpoint. Thus the position of women question, 
the marriage question, the education question, social 
questions of all kinds, are in Ibsen's social dramas 
restated from the point of view of the dramatist. 
They are not answered. They are merely put. One 
sees in action how individual tendency and social 
convention work themselves out ; how the bourgeois 
ideal of morals would be expressed if those who held 
it knew how to express it ; liow wretchedly ignoble 
a creature Mrs. Grundy is when she speaks her mind, 
and how mean are the actions she habitually 
approves ; how disastrous to the whole moral and 
intellectual nature are the mechanical system of 
education and the petty ideals which characterise 
modern commercial communities. Ibsen applies the 
microscope with merciless intelligence and skill. If 
there be such a science as social pathology, he is its 
first professor. He does not in tlie least care for 
parties. His sympathy for humanity is greater tlian 
for that which is misnamed the people. He is one 
of the few earnest men who look both before and 
after, who want to know whither we are pushing our 
descendants. For not only are our present actions 
determined by the past passions of other people — 
our progenitors, — but our own hap-liazard life from 
bed to board, and from board to bed, is determining 
the happiness, misery, life, and death of countless 
generations in the future. This is the almost para- 
lysing conclusion of the acceptance of the principle 
of heredity. 

Ibsen might be set down as a moralist, though 
like all great ethical teachers lie is never directly 
didactic. He leaves his men and women to tell 
— sometimes even in their casual utterances, in little 
unregarded traits — the bitter story of their own 
weaknesses ; but tliere the most self-satisfied reader 
will find enough to disturb the even current of his 
soul. Ibsen is saved from the common fault of forcing 
a moral by his dominant artistic motive, and his 
immense humour. There is an instance of the play 
of these in the scene at the close of A71 Enemy of 
Society, where Dr. Stockman makes his speecli upon 
the duty of rebellion against the majority, which, 
he says, must always be in tlie wrong. Even there, 
where perhaps Ibsen more than elsewhere speaks his 
own mind, the artist does not forget himself. The 
little weaknesses Stockmann discloses freely in his 
excited oration have been indicated beforehand, so 
that the presentation of the enthusiastic sanitary 
and social reformer is consistent tliroughout. This 
speech of Dr. Stockmann's might usefully be com- 
pared with the speech in the House of Lords of 
UHomme qui rit. Both orators wasted their breath 
upon hopelessly unsympathetic hearers, and botli 
knew it. Thev lioth railed as if the government of 

the world were in the hands of their audience ; and 
they both made themselves rather ridiculous. But 
the crassest Philistine who reads either the one or 
the other knows in his inmost soul that the orator 
was right and that the audience was wrong, and 
sympathises accordingly. Of course he straiglitway 
goes to hiss or imprison the first reformer that 
comes his way ; but some little wedge has made 
an opening into his mind which may one day be 
large enough to make him uneasy. 

The four dramas which have recently been made 
available for English readers may be briefly sketched, 
although the peculiar method of Ibsen's writings 
renders them difficult to summarise,and nearly impos- 
sible to quote. Nora, tliough partly an example of 
heredity, is in the main a drama of marriage. Nora 
and Helmer are the couple. Helmer has been over- 
worked, and though he himself does not realise it, 
seems to the doctors to stand in absolute need of a 
winter in Italy. His wife determines that he shall 
have it. There are no resources ; but slie resolves 
to find the money. No other means offering them- 
selves, she forges her father's name to a bill, and 
secures the re-establishment of her husband's health. 
Her father dies before she is able to inform him, 
as she had intended, that she had signed his name. 
She tells her husband that she had received the 
money from her father. Only the person from 
whom she had obtained the advance knows the 
truth. On the return from Italy, Nora sets secretly 
to work to discharge her heavy and dangerous ob- 
ligation. She stints herself, takes in needlework, 
and wants so much money from her husband that 
he reproaches her with extravagance. All the 
while she leads a double life, gay and cheerful to her 
husband, bent down with care when she is by her- 
self. Yet she works hopefully, largely unconscious 
of what she has done, and of the danger involved. 
Events transpire which must biing to the knowledge 
of the husband what has occurred. Nora, in tlie 
depth of her misery, attempts unsuccessfully the 
weakly feminine artifice of withdrawing, before he 
has seen it, the incriminating letter from lier hus- 
band's letter-box, and then looks her fate full in 
the face. Helmer of course will take the guilt upon 
himself. He will come forward and say, ' I alone 
did it.' Nora will deny this, and will claim the 
punishment, whatever it may be, for herself. The 
world will not believe her word against his, and he 
will suff'er. She must therefore give impressive 
proof of her own guilt. She will commit suicide. 
Slie is about to leave the house witli tliis purpose 
when Helmer appears. His earliest words are a 
disillusion. She understands him as she never did 
before. Her idealised Helmer fades away. The 



man before her is not the creature of her dreams, 
but a very commonplace, selfish person. In the 
excitement of this new discovery, her own conscious- 
ness of having done something the world at least 
would think wrong, disappears. She has touched 
ground, and has begun to hope. She has found out 
what manner of man she had been living with, and 
she has in the discovery realised a latent spark of 
independent womanhood in lierself. 

The selfishness of Helmer, whicli has been dis- 
closed in various previous liints, comes fully out. 
He fails to realise that the crime has been committed 
solely for him, and sees alone the consequences to 
himself of its discovery. He looks upon his wife as 
a serpent whom he has been unconsciously cherish- 
ing. The scene between them is full of power. It 
is so epigrammatic, so telling. There is not an un- 
necessary word. The blatant selfishness is not over- 
done, nor is the prompt revulsion of feeling, when 
Helmer finds that the danger is over, and that he is 
safe, for awkward consequences are avoided by the 
holder of the forged security foregoing his claim. 
Helmer jTorgives his wife ; but the consequences of 
her discovery now appear. She has realised that 
she has been living in a doll's house, that she has 
grown up, not as an indejiendent person, but as the 
shadow of another, — first of her father, and then of 
her husband. She realises that her nature, morally 
and intellectually, has been crippled, that she has 
not grown as she ought to have grown, that there 
are many strange anomalies that she must examine 
and understand, as, for example, how in saving a 
husband's life a woman may commit a crime ; how 
in saving a dying father trouble a woman should do 
a shameful deed ; how she could live for years with a 
man and not understand him ; how, in short, she 
could grow up without thinking and knowing as an 
independent organism ought. She feels that she 
can no longer be a doll in Helmer's house, she must 

lead a life of her own. She must leave him. 
Helmer's sensuous passion comes to plead against 
this ; but it is unavailing, and Nora goes, leaving 
her children and Helmer to lead their own lives. 
She herself embarks upon a life which is hence- 
forward to be her own. The charm of Nora is to be 
felt rather than expressed. Part of Ibsen's peculiar 
power is the facility with which, working in simple 
materials, he creates a pervasive atmosphere. One 
feels as if a window were opened into everyday 
affairs, and as if a fresh breeze were blown in upon 
them. A thousand questions suggest themselves 
from studying Nora. Does the education of girls 
fit them to become ' perfect mothers ' .'' Are they 
so well developed themselves that they may be 
trusted with the development of generations yet to 
be ? In this, as in some other lines, Ibsen is in full 
accord with ^Vhitman, who pleads in his SpecimeH 
Days for ' a new-founded literature, a literature 
underlying life, religious, consistent with science, 
handling the elements and forces with competent 
power, teaching and training men, and — perhaps the 
most precious of its results — achieving the entire 
redemption of woman out of these incredible holds 
and webs of silliness, millinery, and every kind of 
dyspeptic depletion, and thus ensuring a strong 
and sweet Female Race — a race of Perfect Mothers.' 
This passage might be entirely applied to the 
Ibsen dramas ; for they fulfil the conditions of such 
a literature precisely. Ibsen nowhere, as yet, gives 
us with any completeness what he conceives to be 
the jjositive side. Nora is not a ' perfect mother.' 
She is the product of evil conditions, and we are left 
to speculate on the possibility of her emancipation 
from them. But the conditions which resulted in 
her growth are not foreign to us ; and what Ibsen 
has done has been to set them in a clear, strong light 
for our understanding. 

Jasies Mavor, 


Chaucer. [The Canterbury Poeis.) Selected and edited by 
Frederick Noel Paton. London: Walter Scott, iSSS. 

If the publication in the dainty volumes of the Canterbury Series, 
of examples from English and other classics, should induce, as it 
is said to be doing, the rank and file of the reading public to explore 
the fields of English literature in true scholar's fashion for them- 
selves, the objections that are made against mere extracts are 
answered by events. When we remember, however, into whose 
hands these volumes come, and realise that for many of these they 
must comprise the sum-total of their knowledge of the author in. 
question, a serious responsibility is seen to rest upon the editor of 
the examples and the writer of the Introduction. He acts as a kind 
of mediator between the scholar and the ingenuous public. 
However heavy the temptation to hit oft" his subject in a few 

phrases, it must be resisted, and as much information and solid 
criticism given as may be. 

The editors of the Canterbuiy Series have almost invariably suc- 
ceeded in fulfilling this condition ; and although we are disinclined 
to criticise sharply an introduction necessarily hedged about by 
limitations of space, it must be pointed out that that on Chaucer is 
in many ways unsatisfactory. The strain of it is extremely factual, 
but the facts are, for the most part, trivial. No one unacquainted 
with the position of Chaucer, as the father of English poetry, 
would realise it from perusing the Introduction— not that there is 
any attempt to dethrone Chaucer, but simply that the writer does 
not seem to realise the proportions of his subject. When he does 
generalise, he discusses useless questions. *It is impossible,' he 
says, 'to insist too strongly on the fact that Chaucer was by 
instinct and upbringing a gentleman.' One maybe permitted to 



ask, 'Wherefore this insistence ? Has Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson, 
with his customary liberality in epithet, been calling Chaucer a 
'cad'? Has any one been aspersing Chaucer's breeding? If not, 
the observation is a little inapt. The evolution of the ' gentleman ' 
during five hundred years has resulted in many changes in the 
connotation of the term. Even Mr. Paton admits the ' conversa- 
tional laxity ' of Chaucer's pilgrims, and that some of their rude 
jests might have brought the blush of shame to the cheeks of ' a 
party of moderately sober militiamen.' Indeed, however, the 
insistence is futile. Chaucer's is too large a figure to be thrust 
into a conventional category. We may be fairly pardoned for 
hinting at the possibility of Mr. Noel Paton having failed to grasp 
the full significance of Chaucer's place and power, when we find 
him characterise Chaucer as an 'enfant terrible, whose worst sin is 
deficiency of reticence.' But in spite of more than one infelicitous 
simile, and in spite also of a certain immaturity of critical faculty, 
the essay of Mr. Paton is interesting and readable. 

Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry. Edited and selected 
by W. B. Yeats. London : Walter Scott, 1888. 

The folk-lore of Ireland is peculiarly rich in legends of the 
supernatural. Uncanny stories of ' merrows ' or sea-folk ; of the 
'gentry,' who correspond to the 'brownies ' of the Scotch tales ; 
of ghosts, giants, witches, devils, and other species of the order of 
quaint and queer, make up, with the ' Brehon Laws,' which nobody 
reads, what stands for most people as native Irish literature. And 
if much of it is coarse and crude, especially as it appears in transla- 
tion, there are ingenuity of device and imaginative boldness enough 
to recommend the Irish stories, even to the epicure. The collec- 
tion of Mr. W. B. Yeats is very fairly representative, although an 
e.\ample or two from Joyce's Early Celtic Romances might with 
advantage have been given, unless there were difficulties in the 
way. It is curious to compare the Irish setting of some of the 
legends with the tales as they appear in other literatures. Indeed 
there is room for an e.\tended edition of Mr. Baring Gould's 
Myths of the Middle Ages. But for the purposes of comparative 
mythology, it is to be feared that the narrators may have uncon- 
sciously improved the analogies, or even made some of them. It 
is hard to believe, for example, that Prosper Merimee's Guiseppe 
had not something to do with Billy Dawson in Will Carleton's 
' Three Wishes ' (p. 235) ; not that there is any suggestion of 
plagiarism, but that the mingling of the stories is probable. The 
book is extremely readable, and ought to be one of the most 
widely read of the Camelot Series. 

The second volume of Unwin's Novel Series is Mrs. Keith's 
Crime, by Mrs. W. Kingdon Clifford. The intense painful- 
ness of the story will probably prevent adequate recognition of its 
thoroughly artistic method ; yet its essential truthfulness in the 
working out of a dominant motive has made it rank high among 
psychological novels. It is needless to remind our readers that 
Mrs. Clifford is the widow of a man of genius whose Cosmic 
Emotion added the reputation of a stylist to that of a mathema- 
tician, and is also the authoress of a volume of charming stories. 

Mr. Grant Allen notwithstanding, there may be some question 
about the general sanity and value of an Eisteddfod, but on the 
less blatant work of reprinting in facsimile there cannot well be 
two opinions. The Oxford Series of Welsh Texts is an undertaking 
which with all the niceties of antiquarianism combines a very sub- 
stantial measure of practical use. The first volume of this series 
was the famous Red Book of Hergest, better known as the Mabin- 
ogion, through the charming translation of Lady Charlotte Guest. 
The second, and so far the last issued, is the Black Book of Car- 
marthen, the very oldest of Welsh manuscripts, which contains 
many of the poems attributed to Taliesin and the other pre-Christian 
bards. The Ms. itself is believed to date from about the reigns 
of Henry 11. and Richard, a time when the great Welsh Renais- 
sance of poetry was already in its germ. 

Mr. T. Fisher Unwin is about to publish 'English Wayfaring 
Life in the Middle Ages (fourteenth century), by J. J. Jusserand, 
Conseiller d'ambassade. Dr. ^s Lettres.' Translated by Lucy A. 
Toulmin Smith. The specimen sheets show that the book is 
written attractively, while the best indication of its solid value is 
the name of the translator. The previous work of Miss Smith — 
the introduction to her brother's great book on English Guilds — 
takes rank with the Monograph of Brentano and the Treatise of 
Ochenowsky in a list of the books on the department of mediaeval 
life with which they are concerned. M. Jusserand's work, which 
is illustrated by reproductions from mediaeval tapestries, drawings, 
and paintings, would appear to aim at giving in popular form a 
series of pictures of the industry and social life of the middle ages, 
compounded from such details as are given in the Rolls of Parlia- 
ment, Rymer's Fo;dera, and such as have been collected with 
historic or economic intent in the writings of Stubbs, Freeman, 
Green, Rogers, and others. 

Quite the best thing in the Universal Review for October is the 
daintily pensive little poem by Sir Edwin Arnold ' To a Pair of 
Slippers. ' The author of ' The Light of Asia ' is undoubtedly not in 
first or even in the second rank ol living poets, whether for the 
thought-quality of his verses, or for the merits of their form. A 
serious, rather than a high thinker, he does not live habitually on 
those upper heights where the atmosphere is rarefied to that fine- ■ 
ness which constitutes the essentially poetic. Neither is his versi- 
fication, with all its ' go ' and occasional music, exempt from faults 
that are apt to mark the amateur. A lame ending, a harsh cadence, 
an hiatus where the reader is suddenly bumped into a stand — these 
are very ordinary things in Sir Edwin's poetry, and examples 
enough may be found of them in the verses we have named. 
Nevertheless, the poem is very prettily trivial and pathetic. It is 
most daintily illustrated by Mr. J. Bernard Partridge. 

The Wandering Jew has turned up at Dresden. At anyrate, 
one may infer this from the announcement of the opening there of 
a museum of old boots of famous personages. It would appear 
that since Nathaniel Hawthorne compiled the catalogue of the 
' Virtuoso's Collection,' the venerable wanderer has been accumu- 
lating with vigour, for he has added almost a whole department to 
his formerly sufficiently varied and curious collection. The little 
glass slipper of Cinderella, one of Diana's sandals, the green velvet 
shoes of Thomas the Rhymer, and the brazen shoe of Empedocles, 
which was thrown out of Mount Etna, formed by no means a con- 
temptible set of treasures for such a museum. They are remote 
enough to be rare. But these were all in the old collection. The 
complete catalogue of the new one is not before us, but the Pall 
Mall Gazette gives the names of a few of the items. Among these 
there are the pair of boots in which Napoleon 1. fought the battle 
of Dresden, the white satin embroidered shoes which he wore at 
his coronation, a pair of high-heeled boots which once encased 
the feet of Maria Theresa, and a pair, presumably low-heeled 
and square-toed, which formed a basis for the understanding of 
Immanuel Kant. But, after all, the collection stands in need of 
additions. There are many famous boots and shoes that have not 
yet found their way there. There are or were the seven-leagued 
boots, and the world-renoivned habitable shoe of the anti-Malthusian 
old woman. What would not one give to see the boots of Henry 
Darnley and of Bothwell side by side with the dainty slipper of 
Mary's that is now in the Bishop's Palace at Glasgow? Why 
should we not have a row of Queen's slippers, say from those of 
Marie Antoinette to those of Isabella of Spain ; or a row of 
courtiers' and statesmen's boots worn out on palace stairs. A row 
of old hats to match the boots would enable us, eveo without the 
more flimsy material that usually intervenes, to conjure up an 
amazing assembly of historic ghosts ; and if besides there was a 
number of Mr. Edison's phonographs, each charged with speech 
done by them in the flesh, it would be possible to make a seance 
which would draw like a blister. 

Ediitburglt : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty. 


The Scottish Art Review 

V^OL. I. DECEMBER 1888. No. 7. 



('A Man pursued by his Conscience.') 

THROUGHOUT the Race of Life one rival fleet 
In quick on-coming echoes at ray side. 
He falters not, whatever may betide 
From the first starting to the final heat. 
In selfsame rhythm of each footfall's beat, 
. The thing called Conscience apes my bravest stride ; 
Close as my shadow keeps, till having died 
I face him at our goal, the judgment-seat. 

Is he indeed my foe ? — or truest friend. 
Who girds me in the race yet to be run. 

And by his very strivings that offend 

Inspires me to the laurel-crown. Which won. 
We two may sleep with all our warring done, — 

No longer foes, at peace, till all things end. 

Gleeson White. 


HE seems a frail old man, this parting year, 
Who looks back sadly o'er his lifelong tale, 
And sighs for sorrow words of querulous wail ; 
Anon in senile frenzy stays the tear 
That sprang at thought of youth's forespent career. 
And, as old shames and torturing memories fail, 
Starts up obliviously, with fierce assail 
To storm the past, — ' Up, rouse thee yet. King Lear ! ' 

Once more, as though the night should see the sun, 
His youth'slost hopes flame forth; his tremulous hands 
Attempt the trick of waving as of yore ; 
The end shall yet save all, ere all is done. 

Too late, — fool, old man's mind ! Already stands 
Death's ominous shade in waiting at thy door. 

Colin Percival. 



Venerem exeuiitem e mari Apellis opus divus Augustus dicavit in delubro patris Ctesaris, 
qure Anadyomene vocatur. — Plin. Hist. Nat. xxxv. 91. 

APHRODITE, Ocean daughter, 
Once a goddess, still the same. 
When I look on purest water 

Then I spell thy mystic name. 
When I see the tips of Ocean, 

Curling, cresting in the breeze. 
And the Sun with lightsome motion 

Shimmering o'er the azure seas ; 
When I see the sport of shadow 

Where the silvery wavelets sleep. 
And a hue that mocks the meadow 

Purpling o'er the various deep, — 
Then I know thee. Aphrodite, 

Queen of beauty, queen of power, 
Thee the lovely, thee the mighty, 

From life's first to latest hour. 
Wiien before my raptui-ed eye 

Soft thy silver shell ascending, 
Borne by Triton-hands on high. 

Wreaths of rosy Nymphs attending. 
Soars, a milder feature blending 

With the awe that clothes the sky. 
Steep Olympus opes its portals ; 

Thou dost tread the starry way, 
And the host of strong Immortals 

Bends before thy gentle sway. 
Pallas veils her sterner glory. 

Wisdom wisely yields to love, 
Flees the weighty cloud before thee 

From the thunder-brow of Jove. 
Mars, the fierce mane-shaking lion. 

Now a lamb to greet thee falls ; 
Haughty Hera, love-defying. 

Lonely walks through ether's halls. 
Aphrodite, Ocean daughter. 

Though I bear no heathen name. 

When I see thy fairest frame 
Rising from the bright blue water, 

I may worship without blame. 

John Stuart Blackie. 


T may safely be said that the Exhibition at the by the schism whicli led to the establishment of its 

Grosvenor reaches a higher level of uniform latest rival in Regent Street. There are now to be 

excellence than any collection of entirely modern art seen on its walls some three hundred examples of 

put before the public for many years, and it will do pastels, many of which are contributed by the 

much towards restoring the prestige lost last year French Society of Pastellistes ; and although the 




Continental artists show perhaps to the greatest 
advantage, yet when we take into consideration the 
short time given the Englishmen to experiment in 
what has been to many an entirely new medium, these 
are not so far behind their rivals, either in technique 
or colouring, as might not unreasonably have been 
expected. Still, and in spite of the allowances 
which must in fairness be made for these circum- 
stances, the fact remains that there is far too much 
work in tlie Grosvenor, wliicli, clever and skilful as 
it is for the most part, cannot properly be described 
as pastel at all, being, both in its methods and aims, 
imitative oil and water-colour. It would seem that 
many men whose work is both valuable and inter- 
esting, liave yet to learn, whatever they may by 
preference use to express themselves in, that each 
medium has, if not an exactly definable province of 
art to itself, at least a certain scope in which its 
most valuable qualities are displayed to the greatest 
advantage, and in which the best results may be 
obtained by the least labour, without the trickery 
and legerdemain of counterfeiting the natural effect 
of a rival medium. If, as it seems to us, the 
particular province of pastel is to imitate the 
freest and brightest colour in nature, and if those 
who find its technique most suited to their power 
and ambition fail to learn that it is so, future 
exhibitions of pastels may be as painful as the 
water-colour room of the Royal Academy, where 
gentlemen of the last generation, by prescriptive 
right or ignorant allowance, still hang pictures 
which are neither oil nor water-colour, but a miser- 
ably clever and laboured mixture of both, without 
the best qualities of either. For assuredly it is no 
more within the scope of pastel to obtain the true 
tone and depth of oil than it is within that of water- 
colour ; and though it certainly at the first glance 
seems more successful, such a deceptive triumph 
over an unnatural and added difficulty is the more 
likely to lead the artist astray. It is in this more 
perhaps than in much greater technical skill and 
dexterity that the French Pastellistes have beaten 
those whom they have but now begun to teach, for, 
to speak the truth, more than a few of the pictures 
which have crossed the Channel are certainly not 
above criticism, either in their aims or indeed in 
their workmanship. For among them there is some 
bad drawing and childish modelling, while others 
are, in tlie proper sense of the word, merely meretri- 
cious, the only sin we are not inclined to forgive, or 
at least to ignore, considering the general level of 
excellence attained. 

Among the exhibits there is a somewhat larger 
proportion of portraits than is usual, but many of 
the examples of this branch of art are worthy of 
the most careful study, even though some of tiiem 

may seem, as is natural to the particular medium, 
rather sketchy in effect. Without doubt the finest 
in the whole collection is by J. E. Blanche, of the 
French Society of Pastellistes. It is the portrait of 
Mdlle. Julia 13artet (52), of the Comedie Fran^aise, 
and is admirable in its freshness, entire unconven- 
tionality, and dexterous finish, while the striking and 
almost startling arrangement of the black and 
white drapery does not in the least detract from 
the pure and beautiful lines of the face. His other 
portraits, tliough good in their way, are somewhat 
shallow and unsympathetic in their criticism, and at 
times even affected. 

No one on entering the gallery can fail to note 
the study of a lady in gi'ey (without number, owing 
to the lateness of its arrival), by P. Helleu, which is 
remarkable for the delicacy of its graded tones and 
its high finish, considering the great breadth of hand- 
ling. His ' Spanish Lady ' (148) is, on the other 
hand, strong in colour and contrast, and the painting 
of the suflFused light and the background is careful 
and true, though that part of the background which 
is seen through the strings of the harp is apparently 
in a different plane from its surroundings. 

It is like entering quite a new world to only 
glance at the Portrait (153) of an Etcher, by P. A. 
Besnard. As the work of an impressionist, to use 
the word in its common acceptation, it is almost 
startling in its realism, and though too much like 
an oil-painting, the truth of colour, the free mastery 
of the subtleties of modelling, and the very delight- 
ful handling of the reflected lights, render it almost 
entirely admirable, while the manner in which the 
artist has seized the effect of ascending cigarette 
smoke on the etcher's contorted eye is humorous 
in the extreme, and so powerfully and truthfully 
expressed as to be almost marvellous in dexterity. 
One would be constantly tempted to return to it, 
were it not that the same artist's study (154) of a 
girl in the water is as beautiful in feeling and 
exalted colour as tlie portrait is clever, wliile the 
companion study of the nude (49) fully displays his 
technical power in the modelling of the breast and 
shoulder, the delicacy of the contours, and the 
harmony of the background, and shows us what 
pastel-work should be. No. 174, entitled ' Pierrot,' 
by Theodore Roussel, is a sketch, of Lady Archibald 
Campbell in costume, remarkable for its selection of 
characteristics from a striking personality, and one 
that deserves study for its methods and the mastery 
over the material, although it is as slight, and as 
white, as its motto, ' Ma fonction est d'etre blanc,' 
migiit seem to imply. 

There are four works here by J. L. Machard ; and 
though his Portrait (76) of a Lady is distinctly the 
worst, yet the other three offend against taste witli 



varying degrees of grossness. The portrait is a large 
failure, for the least cxaniiiiatioii sliows that it not 
only lacks all delicacy, hut that what colour might 
have been attractive the painter has destroyed by 
the introduction of a bunch of primroses in the lady's 
belt, grossly out of harmony with the mauve dress 
and background. The work on the face is offensive 
by its hardness, while the left hand is most childishly 

It cannot be said that the Englishmen sliDW to 
such advantage in the difficult critical art of portrait- 
painting as their foreign rivals, and yet there is 
much good and solid work by them. Portraiture is 
greatly a matter of careful ])ersonal study, and feel- 
ing camiot be accepted as a guide in it as it may be 
in other branches of art, since it is more essentially 
reasoning and intellectual in its nature. Perhaps 
' Waiting' (.'57) is one of the best here ; for pure por- 
trait it imdoubtcdly is. The technical skill disj)layed 
in the fine and forcible gi-adation of a most diificult 
scheme of greens is much to be admired, while the 
springy lines of the figure and the modelling of an 
attractive face are excellent. Mr. Llewellyn dis- 
plays in this a versatility somewhat surprising to 
those who cmly know his landscapes, and we shall 
look for moi-e ])ortraits from his hand. 

Mr. George Hare's Portrait of Madame H 

is the best piece of work we have yet seen of his, 
but he has been unhappy in his approval of his 
sitter's choice of costume. The yellow hat, in the 
scheme of predominant blue, is as unfortunate as a 
palpable anachronism in a realistic story of the 
Middle Ages, and the foresliortening of the left 
arm is decidedly uncertain and shaky. Yet it is on 
the whole careful and intelligent, and the technical 
skill displayed in tlie gauzy folds of the dress is 
really admirable. 

One of the finest heads in the gallery, both for 
workmanship and insight, is undoubtedly the 'Tete 
d'Etude' (69) by Mr. Hubert Vos, who, we suppose, 
must now be accounted an Englishman. It is a 
loving and critical estimate of a line character ; the 
strength and delicacy, tlie power of selection and 
self-rej)ression, and tlie ])ure modelling are wortliy 
of all praise and enndation. Mr. Vos is perliaps 
all round the most successful exhibitor in the Gal- 
lery, for his landscapes are as good in their way as 
the many heads he has given us. 

It is in landscape that the Frenchmen rise su- 
preme with the bright colour obtained so freely and 
bountifully from pastel. It would be diflicult to 
select one of their works of which one could say with 
certainty that it would have been better in oil, 
while, unfortunately, half of the English landscapes 
should by jireference have been expressed in that 
metliinn. From Mr. AVhistler, than whom no one 

knows better that the provinces of art are divided, 
thougli not by distinct and eternal lines of demarca- 
tion, we have studies of Venice, some of which are 
subtle, and will rej^ay study, while others are trivial. 
It is a pleasure to note that the instinct of this 
artist, who has done good work in most mediums, 
has led him as correctly in pastel, as it has done in 
etching, in oil, and in water-colour, if indeed we 
except some occasional eccentricities, which we can 
well afford to pardon. 

F. Montenard's ' Road in the South of France' (22) 
is a strong and effective piece of colour, in which 
the bright and brilliant sky, the purple shadows and 
the red rocks, are carefully contrasted, with excel- 
lent effect and harmony. F'rom this to Mr. Henry 
Simpson's ' King Ethelbald on Croydon Old Bridge ' 
(33) is neither a long leap by space or merit, for in 
this last we have one of the truest pastel landscapes 
by an Englishman in the whole Gallery ; and while we 
very much suspect that Mr. Simpson got liis grip of 
the material in M. Montenard's country, we cannot 
but admire so free and bold a piece of colour, and 
the courage of the artist in insisting truly that so 
much brilliancy is to be seen in England if we have 
eyes to behold it. 

' In subject Mr. Frank Hind's 'Spanish Calle' (40) 
is far enough away, but the truth of drawing and 
the force of vivid colour come home to us. While 
Mr. Adolph Birkenrutli's ambitious ' L' Avenue du 
Maine,' Gare Montparnasse ' (175) is striking and 
successful, a small portrait (159) by the same artist 
is decidedly good. Mr. A. D. Pepjjercorn's ' Bend in 
the River' (GG) might have been reserved for oil, but 
it disphiys skill and does not lack feeling. The same 
may be said of much of Mr. Stott of Oldham's work. 
There are not many pictures in the Gallery which 
can be classed as works of imagination, nor are all 
those which do come imder this category entirely 
praiseworthy. Yet Mr. C. H. Shannon's ' Night of 
Redemption' (128), a beautiful piece of colour with- 
out pretensions to truth, is admirable in the feeling 
which is the sole possible foundation and raison 
d'etre of such work, and though, like it, 161, ' The 
Prodigal Son,' is very deficient in drawing, both are 
worthy of attention. 

Among those wlio in a longer notice would de- 
serve extended mention, we may name Madame 
Bilinska, whose work is strong and masculine in 
gri]), if somewhat shallow ; Madame L. Abbema, 
whose ' Michael Bettenfeldt ' (118) is tlie best genre 
portrait here ; Jaconib Hood ; Eliz. A. Armstrong ; 
Walter Langley ; W. E. F. Britten (who sends some 
admirable sketches of a decorative nature); George 
Clausen ; Fred. Brown ; Alfred Hartley ; Buxton 
Knight ; and George Frampton. 

MoKLEY Roberts. 







SIC transit ! all the glorious show — 
The minarets of Kiibla Khan, 
Tliat brought an orient grace and glow 
Where Kelvin, sacred river, ran ; 
The tartan dome's unrestful span, 
The palace reared with nail and screw, 

The mighty maze without a plan. 
The gaudy bubble that we blew. 

No royal pageants come and go ; 

No more from Beersheba and Dan 
The motley medley, six a-row. 

Defiles the third-class caravan ; 

No longer clown and oppidan 
Beneath the Saracenic shoe 

Forego their solidi, to scan 
The gaudy bubble that we blew. 


And yet — cantate Domino ! — 

It served its turn for bliss or ban — 

This bait to make home coffers grow, 
And elevate our brother man 
With music (Blue Hungarian), 

The arts from Tay to Timbuctoo, 

The goods and gods from Hindustan- 

The gaudy bubble that we blew. 

City, the winter tempests fan 
The flames of discontent anew ; 

For these, it ends where it began — 
The gaudy bubble that we blew. 

Martin Quern. 




Furniss have been lecturing upon portrait- 
painting. The same higli ideal of the role of por- 
traiture, the same fear of deteriorating circumstances 
at work lowering the ideal of art, animate the two 

The shafts of Mr. Furniss's brilliant banter, as of 
the Professor's earnest rhetoric, are alike directed 
against the run by the public upon the fashionable 
portrait-painter, tending to give value to a portrait 
because of the signature attached to it, rather than 
on account of the excellence of workmanship. 

' It is not too much to say that a fashionable por- 
trait-painter often receives ^£900 for his name, and 
oPlOO for the value of a picture as a portrait ; it is 
the artist's autograph, with a dashed-off something 
attached,' said Mr. Furniss. ' I can,' said the Slade 
Professor, 'get ten young men, any one of whom 
would do a portrait for £5Q as well as a better- 
known man will for £500. Indeed, portraits by 
young men are really, as a rule, better, for they are 
generally better studied and more carefully wrought 

The two illustrious lecturers put their finger here 
upon tlie most deteriorating influence threatening 
the art of portraiture. Our painters seem to pursue 
it in a pot -boiling spirit, and yet, fine portraits can 
be painted only when the artist has a high ideal of 
his mission. This is essentially the branch of art 
that requires an ever-sustaining enthusiasm. The 
portrait-painter who does not consider the work 
upon which he is engaged as a sort of tracking of a 
human soul, fulfils his task inadequately. Portraits 
may be considered in the light of documents of 
inestimable value, bringing home, as no written 
chronicles can, the effect that the habits of life, its 
current of ideas, its glory, its strain and stress, have 
upon the social aspect of an epoch. The subtle and 
unceasing influence of surrounding circumstances, as 
well as that of the inner life, upon the physiognomy 
of men and women, is tlie lesson the portrait-painter 
teaches to unobservant iiumanity. 

The portrait-painter is a ' Diviner of souls,' 
cunning also at expressing how the mystery of per- 
sonality imbues as a perfume the aspect of the 
sitter. The complaint that there are too many 
portraits in the Royal Academy and other exhibi- 
tions is a fatal verdict upon their insincerity. 
There should be no dulness associated with the 
thought of portraits ; they should be as interesting 
as well-written memoirs, as fascinating as romances. 
A portrait qui ne dit rieii, tliat does not speak to us. 

as a spirit might speak in silence, is a failure, skil- 
fully as may be painted all its accessories. 

Mr. Furniss, urging the necessity to understand 
the sitter's individuality, eloquently describes the 
pains which a Japanese artist will take to study 
what he wishes to paint. He will travel any dis- 
tance to watch the blossom, growing, budding, 
blooming, fading. He will live with it, day by day, 
mentally noting every detail. The witty lecturer 
could not expect our rushing and bustling genera- 
tion to submit to this almost penal toil. But there 
are revealing moments when the clue to a human 
being's nature is given. An illustrious French 
portrait-painter of a generation ago would refuse to 
paint any man or woman with whom he had not 
lived for some days under the same roof. During 
that period of common existence he was always on 
the watch for a look, a glance, that might give him 
the key to the mystery of what life and thought had 
made of his sitter's soul. 

An example of the same principle of lying-in-wait 
for a revelation, applied to another branch of art, is 
to be found in an account of Turner's mode of work, 
given by one who accompanied him on a sketching- 
tour. His companion had plodded for hours, it 
might be for days, at a sketch of the chosen spot, 
while Turner lay idly stretched upon the grass. 
There would come a gleam of sunshine, or the 
shadow of a passing cloud, and Turner, springing to 
his feet, would seize his brushes and colours, and in 
a moment all the glory of the scene was jotted down. 
Thus it was afterwards painted in Turner's picture. 

The portrait-painter must essentially be the im- 
pressionist ; quick to discern and seize what is 
peculiar and individual in his sitter, and by skilled 
and disciplined use of detail to give clearness and 
vigour to his interpretation of his model. Professor 
Herkomer maintains tliat the portrait-painter must 
sink his identity as far as possible in that of his 
sitter. We admit to finding a certain difficulty in 
understanding what the illustrious painter exactly 
means by sinking his individuality. A vigilant 
attitude of mind seems to us better to characterise 
the student of human nature. Jean Quentin Latour, 
the unrivalled portrait-painter of the eighteenth 
century, used to say, ' My sitters think that I am 
copying their features only. I plunge into the 
depth of their nature, and seize their whole person- 
ality.' This master in the art of depicting the 
physiognomy of his sitters has given the clue to his 
method in his recorded conversations with Diderot. 
' Every human being,' he said, ' must have suffered 



more or less from the fatigue of liis position in life. 
He bears the print of this weariness more or less 
plainly. The first necessity for the portrait-painter 
is to seize the trace of this fatigue. By so doing the 
human being he represents will belong as much as 
can be to the circumstances of his life ; he will 
belong to them from the crown of his head to the 
sole of his foot.' This mode of getting at the effect 
of the thousand influences of life and thought upon 
physical form seems to us more virile than the gos- 
pel of sympathy somewhat excessively preached by 
Professor Herkomer. Admirable as is the Slade 
Professor's doctrine that a great breadth of sympa- 
thetic nature is of the first necessity to a portrait- 
painter, we think he lays too great stress upon 
the bond between artist and model, in saying that 
the artist ' has no business to paint a person he has 
no sympathy with. He is not an honest painter if 
lie does.' If, by sympathy. Professor Herkomer 
means comprehension, the intellectual understand- 
ing of another's mode of thought and feeling, 
then we heartily agree with him. As the novelist 
cannot depict tlie character he does not grasp, so 
the portrait-painter must fail to render truly the 
physiognomy upon which he cannot read the drama 
of a soul. We have spoken of Jean Quentin Latour, 
rightly called the ' magician ' by the great critic 
Diderot, as the painter of physiognomy par excel- 
lence. He, of all men, judging from the portraits 
that have come do^vn to us from his fine and vigor- 
ous pencil, and by the record of liis admirable say- 
ings, would appear to have formed, beyond all others, 
a philosophical conception of his art. At the 
Louvre are fourteen splendid pastels by this master. 
It is rather, however, in the Museum of St. Quentin, 
where are preserved the works he left to his native 
town, that we can judge of Latoui-'s genius. He 
painted nothing but portraits ; he painted only in 
the delicate medium brought once more into vogue 
in England by the exhibition at the Grosvenor 
Gallery. The eighty-seven pastel portraits or there- 
abouts preserved in the gallery at Saint Quentin 
form a monument preserving so long as it lasts, the 
glory, the grace, the wit of the eighteenth century in 
France. This marvellous representation of a whole 
society in the portraits of its philosophers, its 
clowns, its beautiful women and brave men possesses 
a feature of almost startling interest to the painter 
and writer. In a collection of preparatory sketches 
made by Latour of his sitters, here we see, in a 
number of heads, surrounded by mops of hair, 
wildly indicated, the rapid sketch of the impression 
made upon the artist by the men and women whose 
idealised portraits hang on the walls of this and of 
ther museums. The character, the temperament. 

the health, the peculiar nature of all these human 
beings are recorded with terrible crudity. The 
sight affects us, as might the perusal of notes jotted 
down by a confessor of souls or a physician of the 
body. There may be seen the sketch of Madame de 
Pompadour. The subtle, cold, and terrible face 
stares down upon us with porcelain blue eyes, the 
original of the wonderful portrait in the Louvre, 
where the courtesan appears in the pomp of her 
splendid attire, and of her luxurious surroundings. 
The French scliool has always had a saving distrust of 
^ le jolV A robust imitation of nature is still its 
note. It acknowledges the inestimable truth that 
there is an inner beauty in all characters sincerely 
rendered ; and character rather than idealisation is 
the aim of its portraiture. 

Bastien Lepage invested ugliness with a rough 
sublimity: he was so cunning at recognising and 
renderino- the human and individual in the most 
uncouth specimens of the race, that he would have 
given the charm of human interest to a study of a 
journeyman printer in a suit of ready-made clothes. 
He has given in the portrait of his own peasant 
father an admirable example of realistic treatment, 
lifted into the highest domain of art by a clear per- 
ception of the spiritual force moulding form. It is 
impossible for those who have seen it to forget the 
representation of the honest-eyed old man, of rustic 
build, sitting with rough hands clasped, and his 
cotton handkerchief spread over his knees. 

Mr. Furniss lashes tliat vanity of sitters which 
imposes upon painters the obligation of flattery. ' A 
portrait-painter, to be fashionable and prosperous, 
must, nine times out of ten, lay on the varnish of 
flattery with a full brush. Whether an artist plies 
a brush, a chisel, or a camera, he must flatter or 
fail.' The critic here touches a point on which it 
would be difficult to lay too much stress — the duty 
owed by the sitter to the painter. In the neglect 
of this duty lies the ground of the complaint 
that while there are admirable portraits of men, 
there are but few of women in our exhibitions to-day. 
It is the women's fault. The determination to look 
pretty coMe que coutc, to be painted in a favourite 
gown, to have all trace of the passage of years and 
their emotions omitted from their countenance, is 
the ruin of feminine poi-traiture. 

French women treat artists with a more intelli- 
gent surrender of their personal vanity ; they co- 
operate with the artist in subordinating their own 
idea of self to his conception of what constitutes 
their best self. The recognition that the artist's 
point of view is the all-important condition for the 
production of a work of art enables them to be 
acquiescent in the hands of the painter. We too 



often feel, as we look at the ejf'ace and nice por- 
traits of ladies in our exhibitions, that the aim of 
the painter has been not to reproduce what he sees 
in his model, but to paint what he thinks his sitter 
wishes him to see. The marked contrast between 
the excellence of contemporary masculine portraits 
and the feebleness of feminine ones is mainly due, 
we believe, to tliis cause. The painter is terribly 
hampered by the exactions of feminine vanity. 
The dress and accessories that distinguish so many 
female portraits discover notable deficiencies in the 
treatment of dress by English painters. The exact 
reproduction of ' fal de rals' fmAs its- reductio ad 
ahsurdum in the recently published criticism of the 
Academy Exhibition from the point of view of a 
journal of the drapery trade. In France the lady 
sitter will often consent to ignore her dressmaker 
for the moment in order to accept the guidance of 
her portrait-painter as to what is suitable and 
becoming ; and thus her draperies seem mystically 
imbued with something of her own personality, and 
become another subtle expression of her best self. 

This is but the intelligent tribute paid by her to 
the artist's power of recognising with his more 
cultured eye and trained insight that which con- 
stitutes her veritable identity as a spiritual being. 
Each of us has a variety of personalities, and the 
personality the painter sees, often, it must be remem- 
bered, may not commend itself to the sitter, espe- 
cially if she be a woman. May be it is to be found 
often in those lines that the great artist Time has 
imprinted upon our form, though we may deplore 
them as they stand reflected in our mirrors. 

An example of the admirable result of this 
latitude allowed to the artist by his sitter in France 
may be found in the portrait of Sarah Bernhardt 
by Clairin. The divine Sarah was thin to gaunt- 

ness in those days. Clairin saw his opportunity of 
making this preternatural thinness his strong point 
for artistic purposes. He painted Sarah lost in the 
foam and flow of laces and silk, half stretched on a 
sofa, a spectral hand supporting the meagre cheek, 
and a great dog lying at her feet. The picture 
was a marvellous representation of delicacy and 
force ; and it lost none of its true effect by the 
better motif. Dumas the younger said that it was 
' a capital study of a dog watching a bone.' 

Sometimes in France there is a revolt against the 
painter's insistence in rendering his model as he sees 
her. Usually the revolt comes from the foreigner. 
Meissonier painted a millionaire American with 
such merciless fidelity to his impressions that the 
story of the lady's refusal to accept the portrait, 
and her ultimate treatment of the canvas, furnished 
one of the liveliest scandals of its year. 

Notwithstanding the trammels and temptations 
with which fashion and vanity surround the portrait- 
painter, England remains what Charles Blanc has 
called it, the land of portraiture. All the circum- 
stances of life — social, political, religious — tend to 
develop robust individualism and strongly marked 
physiognomies. Painters would do well to lift their 
ideal of portrait-painting out of the depressing 
region of pot-boiling, and to consider it as belong- 
ing to one of the highest branches of art. The 
generation that has seen some of its most eminent 
men painted by the brush of Frank Holl, and 
that counts among its portrait-painters men like 
Professor Herkomer, Mr. Watts, Sir John Millais, 
and Mr. Ouless, need not fear yet the decay of 
an art which the genius of Sir Joshua Reynolds 
and Gainsborough, of Hogarth and Romney, almost 
raised to a rivalry with that of the Venetian masters. 

Alice Corkuan. 


At the Roval Scottish Academy, Edinburgh. 

FURNITURE and poeti-y would seem at first 
thought to have but little in common with each 
other. Yet genuine old pieces of furniture, though 
they have their highest value in the carving and 
ornaments that set them off, and the skill and 
ingenuity with which they are put together, have 
yet beyond this the added association of their 
having been in actual use, and of their remaining 
silent witnesses, attesting the truth of the facts of 
history, or affording material for the compilation 
of such history. Furniture which has remained un- 
altered, and which belongs to a number of epochs, 
gives us an insight into the fashions and usages of most 

of the modern nations of Europe, and to study and 
describe is to go back to the days in which these 
objects have been made, and to the wants and manners, 
the habits and sentiments, of bygone ages. Thus we 
may see chairs from which royalty has issued its man- 
dates ; cabinets that have held the secrets of state ; 
buffets and sideboards that have figured at mediaeval 
feasts ; tapestries that have looked down on groups of 
men and women, as brilliant in colour as the dyes of 
their own threads ; mirrors that have flashed back the 
faces, and caskets that have held the trinkets of 
beauties whose sons and daughters for generations have 
long gone to the dust; spinning-wheels trod by grand 



old dames, whose white locks were once as golden as 
the flax upon the distaffs in their hands ; and clocks 
that have beat for years the march of Time's stately 
tread. Viewed in this light a collection of furniture 
such as that gathered together in the galleries of the 
Royal Scottish Academy possesses an interest which 

made in the following lines to work out the subject 
chronologically, and to parallel the various periods of 
history by a mention of the examples which are the 
products of such periods. 

Ignoring the antique, of which no specimen here is 
worthy of note, we may divide modern furniture into 


■ fc . 


appeals to a wider circle than that ot dealers and con- 
noisseurs, and one that, by thus arousing a direct power 
of association, may possibly lead to just as direct a study 
of the objects for the sake of their own beauty. Un- 
fortunately this particular collection is strong only 
within certain definite limits, but an attempt has been 

early and late medieval, renaissance, seventeenth and 
eighteenth century work. Early mediaeval art, in- 
cluded under the general name of Gothic, continued 
down to the twelfth century full of Romanesque forms 
and details, and, like much of the architecture of that 
period, was a heritage of classic work changed and 



influenced by TJyzantine traditions. During the 
tliirteenth and fourteenth centuries mediaeval art in 
Europe reached its greatest perfection. Classic tra- 
ditions were forgotten everywhere save in Rome it- 
self;, and the feeling in wood and other materials was 
in unison with the pointed architecture. Examples of 
this mediaeval work are still to be seen in churches. 

the workers in wood, and the renaissance which now 
set in really forms the beginning of modern furniture. 
The renaissance found Italj' in the possession of well- 
skilled and carefully-trained artists, and there was no 
difficulty in finding distinguished names with whole 
schools of enthusiastic admirers behind them, who 
readily formed their style on the old classic models. 


though beds, chairs, chests, etc., are rare. A some- 
what late example of this latter class of work is seen 
in the oak credence No. 232, which is really the chest 
of eai-lier times placed on legs, and which, developed, 
has given us the sideboard of to-day. The return of 
the arts in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to the 
old classical types carried with them the exertions of 

and the best artists ot the day did not hesitate 
to give their minds to the making of furniture 
and wood-work in various materials, and employed 
every kind of accomplishment in beautifying them. 
Many materials were employed by the renaissance 
artists. Wood first, and pi-incipally in making fur- 
niture, but decorated with gildings and paintings, 



inlaid witli agate, canielia, lapis lazuli, and marbles 
of various tints, with ivory, tortoise-shell, mother-of- 
pearl, and with other woods. Specimens of work 
which illustrate this period of the renaissance in 
Italy are shown in cabinet No. (iy from Holyrood, 
which is a good example of tarsia or inlaid work. 
Marquetry, strictly speaking, is a kind of decoration 
derived by the Venetians from Persia and India, and 
consists of a fine inlay of ivory, metal, and woodsj 

_ Jri 


stained to vary the coloui-. ' Tarsie,' or ' Tai'siatura,' 
is described by Mrs. Merrifield as a kind of mosaic in 
woods, and consists in the representation of houses 
and perspective views of buildings, by inlaying pieces 
of wood of various colours and shades into panels of 
walnut wood. Marquetiy is, however, now used indis- 
criminately to describe both these kinds of inlay. No 
145 (seventeenth century ?) is a beautiful example of 
another class of work, that of ' Pietra Dara,' or mosaic 
panelling of hard pebbles. In this specimen ebony is 
used as a base, and the panellings of vari-coloured 
marbles. Another method of decoration is seen in the 
cabinet No. 268, in which ivory panels are inlaid upon a 
base of ebony, and upon the ivory, figure compositions 
are etched in black lines. No. 372 is an example of 
marquetry work, with the introduction of flower sprays 
composed of ivory and mother-of-pearl. Ivory and 
tortoise-shell are used in the casket No. 97, and, with 
the addition of engraving on the ivory, in the jewel 
cases Nos. 62 and 63, whilst, as examples of the treat- 
ment of pure wood-work, may be instanced Nos. 39, 
110, and 314. Other examples are to be found scat- 
tered up and down the collection, but a specimen of a 
particular method of treatment has been chosen. A 
coffer or chest, used generally in Italian households 
for holding the bride's wardrobe, is seen in No. 381, of 
which the torus of the base is particularly fine ; and 
another instance of the common treatment of simple 
domestic objects is afforded by the carved pair of 
bellows No. 336, an example well worthy the atten- 
tion of present students of wood-carving classes. 
Chairs and tables, though among the richest produc- 
tions of this period, are here poorly represented. The 
carved and richly gilded chairs in general use in 
Venice in the sixteenth centuries, and of which method 

of treatment mirror No. 88, gives a slight idea, would 
have afforded an example of a tradition of good work 
which has lasted down to the modern works exhibited 
in the recent Italian Exhibition in London. Chair 
No. 302, though recognised as doubtful Italian, is a 
remarkable example of beauty combined with utility ; 
and though queried in the Catalogue, less doubt may 
be had about the carved settee No. 284, the propor- 
tions and carving of which are, however, speedily lost 
in the admiration of the beautiful piece of tapestry 
that covers the back and sides, and which is barely 
equalled by a similar specimen, chair No. 314. The 
marquetry table No. 489, though a good exhibit, is 
probably of a later date than the period under con- 
sideration. The various carved panels exhibited lose 
in value somewhat by their not being in situ, though 
they should be studied as proofs of the versatility of 
early Italian and other carvers. A note should here 
be made of a strongly developed feature in sixteenth- 
century furniture, namely, the architectural character 
of the outlines, noticeable here in some of the speci- 
mens shown. Italy may be said to have beeii a nursing- 
mother whose sons went north and east and west. No 
good example of French work of this period is to be 
seen here if one may except table No. 489, but 
there are one or two good specimens of Spanish 
cabinet-work, and of which Nos. 98 and 137i'naybe 
instanced. A peculiar feature in this class of work is 
the red tortoise-shell, which colour was usually ob- 
tained by laying metal under the shell. No. 315 
has an inlay of tortoise-shell and ivory. Special 
mention should be made of the chairs Nos. 33, 43, 
and 476. These, though called Spanish, are charac- 
teristic of old Portuguese work, for which see No. 
367. The curiously national character of these chairs 
is obtained in the quality of the 
leather employed in the construe- ] 

tion, and which is sufficiently elastic ; 

to be comfortable, though hard and 
too stiff to go into holes. The whole 
of the surface is covered with ara- 
besques in the best cinquecento 
design ; and a feature is likewise 
made of the nails employed. These 
chairs belong properly to the seven- 
teenth century, and the same period 
is exemplified very fully by a large 
collection of chairs, cabinets, and 
tables, which, with the French and 
English work of a later period, 
really constitute the strong point 
of the show. The Tudor and Stuart 
styles may be applied to the work of these times in 
England and Scotland, but the various examples are 
most difficult to classify. The Italian taste had grown 
less pure and more general, and classic details as they 
came north were mixed with the relics of older styles. 
The Flemish and Dutch also imported wood-work into 
Scotland in large quantities, and hence the great like- 



ness between the late Flemish renaissance and the 
corresponding Scottish wood-work. Foremost among 
the examples here present comes the carved oak table 
No. 423^ the legs of which are formed in the middle by 
the enormous acorn-shaped mass so common in Flemish 
work; other examples of unwieldy picturesqueness 
are to be found in the Dutch Guild wardrobe No. 4.50, 
and the oak cabinet No. 533. Attention should also 
be called to the cabinet No. 464, whose beautifully 
rich colour almost outweighs every other consideration ; 
and the Queen Mary cabinet recently in the collection 
at the Bishop's Palace is a purer example of work, as 
is also the simple and solid No. 404. It is in chairs, 
however, that the best illustrations are to be found. 
No. 94, dated l625, with its panelled back and semi- 
circular rose-filled top, may be taken as a type of a 
particular make of chair of which many examples may 
be noted, specially Nos. 179, 365, 547, 552, and 553, 
and, with a valuation necessitated for a double purpose 
of table and chair. No. 550. The beautiful lines of 
No. 476 would be difficult to excel, and this particular 
article of furniture seems to occupy a position midway 
between those described and those which are common!}' 
designated crown-top chairs, from their having the 
imperial crown, with scroll supports, as the principal 
object in their scheme of ornamentation. The back 
supports are usually cut into double screw twists ; they 
may or may not possess arms and fore supports. 
The back panel has carved and pierced stiles and 
rails, and cane may or may not be employed in the 
seat and back. No. 481 is a magnificent example, 
and variations may be seen in Nos. 104, 451, and 493. 
This was a favourite design for chairs during the reign 
of William and Mary, and probably an importation from 
Holland — a fact apparently attested to by No. 287. 
The metal-work of this period should also be referred 
to, particularly the sconces, which, decorated by 
hammered work or in repousse, are hung and placed 
about the octagons. Perhaps the most noteworthy is 
the pair No. 402, though 513 is just as interesting; 
and attention is called to the Dutch specimens of 
metal-work, particularly the lamp No. 438, and to the 
Norwegian, No. 513. 

This century saw also the introduction in France, of 
Boule or Buhl work, named after the artist and in- 
ventor, Andre Boule, born 1642. It is a particular kind 
of veneered work, composed of tortoise-shell and thin 
brass, with ivory and enamelled brass sometimes added, 
brass, and shell being, however, the general methods. 
Illustrations of this work are seen in the tables Nos. 64 
and 65, which are further enriched by examples of 
Boule's added skill as a sculptor in brass. In the 
eighteenth century the seat of inspiration in furniture 
design was shifted from Italy to France, and this latter 
country for some time hereafter led the fashion. Boule 
work grew into bigger and more imposing structures ; 
other changes were introduced to cai-ry out the taste 
for gilding which then prevailed, and broken shell- 

shaped wood-work, known as Louis Quinze work, began 
to be adopted, the fantastic forms of the curves being- 
called Rococo, from the words rocai/le coqiiaille, rock and 
shell curves. The names of Le Pautre, Reisener, David, 
and Gonthiere may be mentioned among artists, and 
good specimens of the work of this period are to be seen 
in Nos. 136, 162, and I66. The mounts used in the 
decoration of these are made of a mixture of copper 
and zinc cast in a mould, and termed ' ormulu.' It is, 
however, in English work of this period that the exhi- 
bition is particularly strong, and is the work of a native 
school of designers, foremost among them being 
Thomas Chippendale, who published a book of designs 
with the object of promoting good French design in this 
field of art. His work is extremely well represented, 
as a reference to the Catalogue will show. Mention 
should, however, be made here of the powerful influ- 
ence exercised by Sir William Chambers, and constantly 
seen not only in Chippendale's, but in other work or 
the century, and of the classic feeling imparted to furni- 
ture by the brothers Adam in their designs for tables, 
chairs, sideboards, and plate. A representative example 
is chair No. 34. An alliance between furniture and 
painted decoration, already mentioned in connection 
with early Italian work, and then current in France, 
consisted in the introduction of painted medallions and 
cameo tops and borders in table tops and fronts. A 
specimen of such work is No. 90, and it may be 
interesting to state that Angelica Kauffman did 
work of this kind. To return, however, to Chip- 
pendale. With him must be associated Heppel- 
white, who also published a set of designs, and 
Thomas Sheraton, whose Diclionanj was issued late in 
the century. No detailed description of the various 
exhibits under the names of these three men Is neces- 
sary, and readers of this article are referred to the ex- 
cellent note on ' Chippendale and his Successors' which 
is inserted in the Catalogue of the Exhibition, by Mr. 
Marshall of the Edinburgh High School. The speci- 
mens of old bookbinding are reserved for future notice. 
Tapestry, though well represented, is deficient in really 
good specimens of the art. The best are those in the 
fifth octagon, and though treated too pictorially, the 
effect of No. 563 is extremely beautiful. All too brief a 
space is left to notice the works in the Amateur and 
Professional Sections. The majority of the exhibits 
from the Edinburgh Social Union, the Keswick School 
of Industrial Arts, and those of the Corstorphine 
Brass Class, particularly this latter, are most excel- 
lent up to a certain point, though the intention is in 
many cases much better than the result. It speaks 
volumes for the future position of the plastic arts when 
those usuallj' classed as consumers can thus practically 
demonstrate their growing taste for beautiful surround- 
ings. The chief fault would seem to lie in the desire 
for originality, but it should never be forgotten that 
the study of the works of the past is the only real road 
to a future excellence, and the best examples here are 



those in which this lias evidently been done. The 
jjopular taste is never the liighest taste, and in catering 
for the fancy of the hour, lady amateurs, who dispose 
of their labour at a low price, should bear in mind 
their poorer sisters in art, whom they may drive out of 
the market, wliich, like other markets, is in its lower 
departments greatly overstocked with applicants for 
employment. The professional section contains the 
efforts of many whose names are associated with the 
production of good work, among such being Aldan 
Heaton, A. S. Benson, and the firm of Starkie, Gardner 
& Co. No. 364, by Fred. E. E. Schenck, and a vase 
by the same artist, are worthy of special mention, as is 
also much of the plaster-work exhibited by the firm of 
M'Gilvray & Ferris; but a comparison of the work in 
this section with similar examples in the Loan Galleries 

should serve as a useful reminder of the much that yet 
remains to be accomplished. The arrangement of the 
objects on loan is at once effective and pictorial. 
Rarely are objects seen to a better advantage, and 
none but an artistic eye could have superintended 
their disj)osal. Li these days, when the machine 
seems to rule us all, it is refreshing to see work in 
which mechanical aid played so unimportant a part ; 
and one cannot but think that beauty which is created 
by the hand of man, that, in fact, which we call art, 
is not the clever application of mechanical forces or of 
scientific inventions, but is brought to light, whether 
it be a cabinet front or the Venus of Milo, often with 
pain, always by the entire devotion of the laboui-, the 
intellect, the experience, the imagination, and the affec- 
tion of the artist. Francis H. Newbery. 


EVERY science, art, or trade has its special 
puzzle or ' conundrum,'' which sometimes 
passes ' through the ages ' before it is answered, and 
tiiat of archfBology has long been, ' Whence did 
the pi-ehistoric neolithic men of Europe obtain the 
jade from which they made their choicest axe-heads 
or celts.?' Much has been set forth on this subject, 
a learned German having even written a very large 
volume on it, without being able to come to a con- 
clusion. The circimistanee which led to my solution 
of this problem was so curious, tiiat a narration of 
it can hardly fail to interest the i-eader. 

I had several Chinese friends, members of the 
Legation in London, all of them highly educated 
and generally well-informed, who frequently visited 
me. Once I had visited the island of lona, and 
brought away a handful of the green pebbles which 
every pilgrim thither has for a thousand years taken 
with him as a souvenir. One evening, after speak- 
ing of Buddhist pilgrims from China, and of those 
who are believed to have gone to Mexico in the fifth 
century a.d., I thought of the lona pilgrims, and 
showed my guests the green pebbles. They ap- 
peared to be impressed or astonished on examining 
them to a degree \\hicb was to me incomprehensible, 
and held a long and animated conversation over 
them in Chinese. As tiiey seemed to value the 
stones, I divided the latter among them, and if they 
had been large diamonds my friends could not have 
been more grateful. 

I suspected there was something in it all, and 
wrote a letter the next day to the resident clergy- 
man at lona, asking him to kindly send me some 

good specimens of the green pebbles. He (Mr. 
Jenkins) did so. Not long after, in Philadelphia, I 
submitted my best specimen to Prof. Jose25h Leidy, 
who declared it to be, not nephrite, but true pure 
jade of the best quality. Then I understood why 
my Chinese friends had been so much interested in 
the pebbles. Every Chinese gentleman who pre- 
tends to refined culture is a connoisseur in jade, and 
tiiey had recognised the wonderfully rare and beauti- 
ful mineral. 

Should examination prove that jade exists hi situ 
in ' workable quantities ' in lona, it will be for Scot- 
land a very valuable discovery. As a material for 
the most beautiful and delicate art-work, it is liter- 
ally without equal. No other stone has such a 
peculiar creamy slight transparency, while the dark 
green, and yet diaphanous, variety (like my speci- 
men), which is rare and very valuable, surpasses any 
agate in richness. These better or choicer kinds 
must be sought for. Nearly all the lona pebbles 
which I have seen were of a soft light green stone of 
little value ; and in like manner the Tartar source 
from which China is supplied yields a very small 
proportion of ^■aluable material. Owing to the long 
closing of these mines by the Mahometan war, and 
the subsequent dangerous condition of the countrj', 
jade has of late years advanced in price several hun- 
dred per cent., as most bric-a-brac collectors know 
to their sorrow. It is to be desired that any of the 
readers of the Scottish Art Revieio who possess infor- 
mation on this subject would publish that know- 

Chaiu.ks G. Lf.i.axd. 




Lectukes and Demonstrations at the Arts and Crafts 
Exhibition. — The illustration of theory by practice is shown in 
the course of lectures, accompanied by demonstrations, which, at 
the mouths and by the hands of practical professors, have been 
given weekly during November at the New Gallery. ' What 
should be done ' is a matter of primary public importance ; * how 
to do,' though generally interesting, is of special value only to 
the tew whose work lies in the subjects chosen for treatment. 
But such of that knowledge of both theory and practice as should 
be common property of both producer and consumer is given 
in the following short /;'t't7> of these lectures. 

On Thursday night (Nov. i), Mr. William Morris delivered the 
first of the course of lectures arranged for each Thursday evening 
during November, his subject being carpet and tapestry weaving. 
A brilliant gathering crowded the large hall at the Arts and 
Crafts Exhibition, and many lights — artistic, cesthetic, and 
socialistic — were present. 

Mr. Walter Crane presided, and opened the meeting by a very 
few words. Indeed it was clear from the hearty reception Mr. 
Morris had that little introduction was needed. The lecturer got 
right to his subject at once, by explaining the actual work and 
process of weaving, and giving practical demonstrations by the aid 
of model carpet and tapestry looms. These looked simple enough 
in their clean white wood, and to show the antiquity of the 
tapestry loom it was mentioned that it might be found represented 
on Egyptian tombs. As Mr. Morris confessed, it was difficult to 
make weavers of a popular audience, although, as he casually 
stated, he was a weaver himself, and had done the work of 
tapestiy-making. A very fine piece of Persian carpet some 250 
years old was used by the lecturer to show what a carpet should 
be ; firm in design, yet soft and delicately gradated in colour. In 
all work of decorative art there should be nothing vague. 
Absolute skill is to combine precision with softness and delicacy 
of effect ; as for the border there should be a considerable contrast 
between it and the filling. It should never be plain, the work 
being carried to the edge of the carpet. In the design as little 
repetition as possible. Mr. Morris pointed out how necessary it 
was that the art should be based upon a true appreciation of 
nature. Suggestion of natural form, he said, from one who really 
loves the living thing, is far beyond the work of one who could 
think only of the artificial form. The subject from an historical 
point of view was next dealt with. It had been suggested that 
carpets were first made by the Nomad tribes. He thought this 
likely enough, as they were really tent furniture. He mentioned 
that in mediKval pictures the carpet designs are always purely 
mosaic-geometrical, and traced the course of carpets in pictures 
from Van Eyck to Holbein, remarking pathetically that the old 
designs had been supplanted, caught by the throat, by com- 
mercialism. As carpets are an Eastern, so tapestries are essen- 
tially a European art. Tapestries are in existence — garments for 
the dead — dating probably from the second century after Christ. 
Until the second half of the fourteenth century there are no 
examples of the great tapestries, the greater part of existing 
remains dating from 1450 to 1520. Illustrating the fact that 
tapestry-weaving was not an art of the East, Mr. Morris told the 
story of the French knights who about 1307 were taken prisoners 
by the Turks, their captors demanding pictured tapestries as 
ransom. A few tapestries were produced during the first half of 
the seventeenth century, since then the art has degenerated to 
merely decorative upholstery. Describing a visit he had paid to a 
French factory, he spoke of the work as ' muzzy ' in outline, and 
devoid of detail. Nothing, he said, but strong Gothic art will do 
for tapestry. In conclusion the lecturer said we had artists who 
could design and workers who could execute if we would allow 
them, but we could not have both riches and wealth. Mr. Morris's 
style is plain and unaffecled, without attempts at oratorical display. 

He speaks in an easy conversational manner, but .there is a charm 
about his earnest simplicity which, on Thursday night, kept a hold 
on the sympathies of his audience to the end. 

Miss Harrison's Lectures. — Miss Harrison's candidature 
for the Chair of Archeology at University College has not been 
without its influence on the composition of her admirable lectures 
at South Kensington. In a lecture opening the new series she 
told her hearers that she had deserted for a time the subject of the 
development of myths in vase-paintings. The two previous 
courses at the South Kensington Museum had been on this sub- 
ject, but she had become conscious of a danger both to herself 
and her hearers of ever culling the flowers of art, and never 
arriving at the root and habitat of the plant. Such a defect, 
she hoped, might be obviated by a more severe course on the 
buildings and temples of Athens, showing the different cults in 
their stricter relation to topography and architecture. Besides, as 
she humorously remarked, she had lately been to Athens, and 
perhaps her greatest wish just now was, like the Athenians of old, 
to 'tell of some new thing.' The lectures would be exclusively 
devoted to the recent excavations. The remains of a prehistoric 
palace had been discovered near the Erechtheum, none other pre- 
sumably than the 'good house of Erechtbeus,' mentioned by 
Homer {Odyss. vii. Si). Close by had been laid bare the 
foundations of a large temple with an interior cella, a colonnade. 
The foundations of the latter pass right under the porch of the 
Erechtheum. This temple is maintained by Dr. Dorchfeld to be 
the ancient temple of the goddess Athene before the Persian 
wars, and burnt down by the Persians. The thirteen archaic 
statues, the find of which had created such excitement in 1SS5, 
north of the Erechtheum, Miss Harrison held to be those of the 
priestesses of Athene. One of the heads was of marvellous beauty 
in the style of the illustrious Kalamise. We think as we look at 
her of Lucian's 'portrait of a lady.' She must have the forehead, 
head, hair, the perfect eyebrows, and her soft mixture of the 
Aphrodite of Praxiteles ; her wrist and delicate fingers she would 
borrow from Alkamenes, neck and mouth and nose from Phideas ; 
but when all was put together, she yet lacked something — that 
only Kalamis could give, ' modesty, and a sweet, grave, uncon- 
scious smile,' and certain quaintness of vesture. 

The second portion of the lecture, as the first, was illustrated by 
means of the oxy-hydrogen light, and dealt with the excavations 
south of the Parthenon. Miss Harrison showed a curious archaic 
head in pons stone, and described its brilliant colouring — beard 
and hair, bright blue — eyes, emerald green. She also showed the 
lately discovered beautiful slab of the ' Sad Athene.' The notion 
of the goddess being sad Miss Harrison repudiated, as inconsis- 
tent with the feeling of the archaic period to which the tablet 
belongs. The goddess probably was looking down in earnest 
meditation on a state, symbolic doubtless of some important 
treaty between Athens and another city. 

Erratum. — Towards the close of the article on 'Bastien 
Lepage and Modern Realism,' on page 115, October number of 
this Jievie-v, there occurred the phrase ' martyrdom harder than 
bullets.' This is a harder saying than there was any intention of 
making it. The phrase should have read ' martyrdom harder than 

The Winter Exhibition at the Grosvenor Gallery, opening on 
January 1st, 1SS9, will contain a second series of examples of 
British Art for the century from 1737 to 1837. It promises to be 
interesting, and there is some hope of seeing a celebrated Lawrence 
which has not been exhibited for some twenty years. The pro- 
mised collection of English Pastels of this period should excite 
attention, coming so soon after the Pastel Exhibition which has 
just closed. There will be examples in this material by Cootes and 



The death of M. Longepied, the author of ' L'Immortalite,' 
at the age of 39, terminates, all too early, a brilliant career. He 
took a third-class medal in iSSo, one of the first class in 1SS2, 
and received the Prix de Salon for his group ' L'lmmortaliie ' 
(now in the Luxembourg) in the same year, being decorated with 
the ribbon of the Legion of Honour in 1S87. M. Longepied was 
a contributor to the recent International Exhibition, where he 
was represented by a bronze reduction of * L'Immortalite ' and by 
two panels in marble symbolic of the seasons, ' Spring ' and 
' Autumn.' Their execution in marble, specially for the sculpture 
section, was, owing to pressure of time, most unfortunately 
intrusted to an Italian carver, with the result that beyond com- 
position no idea was obtained of the crisp beauty of the original 
terra-cottas as seen in the sculptor's studio. The recently unveiled 
statue of Danton was the artist's last work. 

Mr. Barrett Browning, who has definitely taken up his 
abode in Venice, is painting there a portrait of his father. The 
portrait is, we understand, an excellent likeness, one of the most 
satisfactory that has yet been taken of our great poet. 

The Royal Scottish Academy. — The new honorary mem- 
bers of the Academy are Josef Israels and the veteran William 
Bell Scott. The new A.R.S.A.'s are James Guthrie, George O. 
Reid, and Thomas Scott, 

The late colleagues at the British Museum of Sir Charles 
Newton, K.C.B., and his numerous admirers throughout the 
country, are subscribing to place in the British Museum a marble 
bust of the illustrious scholar. The bust will be placed in the 
gallery known as the Praxiteles Room, as a memorial that the 
priceless treasures of art collected there have beeu dug out of the 
Grecian soil by excavations conducted by Sir Charles Newton. 



THE death of Mr. James Sellars on the 9th of 
October last, at the early age of forty-five 
years, has caused througliout Scotland a widespread 
feeling of regret. 

There is no architect north of tlie T^xeed \\liose 
work is better known or more appreciated, both by 
his professional brethren and tlie general public. 

He was trained in tlie office of Mr. Hugh Barclay, 
Glasgow, and after acting as assistant in a few local 
offices, was assumed as a partner by Mr. Campbell 
Douglas, witli whom lie was associated up to tlie 

time of Jii.s deatli. Mr. Sellars possessed all the 
qualities wliicli go to make a tliorough and 
ful arcliitect, ((uick to grasp all tlie points wliich 
were essential to the completing of liis design, and, 
by his power as a drauglitsman, which was almost 
unique, equally able to transfer liis ideas to paper ; 
his decision of character gave him a iudgment 
which seldom erred, and enabled him to carry out 
thoroughly an amount of work wliich to an ordinary 
arcliitect would have been an impossibility. At all 
times he was willing to aid in e\ery way tlie cause 



of liis profession, the good of which he had always 
at heart. In its younger members he took the 
liveliest interest, and was never appealed to in vain 
to give them the benefit of his views not only on 
matters artistic, but also on those constructional 
and practical. 

His best lectures were, of course, liis practice, and 
that always echoed truthfully and thoroughly his 
view.s, and happily for 
us we can still be in- 
fluenced by them. His 
greatest power was as 
a monumental archi- 
tect, that is to say, 
a designer of public 
buildings or institu- 
tions, and some of his 
plans witliin recent 
years have been tho- 
rough masterpieces of 

In his capacity as 
ai'chitect of tlie Inter- 
national Exiiibition 
Buildings, Glasgow, he 
has come more promi- 
nently before the pub- 
lic than on .any former 
occasion. The tho- 
rough manner in whicli 
this immense under- 
taking was conducted 
to a successful comple- 
tion in a comparative- 
ly short time will long- 
be remembered. Into 
this work lie threw all 
liis energy, and by de- 
signing all the outside 
buildings in tlie same 
style as the main 
building, succeeded in 
producing a complete 
whole, quite unique in 

itself, and the beauty of which has contributed 
largely to make the Exhibition the great success 
whicli it has proved. The unceasing energy, both 
mental and physical, necessary to the successful 
accomplishment of this great task, hastened on, in a 
great measure, his untimely decease. 

Mr. Sellars' fame will, liowever, not rest on this 
temporary building, successful as it is in itself, but 
on the numerous permanent buildings with whicli 
his name is associated, and which do so much to 
beautify and adorn his native city. While yet 


young he twice successfully competed for the Stuart 
Memorial Fountain against the most noted of the 
West of Spotland architects, his second design being 
the fountain as it now stands in the Kelvingrove 
Park, where it will remain as a memorial of the 
early age at which Mr. Sellars developed the power 
which up to tlie time of his death proved so prolific. 
At this time also he was taken into partnership with 

Mr. Campbell Douglas. 
Of the numerous 
works which he has 
executed, the New 
Club in West George 
Street is probably the 
finest, and wlien one 
considers tliat lie was 
not trained in an archi- 
tectural school, or at 
the time of its execu- 
tion had the advan- 
tages of foi'eign travel, 
one cannot but be sur- 
prised that it is so 
alive with tlie spirit 
which actuated the 
great masters of the 
Renaissance, and that 
its detail is so refined 
and masterly. 

The largest work 
with which liis name 
is associated is the 
St. Andrew's Halls, a 
severely classical build- 
ing, in which the pro- 
portions and details 
are excellently studied, 
and the drawings of 
wliicli were mostly 
made by his own hand. 
As showing the uni- 
versality of Mr. Sellars' 
ability, I may mention 
in conjunctionwith the 
above works representative of Renaissance and classi- 
cal architecture, some of his Gothic churches, such as 
Beliiaven United Presbyterian Cliurch and Hillhead 
Established Church, in two different phases of Gothic 
art, but both equally excellent in mass and detail. 

Mr. Sellars was among the foremost of the archi- 
tects of the day who have done so much to Jielp on, 
in Scotland, tlie revival of architecture as a fine art, 
and tliere will be great difficulty in finding any one 
so able to carry on the good -influence which lie so 
materially assisted. 




He was a thor- 
oughly nineteenth- 
century arcliitect, 
who constantly in- 
spired himself from 
what he considered 
the best examples, 
but who was never 
tied by precedent to 
any absurdity, and 
who never descend- 
ed to slavishly copy 
any example, how- 
ever good. Besides 
the works he has 
executed he is well 
known to his pro- 
fessional brethren 
by his designs sub- 
mitted in numer- 
ous competitions 
which were always 
characterised by 
a thoroughness 
and thoughtfulness 



such trials of 

His death is the 
more to be regret- 
ted as he had just 
reached the zenith 
of his fame, and 
has been taken away 
while still in the 
possession of liis full 
power, and while all 
looked for much 
more good work 
from his able hand 
and active brain. 

By his death his 
intimates have lost 
a good friend and 
kindly adviser. His 
quiet humour and 
quaint repartees, 
his well - known 
figure and splen- 
didly modelled head 
will be sadly missed 
by those who, for 
too short a time, had the pleasure and privilege of 
intercourse with him. John Keppie. 




Etching, ' The Sower,' by William Strang. Reproduction of Picture, ' Evening in the Gatinais,'' 

by the late Frank O'Meara. 

The latter is a decorative picture which was ex- 
hibited in the Sculpture Gallery at the Glasgow 
Exhibition, and has been reproduced by the kind 
permission of James Gardiner, Esq. In the October 

Number of the Scottish Art Review there appeared 
an obituary notice of tlie late Mr. O'Meara, in which 
the characteristics of his quite original method were 


By an Old Wagnerian. 

No. I.— WAGNER. 

THE Wagner-Liszt letters recently given to 
the world by the widow of the one and 
daughter of the other composer, and made accessible 
to English readers by the translation, in two volumes 
published by Messrs. Grevel of King Street, Covent 
Garden, have been differently spoken of in different 
quarters. The Wagnerites in Germany and else- 
whei'e look upon them as the most important docu- 
ment of musical history in existence, and compare 
them to the famous correspondence between Schiller 
and Goethe, with which they have at any rate this 
in common, that they have been left by Madame 
Wagner, the editor, without any kind of com- 
mentary, index, or notes, so much as to say that 
this is a book for studying, not for reading, and 
that those who wish to understand it must take the 
trouble to find out collateral dates and facts for 
themselves. Hostile critics of course do not agree 
in this view ; without denying the importance of 
the letters as historic documents, they say that they 
reveal a great deal more than was desii-able for the 
good name of at least one of the correspondents. 
Liszt, they admit, appears in a very amiable light, 
liberal to a fault, and used, or rather abused, by his 
friend and correspondent in the way that liberal and 
amiable people generally are in this selfish world of 
ours. They dilate greatly upon the fact that 
Wagner throughout the correspondence appears in 
an impecunious and generally helpless condition, 
that he appeals to his friend for money, and what 
is worth more than money, intercession with in- 
fluential friends and theatrical managers, and princes 
of the empire down to the very police, whom Wagner 
on one occasion asks Liszt to put on the traces of a 

felonious waiter who had robbed him of his little 
stock of money at a Paris hotel. 

With all due deference I would ask these virtuous 
censors to consider what they might have done 
themselves in similar circumstances ; to confess 
candidly if they by their own or others'" fault had 
some day been reduced from a lucrative appoint- 
ment to absolute starvation, with a cherished and 
patient wife, and that wife''s family dependent upon 
them, and without any cliance of getting money by 
honest or dishonest means, whether they also would 
not have called for help and accepted that help 
from any friendly quarter that might liave tendered 
it. The case which I have ventured hypothetically 
to suggest was realised in its most literal and terrible 
sense by the condition of Wagner''s affairs towards 
the latter end of May 1849. At the beginning of 
that month the discontent of the Saxons with their 
king and his ministers liad led to open revolt, and 
that revolt was crushed by the Prussian troops who 
were called to aid from across tlie frontier, and took 
Dresden at the point of the bayonet. Wagner was 
little of a politician, but the theatrical humdrum 
routine which he had been compelled to witness and 
to submit to as the King's Capellmeister was so 
disgusting to him, that change at any price seemed 
desirable, and so he allowed himself to be carried 
away by the revolutionary fever without thinking 
of consequences. How serious those consequences 
might have been is sufficiently proved by tlie fate 
of his friend and sub-conductor at the Dresden 
Theatre, Roeckel, who was kept in a Saxon prison 
for thirteen years, and then released, not by any 
act of grace, but merely because he had become an 



encumbrance to the authorities in the altered cir- 
cumstances of the time. There is not the slightest 
doubt that the same fate would have been in store 
for Wagner had he been caught, for the king was 
naturally incensed at the eccentricities of his way- 
ward Capellmeister ; and although he was unable to 
deprive him of his liberty, kept him in dreary 
exile, and cut oft from all personal connection witli 
his art for exactly the same term that poor Roeckel 
languished in prison. It was not till 1861 that the 
King of Saxony yielded to the warm pleadings of 
the Grand Duke of Baden and other German princes, 
and allowed the composer, with whose fame at that 
time Germany was ringing, to re-enter his father- 
land, and to witness amongst other things a per- 
formance of his Lohengrin. 

Fortunately Wagner had withdrawn himself from 
the tender mercies of his sovereign by timely flight 
to Weimar, where he stayed with Liszt for a few 
days, and saw a reliearsal of his Tannh'duser under 
the superintendence of his incomparable friend, and 
whence he was smuggled across the Swiss frontier 
by the aid of a passport lent to him at considerable 
risk by a distinguished member of the Weimar 

The twelve years, from 1849 to 1861, which he 
spent in banishment, and over which this corre- 
spondence extends, were filled up with ceaseless 
suffering, arduous struggle with an adverse fate, 
brightened only by a very few glimpses of good 
luck, but fruitful of the most important results 
nevertheless. None of the critics of the correspond- 
ence has so far defined the true character of the 
book, which is that of a tragedy as deeply pathetic 
as provocative of tlie Aristotelian.' fear and pity ' as 
any penned by ^Eschylus. The dramatis persona 
were indeed not unlike those of one of the greatest 
trilogies of Greek myth. We see on one side the 
fettered Titan, the Prometheus vinctus, chained to 
the rock of physical want and misery, and yet 
boldly defying the existing powers whose dreary 
secret he had unveiled only too successfully. I 
doubt whether a more melancholy line could be 
culled from all tlie tragic poets of Greece, or 
from Shelley, tlian the following simple appeal : 
' Consider everything, dear Liszt, and, before all, 
manage to send me soon — some money. I want 
firewood, and a warm overcoat, because my wife has 
not brought my old one on account of its shabbi- 
ness. Consider ! ' — or that plaintive question found 
in the same letter : ' How and whence shall I sret 


enough to live ? Is my finished work, Lohengrin, 
worth nothing .'' Is the opera which I am longing 
to complete worth nothing ? '' Let us indeed, in 
AVagner's words, consider for a moment what the 

situation really was, what were its causes, what its as- 
pects. By doing so we shall widen the import of the 
aforesaid tragedy ; we shall raise it from the personal 
to the general level ; we shall see that its hero is a. 
type, that his suffei'ings correspond to an immutable 
law, and exemplify an eternal truth. That law is 
the passive resistance which successful and well-to-do 
mediocrity opposes to genius from an instinct of 
self-preservation ; that truth, the same which is laid 
down in the well-worn Latin proverb. Per aspera ad 
astra. ' Consider ' Lohengrin two years after its com- 
position worth nothing, and vainly waiting for a 
performance which probably would never have taken 
place but for Liszt's initiative. ' Consider,' on the 
other hand, the Pinafore, or some wretched French 
operetta without the wit of the Pinafore, worth 
untold thousands to its autlior, who had perhaps 
bestowed upon the whole score a quarter of the time 
and thought that Wagner gave to twenty bars of 
his Lohengrin. Does not such a comparison teach 
to aspiring composers the wholesome maxim to 
leave high art alone, and to enjoy comfortably such 
gifts as the gods in their wisdom may have granted.^ 
The fact that at this moment Lohengrin is regarded 
to be one of the wonders of the musical world, and 
would perhaps be its greatest wonder, were not 
Tristan und Isolde in existence, and the certainty 
that these works will live long after the Pinafore 
and its congeners have gone the way of all pretty 
and fashionable things, count for very little. 
Wagner himself in these letters has a long and 
eloquent tirade against posthumous fame, of which 
it is my firm opinion he did not believe a single 
word, and Pope long ago assessed the comparative 
merits of solid pudding and empty praise at their 
true value. 

It is a mistake to think that that solid pudding 
would have been within the reach of Wagner ; that 
he might have written Pina/ore*, or at least Rienzis, 
by the dozen, pocketed the money, and lived happy 
ever after without troubling his friends. The gift 
of popularity is as distinct a gift as any other, 
and composers who think that they can catch the 
ear of the public merely by descending to the level 
of that public are entirely out in their reckoning, as 
Mr. Corder discovered to his cost when he thought 
that any work could succeed on the lines of poor 
stupid old Balfe, and in an evil hour penned Nordisa. 
Neither would it have been possible for Wagner to 
continue in the well-trodden paths of Rienzi ; the 
rigid fetters with which he plays in that remarkable 
juvenile opera had become more irksome to him than 
the material chains with which his friend Roeckel 
was loaded. He had outgrown these ligaments, he 
could not have resumed them if he had tried, and he 



refused to try. Liszt, more worldly-wise in his not in a position to rely on merit, but on grace. If 

friend's cause tlian in liis own, urged him to choose a 
subject adapted to the taste of the Parisian public, 
and Wagner would fain have conquered the boards 
of the Grand Opera; for Paris, much as he abused 
it, had a kind of fascination for him, and he never 
was a patriot in the narrow sense of the word. But 
as to selecting a theme, not because he liked it, but 
because the Parisians miglit like it, that was out of 
the question. What he seems to have thought of, 
inter alia, was Jesus of Nazaretli, not the Divine Re- 
deemer and religious reformer, but a kind of idealised 
man taking upon himself all the ills of a heartless, 
]5assionless world, and by that means achieving the 
liberation of the world, somewliat after the manner 
of Parsifal, to whom many of the attributes, and 
perhaps a few of tlie melodies of tlie original Jesus 
were subsequently assigned. Just imagine wliat the 
houlevardiers and the members of the Jockey Club, 
who hooted and dog-whistled at Tannhauser because 
there was no ballet in the second act, would have 
said to the world-redeeming prophet of Judea ! 
The naive unworldliness of genius lias perhaps 
never been more glaringly instanced than in this 
idea of an oj)eratic Jesus. 

The ordinary ways of making money by writing 
for the stage were obviously closed to Wagner. 
But, his sage commentators remark, he might have 
given lessons, or conducted concerts, and earned a 
modest livelihood rather than beg of his friends. 
So no doubt he might, although I for one should 
not have liked to be amongst his pupils in harmony 
and counterpoint. But what, ye sage commentators, 
would in that case have become of the Ring of the 
Nihelungcn and Tristan ? — works written without 
the chance of success, and even without the liope of 
it. Wagner as a teacher at young ladies' schools, or 
as a time-beater at ordinary festivals and concerts — 
there would have been a sight for the gods indeed! 
Tlie antique tragedy would have been turned into a 
modern farce scarcely perhaps less sad, but certainly 
less dignified than its prototype. 

Fortunately, the master understood the true 
essence of dignity and independence better than 
this. His position in the matter is as simple and 
as simply expressed as possible. ' It is true,' he 
writes to Liszt, ' that to the present generation, and 
to publicity as it is, my works must appear a 
useless luxury. But how about the few who love 
these works ? Should not they be allowed to offer 
to the poor suffering creator — not a remuneration, 
but the bare possibility of continuing to create 't 
To the tradesmen I cannot apply, nor to the exist- 
ing nobility — not to human princes, but to princely 
men. To work my best, my inmost salvation, I am 

we few in this villainous trading age are not gracious 
towards each other, how can we live in the name 
and for the honour of art?' In plain English this 
means that Wagner being unwilling to write music 
that would pay, the few people who appreciated 
liis music were in duty bound to place him above 
the sordid cares of life, and no position could in its 
way have been more