{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_42917/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_42917","id":"gutenberg_42917","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42917","summary":null,"tags":["Art and science","Category: Art","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Science - Earth/Agricultural/Farming"],"text":"Transcriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n      Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).\n\n      The text includes a modest amount of Greek, which has\n      been rendered using available fonts.  Ruskin used the\n      inverted breve popularized by Richard Porson, an 18th\n      century Greek scholar, for the Greek diacritical mark\n      \"persipomeni\", which had until the 19th century been\n      printed as a tilde. It is the tilde that appears in\n      most fonts, and is used in this text (e.g., \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2).\n\n      Some characters might not display in this UTF-8 text\n      version or in the html version. If so, the reader should\n      consult the iso-8859-1 (Latin-1) text file 42917-8.txt\n      or 42917.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/42917/42917-8.txt)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/42917/42917-8.zip)\n\n      Footnotes have been located to the end of each numbered\n      paragraph.\n\n      Consult the transcriber's note at the end of this text\n      for details.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE EAGLE'S NEST.\n\nTen Lectures on the Relation of Natural Science to Art,\nGiven Before the University of Oxford, in Lent Term, 1872\n\nby\n\nJOHN RUSKIN, LL.D.,\n\nHonorary Student of Christ Church, and Honorary Fellow\nof Corpus Christi College, Oxford.\n\nTwelfth Thousand\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon\nGeorge Allen, 156, Charing Cross Road\n1900\n\n[All rights reserved]\n\nPrinted by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.\nAt the Ballantyne Press\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe following Lectures have been written, not with less care, but with\nless pains, than any in former courses, because no labour could have\nrendered them exhaustive statements of their subjects, and I wished,\ntherefore, to take from them every appearance of pretending to be so:\nbut the assertions I have made are entirely deliberate, though their\nterms are unstudied; and the one which to the general reader will appear\nmost startling, that the study of anatomy is destructive to art, is\ninstantly necessary in explanation of the system adopted for the\ndirection of my Oxford schools.\n\nAt the period when engraving might have become to art what printing\nbecame to literature, the four greatest point-draughtsmen hitherto\nknown, Mantegna, Sandro Botticelli, D\u00fcrer, and Holbein, occupied\nthemselves in the new industry. All these four men were as high in\nintellect and moral sentiment as in art-power; and if they had engraved\nas Giotto painted, with popular and unscientific simplicity, would have\nleft an inexhaustible series of prints, delightful to the most innocent\nminds, and strengthening to the most noble.\n\nBut two of them, Mantegna and D\u00fcrer, were so polluted and paralyzed by\nthe study of anatomy that the former's best works (the magnificent\nmythology of the Vices in the Louvre, for instance) are entirely\nrevolting to all women and children; while D\u00fcrer never could draw one\nbeautiful female form or face; and, of his important plates, only four,\nthe Melancholia, St. Jerome in his study, St. Hubert, and The Knight and\nDeath, are of any use for popular instruction, because in these only,\nthe figures being fully draped or armed, he was enabled to think and\nfeel rightly, being delivered from the ghastly toil of bone-delineation.\n\nBotticelli and Holbein studied the face first, and the limbs\nsecondarily; and the works they have left are therefore (without\nexception) precious; yet saddened and corrupted by the influence which\nthe contemporary masters of body-drawing exercised on them; and at last\neclipsed by their false fame. I purpose, therefore, in my next course of\nlectures, to explain the relation of these two draughtsmen to other\nmasters of design, and of engraving.\n\nBRANTWOOD, _Sept. 2nd, 1872._\n\n\n\n\n                       CONTENTS.\n\n\n                       LECTURE I.\n\n                 _February 8, 1872._\n\n                                                       PAGE\n  THE FUNCTION IN ART OF THE FACULTY CALLED BY\n  THE GREEKS \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa                                          1\n\n\n                       LECTURE II.\n\n                  _February 10, 1872._\n\n  THE FUNCTION IN SCIENCE OF THE FACULTY CALLED BY\n  THE GREEKS \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa                                         25\n\n\n                       LECTURE III.\n\n                  _February 15, 1872._\n\n  THE RELATION OF WISE ART TO WISE SCIENCE                 46\n\n\n                       LECTURE IV.\n\n                  _February 17, 1872._\n\n  THE FUNCTION IN ART AND SCIENCE OF THE VIRTUE\n  CALLED BY THE GREEKS \u03c3\u03c9\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7                           74\n\n\n                       LECTURE V.\n\n                  _February 22, 1872._\n\n  THE FUNCTION IN ART AND SCIENCE OF THE VIRTUE\n  CALLED BY THE GREEKS \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03ac\u03c1\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1                           89\n\n\n                       LECTURE VI.\n\n                  _February 24, 1872._\n\n  THE RELATION TO ART OF THE SCIENCE OF LIGHT             114\n\n\n                       LECTURE VII.\n\n                  _February 29, 1872._\n\n  THE RELATION TO ART OF THE SCIENCES OF INORGANIC\n  FORM                                                    138\n\n\n                       LECTURE VIII.\n\n                      _March 2, 1872._\n\n  THE RELATION TO ART OF THE SCIENCES OF ORGANIC\n  FORM                                                    161\n\n\n                        LECTURE IX.\n\n                     _March 7, 1872._\n\n  INTRODUCTION TO ELEMENTARY EXERCISES IN PHYSIOLOGIC\n  ART. THE STORY OF THE HALCYON                           188\n\n\n                        LECTURE X.\n\n                     _March 9, 1872._\n\n  INTRODUCTION TO ELEMENTARY EXERCISES IN HISTORIC\n  ART. THE HERALDIC ORDINARIES                            225\n\n\n\n\n                           THE EAGLE'S NEST.\n\n\n\n\n                               LECTURE I.\n\n                     OF WISDOM AND FOLLY IN ART.[A]\n\n                         _8th February, 1872._\n\n\n1. The Lectures I have given hitherto, though, in the matter of them\nconscientiously addressed to my undergraduate pupils, yet were greatly\nmodified in method by my feeling that this undergraduate class, to which\nI wished to speak, was indeed a somewhat imaginary one; and that, in\ntruth, I was addressing a mixed audience, in greater part composed of\nthe masters of the University, before whom it was my duty to lay down\nthe principles on which I hoped to conduct, or prepare the way for the\nconduct of, these schools, rather than to enter on the immediate work of\nelementary teaching. But to-day, and henceforward most frequently, we\nare to be engaged in definite, and, I trust, continuous studies; and\nfrom this time forward, I address myself wholly to my undergraduate\npupils; and wish only that my Lectures may be serviceable to them, and,\nas far as the subject may admit of it, interesting.\n\n  [A] The proper titles of these lectures, too long for page-headings,\n      are given in the Contents.\n\n\n2. And, farther still, I must ask even my younger hearers to pardon me\nif I treat that subject in a somewhat narrow, and simple way. They have\na great deal of hard work to do in other schools: in these, they must\nnot think that I underrate their powers, if I endeavour to make\neverything as easy to them as possible. No study that is worth pursuing\nseriously can be pursued without effort; but we need never make the\neffort painful merely for the sake of preserving our dignity. Also, I\nshall make my Lectures shorter than heretofore. What I tell you I wish\nyou to remember; and I do not think it possible for you to remember well\nmuch more than I can easily tell you in half-an-hour. I will promise\nthat, at all events, you shall always be released so well within the\nhour, that you can keep any appointment accurately for the next. You\nwill not think me indolent in doing this; for, in the first place, I can\nassure you, it sometimes takes me a week to think over what it does not\ntake a minute to say: and, secondly, believe me, the least part of the\nwork of any sound art-teacher must be his talking. Nay, most deeply\nalso, it is to be wished that, with respect to the study which I have to\nbring before you to-day, in its relation to art, namely, natural\nphilosophy, the teachers of it, up to this present century, had done\nless work in talking, and more in observing: and it would be well even\nfor the men of this century, pre-eminent and accomplished as they are in\naccuracy of observation, if they had completely conquered the old habit\nof considering, with respect to any matter, rather what is to be said,\nthan what is to be known.\n\n\n3. You will, perhaps, readily admit this with respect to science; and\nbelieve my assertion of it with respect to art. You will feel the\nprobable mischief, in both these domains of intellect, which must follow\non the desire rather to talk than to know, and rather to talk than to\ndo. But the third domain, into the midst of which, here, in Oxford,\nscience and art seem to have thrust themselves hotly, like intrusive\nrocks, not without grim disturbance of the anciently fruitful\nplain;--your Kingdom or Princedom of Literature? Can we carry our\nstatement into a third parallelism, for that? It is ill for Science, we\nsay, when men desire to talk rather than to know; ill for Art, when they\ndesire to talk rather than to do. Ill for Literature, when they desire\nto talk,--is it? and rather than--what else? Perhaps you think that\nliterature means nothing else than talking?--that the triple powers of\nscience, art, and scholarship, mean simply the powers of knowing, doing,\nand saying. But that is not so in any wise. The faculty of saying or\nwriting anything well, is an art, just as much as any other; and founded\non a science as definite as any other. Professor Max M\u00fcller teaches you\nthe science of language; and there are people who will tell you that the\nonly art I can teach you myself, is the art of it. But try your triple\nparallelism once more, briefly, and see if another idea will not occur\nto you. In science, you must not talk before you know. In art, you must\nnot talk before you do. In literature you must not talk before\nyou--think.\n\nThat is your third Province. The Kingdom of Thought, or Conception.\n\nAnd it is entirely desirable that you should define to yourselves the\nthree great occupations of men in these following terms:--\n\n  SCIENCE.          The knowledge of things, whether\n                    Ideal or Substantial.\n\n  ART.              The modification of Substantial\n                    things by our Substantial Power.\n\n  LITERATURE.       The modification of Ideal things\n                    by our Ideal Power.\n\n\n4. But now observe. If this division be a just one, we ought to have a\nword for literature, with the 'Letter' left out of it. It is true that,\nfor the most part, the modification of ideal things by our ideal power\nis not complete till it is expressed; nor even to ourselves delightful,\ntill it is communicated. To letter it and label it--to inscribe and to\nword it rightly,--this is a great task, and it is the part of\nliterature which can be most distinctly taught. But it is only the\nformation of its body. And the soul of it can exist without the body;\nbut not at all the body without the soul; for that is true no less of\nliterature than of all else in us or of us--\"litera occidit, spiritus\nautem vivificat.\"\n\nNevertheless, I must be content to-day with our old word. We cannot say\n'spiriture' nor 'animature,' instead of literature; but you must not be\ncontent with the vulgar interpretation of the word. Remember always that\nyou come to this University,--or, at least, your fathers came,--not to\nlearn how to say things, but how to think them.\n\n\n5. \"How to think them! but that is only the art of logic,\" you perhaps\nwould answer. No, again, not at all: logic is a method, not a power; and\nwe have defined literature to be the modification of ideal things by\nideal power, not by mechanical method. And you come to the University to\nget that power, or develop it; not to be taught the mere method of using\nit.\n\nI say you come to the University for this; and perhaps some of you are\nmuch surprised to hear it! You did not know that you came to the\nUniversity for any such purpose. Nay, perhaps you did not know that you\nhad come to a University at all? You do not at this instant, some of\nyou, I am well assured, know what a University means. Does it mean, for\ninstance--can you answer me in a moment, whether it means--a place\nwhere everybody comes to learn something; or a place where somebody\ncomes to learn everything? It means--or you are trying to make it\nmean--practically and at present, the first; but it means theoretically,\nand always, the last; a place where only certain persons come, to learn\n_everything_; that is to say, where those who wish to be able to think,\ncome to learn to think: not to think of mathematics only, nor of morals,\nnor of surgery, nor chemistry, but of everything, rightly.\n\n\n6. I say you do not all know this; and yet, whether you know it or\nnot,--whether you desire it or not,--to some extent the everlasting\nfitness of the matter makes the facts conform to it. For we have at\npresent, observe, schools of three kinds, in operation over the whole of\nEngland. We have--I name it first, though, I am sorry to say, it is last\nin influence--the body consisting of the Royal Academy, with the\nInstitute of Architects, and the schools at Kensington, and their\nbranches; teaching various styles of fine or mechanical art. We have, in\nthe second place, the Royal Society, as a central body; and, as its\nsatellites, separate companies of men devoted to each several science:\ninvestigating, classing, and describing facts with unwearied industry.\nAnd lastly and chiefly, we have the great Universities, with all their\nsubordinate public schools, distinctively occupied in regulating,--as I\nthink you will at once admit,--not the language merely, nor even the\nlanguage principally, but the modes of philosophical and imaginative\nthought in which we desire that youth should be disciplined, and age\ninformed and majestic. The methods of language, and its range; the\npossibilities of its beauty, and the necessities for its precision, are\nall dependent upon the range and dignity of the unspoken conceptions\nwhich it is the function of these great schools of literature to awaken,\nand to guide.\n\n\n7. The range and dignity of _conceptions_! Let us pause a minute or two\nat these words, and be sure we accept them.\n\nFirst, what _is_ a conception? What is this separate object of our\nwork, as scholars, distinguished from artists, and from men of science?\n\nWe shall discover this better by taking a simple instance of the three\nagencies.\n\nSuppose that you were actually on the plain of P\u00e6stum, watching the\ndrift of storm-cloud which Turner has here engraved.[B] If you had\noccupied yourself chiefly in schools of science, you would think of the\nmode in which the electricity was collected; of the influence it had on\nthe shape and motion of the cloud; of the force and duration of its\nflashes, and of other such material phenomena. If you were an artist,\nyou would be considering how it might be possible, with the means at\nyour disposal, to obtain the brilliancy of the light, or the depth of\nthe gloom. Finally, if you were a scholar, as distinguished from either\nof these, you would be occupied with the imagination of the state of the\ntemple in former times; and as you watched the thunderclouds drift past\nits columns, and the power of the God of the heavens put forth, as it\nseemed, in scorn of the departed power of the god who was thought by the\nheathen to shake the earth--the utterance of your mind would become,\nwhether in actual words or not, such as that of the Psalmist:--\"Clouds\nand darkness are round about Him--righteousness and judgment are the\nhabitation of His throne.\" Your thoughts would take that shape, of their\nown accord, and if they fell also into the language, still your\nessential scholarship would consist, not in your remembering the verse,\nstill less in your knowing that \"judgment\" was a Latin word, and\n\"throne\" a Greek one; but in your having power enough of conception, and\nelevation enough of character, to understand the nature of justice, and\nbe appalled before the majesty of dominion.\n\n  [B] Educational Series, No. 8, E.\n\n\n8. You come, therefore, to this University, I repeat once again, that\nyou may learn how to form conceptions of proper range or grasp, and\nproper dignity, or worthiness. Keeping then the ideas of a separate\nschool of art, and separate school of science, what have you to learn in\nthese? You would learn in the school of art, the due range and dignity\nof deeds; or doings--(I prefer the word to \"makings,\" as more general),\nand in the school of science, you would have to learn the range and\ndignity of knowledges.\n\nNow be quite clear about this: be sure whether you really agree with me\nor not.\n\nYou come to the School of Literature, I say, to learn the range and\ndignity of conceptions.\n\nTo the School of Art, to learn the range and dignity of deeds.\n\nTo the School of Science, to learn the range and dignity of knowledges.\n\nDo you agree to that, or not? I will assume that you admit my triple\ndivision; but do you think, in opposition to me, that a school of\nscience is still a school of science, whatever sort of knowledge it\nteaches; and a school of art still a school of art, whatever sort of\ndeed it teaches; and a school of literature still a school of\nliterature, whatever sort of notion it teaches?\n\nDo you think that? for observe, my statement denies that. My statement\nis, that a school of literature teaches you to have one sort of\nconception, not another sort; a school of art to do a particular sort of\ndeed, not another sort; a school of science to possess a particular sort\nof knowledge, not another sort.\n\n\n9. I assume that you differ with me on this point;--some of you\ncertainly will. Well then, let me go back a step. You will all go thus\nfar with me, that--now taking the Greek words--the school of literature\nteaches you to have \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe7\u03c2, or conception of things, instead of \u1f04\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1,--no\nconception of things; that the school of art teaches you \u03c4\u03ad\u03c7\u03bd\u03b7 of\nthings, instead of \u1f00\u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03af\u03b1; and the school of science \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03bc\u03b7, instead\nof \u1f04\u03b3\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1 or 'ignorantia.' But, you recollect, Aristotle names two other\nfaculties with these three,--\u03c6\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2, namely, and \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa. He has\naltogether five, \u03c4\u03ad\u03c7\u03bd\u03b7, \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03bc\u03b7, \u03c6\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2, \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa, \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2; that is to say,\nin simplest English,--art, science, sense, wisdom, and wit. We have got\nour art, science, and wit, set over their three domains; and we old\npeople send you young ones to those three schools, that you may not\nremain artless, scienceless, nor witless. But how of the sense, and the\nwisdom? What domains belong to these? Do you think our trefoil division\nshould become cinquefoil, and that we ought to have two additional\nschools; one of Philosophia, and one of Philophronesia? If Aristotle's\ndivision were right it would be so. But his division is wrong, and he\npresently shows it is; for he tells you in the next page, (in the\nsentence I have so often quoted to you,) that \"the virtue of art is the\nwisdom which consists in the wit of what is honourable.\" Now that is\nperfectly true; but it of course vitiates his division altogether. He\ndivides his entire subject into _A_, _B_, _C_, _D_, and _E_; and then he\ntells you that the virtue of _A_ is the _B_ which consists in _C_. Now\nyou will continually find, in this way, that Aristotle's assertions are\nright, but his divisions illogical. It is quite true that the virtue of\nart is the wisdom which consists in the wit of what is honourable; but\nalso the virtue of science is the wit of what is honourable, and in the\nsame sense, the virtue of \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2, or wit itself, consists in its _being_\nthe wit or conception of what is honourable. \u03a3\u03bf\u03c6\u03af\u03b1, therefore, is not\nonly the \u1f00\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03ae \u03c4\u03ad\u03c7\u03bd\u03b7\u03c2, but, in exactly the same sense, the \u1f00\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03ae\n\u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03bc\u03b7\u03c2, and in this sense, it is the \u1f00\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03ae \u03bd\u03cc\u03bf\u03c5. And if not governed\nby \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa, each school will teach the vicious condition of its own\nspecial faculty. As \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03af\u03b1 is the \u1f00\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03ae of all three, so \u03bc\u03c9\u03c1\u03af\u03b1 will be\nthe \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03af\u03b1 of all three.\n\n\n10. Now in this, whether you agree with me or not, let me be at least\nsure you understand me. \u03a3\u03bf\u03c6\u03af\u03b1, I say, is the virtue, \u03bc\u03c9\u03c1\u03af\u03b1 is the vice,\nof all the three faculties of art, science, and literature. There is\nfor each of them a negative and a positive side, as well as a zero.\nThere is a nescience for zero in science--with wise science on one side,\nfoolish science on the other: \u1f00\u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03af\u03b1 for zero in art, with wise art on\none side, foolish art on the other; and \u1f04\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1 for zero in \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2, with\nwise \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2 on one side, foolish \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2 on the other.\n\n\n11. You will smile at that last expression, 'foolish \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2.' Yet\nit is, of all foolish things, the commonest and deadliest. We\ncontinually complain of men, much more of women, for reasoning ill. But\nit does not matter how they reason, if they don't conceive basely. Not\none person in a hundred is capable of seriously reasoning; the\ndifference between man and man is in the quickness and quality, the\naccipitrine intensity, the olfactory choice, of his \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2. Does\nhe hawk at game or carrion? What you choose to grasp with your mind is\nthe question;--not how you handle it afterwards. What does it matter how\nyou build, if you have bad bricks to build with; or how you reason, if\nevery idea with which you begin is foul or false? And in general all\nfatal false reasoning proceeds from people's having some one false\nnotion in their hearts, with which they are resolved that their\nreasoning _shall_ comply.\n\nBut, for better illustration, I will now take my own special subject out\nof the three;--\u03c4\u03ad\u03c7\u03bd\u03b7. I have said that we have, for its zero, \u1f00\u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03af\u03b1,\nor artlessness--in Latin, 'inertia,' opposed to 'ars.' Well, then, we\nhave, from that zero, wise art on the one side, foolish art on the\nother; and the finer the art, the more it is capable of this living\nincrease, or deadly defect. I will take, for example, first, a very\nsimple art, then a finer one; but both of them arts with which most of\nyou are thoroughly acquainted.\n\n\n12. One of the simplest pieces of perfect art, which you are yourselves\nin the habit of practising, is the stroke of an oar given in true time.\nWe have defined art to be the wise modification of matter by the body\n(substantial things by substantial power, \u00a7 3). With a good oar-stroke\nyou displace a certain quantity of water in a wise way. Supposing you\nmissed your stroke, and caught a crab, you would displace a certain\nquantity of water in a foolish way, not only ineffectually, but in a way\nthe reverse of what you intended. The perfectness of the stroke implies\nnot only absolutely accurate knowledge or science of the mode in which\nwater resists the blade of an oar, but the having in past time met that\nresistance repeatedly with greater and greater rightness of adaptation\nto the end proposed. That end being perfectly simple,--the advance of\nthe boat as far as possible with a given expenditure of strength, you at\nonce recognize the degree in which the art falls short of, or the\nartlessness negatives, your purpose. But your being '\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03cc\u03c2,' as an\noarsman, implies much more than this mere art founded on pure science.\nThe fact of your being able to row in a beautiful manner depends on\nother things than the knowledge of the force of water, or the repeated\npractice of certain actions in resistance to it. It implies the practice\nof those actions under a resolved discipline of the body, involving\nregulation of the passions. It signifies submission to the authority,\nand amicable concurrence with the humours, of other persons; and so far\nas it is beautifully done at last, absolutely signifies therefore a\nmoral and intellectual rightness, to the necessary extent influencing\nthe character honourably and graciously. This is the sophia, or wit, of\nwhat is most honourable, which is concerned in rowing, without which it\nmust become no rowing, or the reverse of rowing.\n\n\n13. Let us next take example in an art which perhaps you will think\n(though I hope not) much inferior to rowing, but which is in reality a\nmuch higher art--dancing. I have just told you (\u00a7 11) how to test the\nrank of arts--namely, by their corruptibility, as you judge of the\nfineness of organic substance. The moria,[C] or folly, of rowing, is\nonly ridiculous, but the moria, or folly, of dancing, is much worse than\nridiculous; and, therefore, you may know that its sophia, or wisdom,\nwill be much more beautiful than the wisdom of rowing. Suppose, for\ninstance, a minuet danced by two lovers, both highly bred, both of noble\ncharacter, and very much in love with each other. You would see, in\nthat, an art of the most highly finished kind, under the government of a\nsophia which dealt with the strongest passions, and most exquisite\nperceptions of beauty, possible to humanity.\n\n  [C] If the English reader will pronounce the o in this word as in\n      fold, and in sophia as in sop, but accenting the o, not the i, I\n      need not any more disturb my pages with Greek types.\n\n\n14. For example of the contrary of these, in the same art, I cannot give\nyou one more definite than that which I saw at, I think, the Gaiety\nTheatre--but it might have been at any London theatre now,--two years\nago.\n\nThe supposed scene of the dance was Hell, which was painted in the\nbackground with its flames. The dancers were supposed to be demons, and\nwore black masks, with red tinsel for fiery eyes; the same red light was\nrepresented as coming out of their ears also. They began their dance by\nascending through the stage on spring trap-doors, which threw them at\nonce ten feet into the air; and its performance consisted in the\nexpression of every kind of evil passion, in frantic excess.\n\n\n15. You will not, I imagine, be at a loss to understand the sense in\nwhich the words sophia and moria are to be rightly used of these two\nmethods of the same art. But those of you who are in the habit of\naccurate thinking will at once perceive that I have introduced a new\nelement into my subject by taking an instance in a higher art. The folly\nof rowing consisted mainly in not being able to row; but this folly of\ndancing does not consist in not being able to dance, but in dancing\nwell with evil purpose; and the better the dancing, the worse the\nresult.\n\nAnd now I am afraid I must tease you by asking your attention to what\nyou may at first think a vain nicety in analysis, but the nicety is here\nessential, and I hope throughout this course of Lectures, not to be so\ntroublesome to you again.\n\n\n16. The mere negation of the power of art--the zero of it--you say, in\nrowing, is ridiculous. It is, of course, not less ridiculous in dancing.\nBut what do you mean by ridiculous? You mean contemptible, so as to\nprovoke laughter. The contempt, in either case, is slight, in ordinary\nsociety; because, though a man may neither know how to row, or dance, he\nmay know many other things. But suppose he lived where he could not know\nmany other things? By a stormy sea-coast, where there could be no\nfresco-painting, in a poor country, where could be none of the fine arts\nconnected with wealth, and in a simple, and primitive society, not yet\nreached by refinements of literature; but where good rowing was\nnecessary for the support of life, and good dancing, one of the most\nvivid aids to domestic pleasure. You would then say that inability to\nrow, or to dance, was far worse than ridiculous; that it marked a man\nfor a good-for-nothing fellow, to be regarded with indignation, as well\nas contempt.\n\nNow, remember, the inertia or zero of art always involves this kind of\ncrime, or at least, pitiableness. The want of opportunity of learning\ntakes away the moral guilt of artlessness; but the want of opportunity\nof learning such arts as are becoming in given circumstances, may indeed\nbe no crime in an individual, but cannot be alleged in its defence by a\nnation. National ignorance of decent art is always criminal, unless in\nearliest conditions of society; and then it is brutal.\n\n\n17. To that extent, therefore, culpably or otherwise, a kind of moria,\nor folly, is always indicated by the zero of art-power. But the true\nfolly, or assuredly culpable folly, is in the exertion of our art power\nin an evil direction. And here we need the finesse of distinction, which\nI am afraid will be provoking to you. Observe, first, and simply, that\nthe possession of any art-power at all implies a sophia of _some_ kind.\nThese demon dancers, of whom I have just spoken, were earning their\nbread by severe and honest labour. The skill they possessed could not\nhave been acquired but by great patience and resolute self-denial; and\nthe very power with which they were able to express, with precision,\nstates of evil passion, indicated that they had been brought up in a\nsociety which, in some measure, knew evil from good, and which had,\ntherefore, some measure of good in the midst of it. Nay, the farther\nprobability is, that if you inquired into the life of these men, you\nwould find that this demon dance had been invented by some one of them\nwith a great imaginative power, and was performed by them not at all in\npreference of evil, but to meet the demand of a public whose admiration\nwas capable of being excited only by violence of gesture, and vice of\nemotion.\n\n\n18. In all cases, therefore, observe, where the opportunity of learning\nhas been given; the existence of the art-power indicates sophia and its\nabsence indicates moria. That great fact I endeavoured to express to\nyou, two years since, in my third introductory Lecture. In the present\ncourse I have to show you the action of the final, or higher sophia,\nwhich directs the skill of art to the best purposes; and of the final,\nor lower moria, which misdirects them to the worst. And the two points\nI shall endeavour to bring before you throughout will be these:--First,\nthat the object of University teaching is to form your conceptions; not\nto acquaint you with arts, nor sciences. It is to give you a notion of\nwhat is meant by smith's work, for instance;--but not to make you\nblacksmiths. It is to give you a notion of what is meant by medicine,\nbut not to make you physicians. The proper academy for blacksmiths is a\nblacksmith's forge; the proper academy for physicians is an hospital.\nHere you are to be taken away from the forge, out of the hospital, out\nof all special and limited labour and thought, into the 'Universitas' of\nlabour and thought, that you may in peace, in leisure, in calm of\ndisinterested contemplation, be enabled to conceive rightly the laws of\nnature, and the destinies of Man.\n\n\n19. Then the second thing I have to show you is that over these three\nkingdoms of imagination, art, and science, there reigns a virtue or\nfaculty, which from all time, and by all great people, has been\nrecognised as the appointed ruler and guide of every method of labour,\nor passion of soul; and the most glorious recompense of the toil, and\ncrown of the ambition of man. \"She is more precious than rubies, and all\nthe things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Lay fast\nhold upon her; let her not go; keep her, for she is thy life.\"\n\nAre not these, and the innumerable words like to these, which you\nremember as I read them, strange words, if Aristotle's statement\nrespecting wisdom be true; that it never contemplates anything that can\nmake men happy, \"\u1f21 \u03bc\u03ad\u03bd \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1 \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03af\u03b1 \u03bf\u1f50\u03b4\u03ad\u03bd \u03b8\u03b5\u03c9\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9 \u1f10\u03be \u1f66\u03bd \u1f14\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b5\u1f50\u03b4\u03b1\u03af\u03bc\u03c9\u03bd\n\u1f04\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2\"?\n\nWhen we next meet, therefore, I purpose to examine what it is which\nwisdom, by preference, contemplates; what choice she makes among the\nthoughts and sciences open to her, and to what purpose she employs\nwhatever science she may possess.\n\nAnd I will briefly tell you, beforehand, that the result of the inquiry\nwill be, that instead of regarding none of the sources of happiness, she\nregards nothing else; that she measures all worthiness by pure felicity;\nthat we are permitted to conceive her as the cause even of gladness to\nGod--\"I was daily His delight, rejoicing always before Him,\"--and that\nwe are commanded to _know_ her as queen of the populous world,\n\"rejoicing in the habitable parts of the Earth, and whose delights are\nwith the sons of Men.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              LECTURE II.\n\n                    OF WISDOM AND FOLLY IN SCIENCE.\n\n                         _10th February, 1872._\n\n\n20. In my last lecture I asserted the positive and negative powers of\nliterature, art, and science; and endeavoured to show you some of the\nrelations of wise art to foolish art. To-day we are to examine the\nnature of these positive and negative powers in science; it being the\nobject of every true school to teach the positive or constructive power,\nand by all means to discourage, reprove, and extinguish the negative\npower.\n\nIt is very possible that you may not often have thought of, or clearly\ndefined to yourselves, this destructive or deadly character of some\nelements of science. You may indeed have recognized with Pope that a\nlittle knowledge was dangerous, and you have therefore striven to drink\ndeep; you may have recognized with Bacon, that knowledge might partially\nbecome venomous; and you may have sought, in modesty and sincerity,\nantidote to the inflating poison. But that there is a ruling spirit or\n\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa, under whose authority you are placed, to determine for\nyou, first the choice, and then the use of all knowledge whatsoever; and\nthat if you do not appeal to that ruler, much more if you disobey her,\nall science becomes to you ruinous in proportion to its accumulation,\nand as a net to your soul, fatal in proportion to the fineness of its\nthread,--this, I imagine, few of you, in the zeal of learning, have\nsuspected, and fewer still have pressed their suspicion so far as to\nrecognize or believe.\n\n\n21. You must have nearly all heard of, many must have seen, the singular\npaintings; some also may have read the poems, of William Blake. The\nimpression that his drawings once made is fast, and justly, fading away,\nthough they are not without noble merit. But his poems have much more\nthan merit; they are written with absolute sincerity, with infinite\ntenderness, and, though in the manner of them diseased and wild, are in\nverity the words of a great and wise mind, disturbed, but not deceived,\nby its sickness; nay, partly exalted by it, and sometimes giving forth\nin fiery aphorism some of the most precious words of existing\nliterature. One of these passages I will ask you to remember; it will\noften be serviceable to you--\n\n    \"Doth the Eagle know what is in the pit,\n     Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?\"\n\nIt would be impossible to express to you in briefer terms the great\ntruth that there is a different kind of knowledge good for every\ndifferent creature, and that the glory of the higher creatures is in\nignorance of what is known to the lower.\n\n\n22. And, above all, this is true of man; for every other creature is\ncompelled by its instinct to learn its own appointed lesson, and must\ncentralize its perception in its own being. But man has the choice of\nstooping in science beneath himself, and striving in science beyond\nhimself; and the \"Know thyself\" is, for him, not a law to which he must\nin peace submit; but a precept which of all others is the most painful\nto understand, and the most difficult to fulfil. Most painful to\nunderstand, and humiliating; and this alike, whether it be held to\nrefer to the knowledge beneath us, or above. For, singularly enough, men\nare always most conceited of the meanest science:--\n\n    \"Doth the Eagle know what is in the pit,\n     Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?\"\n\nIt is just those who grope with the mole, and cling with the bat, who\nare vainest of their sight and of their wings.\n\n\n23. \"Know _thyself_;\" but can it indeed be sophia,--can it be the noble\nwisdom, which thus speaks to science? Is not this rather, you will ask,\nthe voice of the lower virtue of prudence, concerning itself with right\nconduct, whether for the interests of this world or of the future? Does\nnot sophia regard all that is above and greater than man; and by so much\nas we are forbidden to bury ourselves in the mole's earth-heap, by so\nmuch also, are we not urged to raise ourselves towards the stars?\n\nIndeed, it would at first seem so; nay, in the passage of the Ethics,\nwhich I proposed to you to-day for question, you are distinctly told so.\nThere are, it is said, many different kinds of phronesis, by which every\nanimal recognizes what is for its own good: and man, like any other\ncreature, has his own separate phronesis telling him what he is to seek,\nand to do, for the preservation of his life: but above all these forms\nof prudence, the Greek sage tells you, is the sophia of which the\nobjects are unchangeable and eternal, the methods consistent, and the\nconclusions universal: and this wisdom has no regard whatever to the\nthings in which the happiness of man consists, but acquaints itself only\nwith the things that are most honourable; so that \"we call Anaxagoras\nand Thales, and such others, wise indeed, but not prudent, in that they\nknow nothing of what is for their own advantage, but know surpassing\nthings, marvellous things, difficult things, and divine things.\"\n\n\n24. Now here is a question which evidently touches _us_ closely. We\nprofess at this day to be an especially prudent nation;--to regard only\nthe things which are for our own advantage; to leave to other races the\nknowledge of surpassing things, marvellous things, divine things, or\nbeautiful things; and in our exceeding prudence we are, at this moment,\nrefusing the purchase of, perhaps, the most interesting picture by\nRaphael in the world, and, certainly, one of the most beautiful works\never produced by the art-wisdom of man, for five-and-twenty thousand\npounds, while we are debating whether we shall not pay three hundred\nmillions to the Americans, as a fine for selling a small frigate to\nCaptain Semmes. Let me reduce these sums from thousands of pounds, to\nsingle pounds; you will then see the facts more clearly; (there is not\none person in a million who knows what a \"million\" means; and that is\none reason the nation is always ready to let its ministers spend a\nmillion or two in cannon, if they can show they have saved\ntwopence-halfpenny in tape). These are the facts then, stating pounds\nfor thousands of pounds; you are offered a Nativity, by Raphael, for\nfive-and-twenty pounds, and cannot afford it; but it is thought you may\nbe bullied into paying three hundred thousand pounds, for having sold a\nship to Captain Semmes. I do not say you will pay it. Still your present\nposition is one of deprecation and humility, and that is the kind of\nresult which you bring about by acting with what you call \"practical\ncommon sense,\" instead of Divine wisdom.\n\n\n25. Perhaps you think I am losing Aristotle's notion of common sense, by\nconfusing it with our vulgar English one; and that selling ships or\nammunition to people whom we have not courage to fight either for or\nagainst, would not by Aristotle have been held a phronetic, or prudent\nproceeding. Be it so; let us be certain then, if we can, what Aristotle\ndoes mean. Take the instance I gave you in the last lecture, of the\nvarious modes of feeling in which a master of literature, of science,\nand of art, would severally regard the storm round the temples of\nP\u00e6stum.\n\nThe man of science, we said, thought of the origin of the electricity;\nthe artist of its light in the clouds, and the scholar, of its relation\nto the power of Zeus and Poseidon. There you have Episteme; Techne; and\nNous; well, now what does Phronesis do?\n\nPhronesis puts up his umbrella, and goes home as fast as he can.\nAristotle's Phronesis at least does; having no regard for marvellous\nthings. But are you sure that Aristotle's Phronesis is indeed the right\nsort of Phronesis? May there not be a commonsense, as well as an art,\nand a science, under the command of sophia? Let us take an instance of a\nmore subtle kind.\n\n\n26. Suppose that two young ladies, (I assume in my present lectures,\nthat none are present, and that we may say among ourselves what we like;\nand we do like, do we not, to suppose that young ladies excel us only in\nprudence, and not in wisdom?) let us suppose that two young ladies go to\nthe observatory on a winter night, and that one is so anxious to look at\nthe stars that she does not care whether she gives herself cold, or not;\nbut the other is prudent, and takes care, and looks at the stars only as\nlong as she can without catching cold. In Aristotle's mind the first\nyoung lady would properly deserve the name of Sophia, and the other that\nof Prudence. But in order to judge them fairly, we must assume that they\nare acting under exactly the same conditions. Assume that they both\nequally desire to look at the stars; then, the fact that one of them\nstops when it would be dangerous to look longer, does not show that she\nis less wise,--less interested, that is to say, in surpassing and\nmarvellous things;--but it shows that she has more self-command, and is\nable therefore to remember what the other does not think of. She is\nequally wise, and more sensible. But suppose that the two girls are\noriginally different in disposition; and that the one, having much more\nimagination than the other, is more interested in these surpassing and\nmarvellous things; so that the self-command, which is enough to stop the\nother, who cares little for the stars, is not enough to stop her who\ncares much for them;--you would say, then, that, both the girls being\nequally sensible, the one that caught cold was the wisest.\n\n\n27. Let us make a farther supposition. Returning to our first condition,\nthat both the girls desire equally to look at the stars; let us put it\nnow that both have equal self-command, and would therefore, supposing no\nother motives were in their minds, together go on star-gazing, or\ntogether stop star-gazing; but that one of them has greater\nconsideration for her friends than the other, and though she would not\nmind catching cold for her own part, would mind it much for fear of\ngiving her mother trouble. She will leave the stars first, therefore;\nbut should we be right now in saying that she was only more sensible\nthan her companion, and not more wise? This respect for the feelings of\nothers, this understanding of her duty towards others, is a much higher\nthing than the love of stars. It is an imaginative knowledge, not of\nballs of fire or differences of space, but of the feelings of living\ncreatures, and of the forces of duty by which they justly move. This is\na knowledge, or perception, therefore, of a thing more surpassing and\nmarvellous than the stars themselves, and the grasp of it is reached by\na higher sophia.\n\n\n28. Will you have patience with me for one supposition more? We may\nassume the attraction of the spectacle of the heavens to be equal in\ndegree, and yet, in the minds of the two girls, it may be entirely\ndifferent in kind. Supposing the one versed somewhat in abstract\nScience, and more or less acquainted with the laws by which what she now\nsees may be explained; she will probably take interest chiefly in\nquestions of distance and magnitude, in varieties of orbit, and\nproportions of light. Supposing the other not versed in any science of\nthis kind, but acquainted with the traditions attached by the religion\nof dead nations to the figures they discerned in the sky: she will care\nlittle for arithmetical or geometrical matters, but will probably\nreceive a much deeper emotion, from witnessing in clearness what has\nbeen the amazement of so many eyes long closed; and recognizing the same\nlights, through the same darkness, with innocent shepherds and\nhusbandmen, who knew only the risings and settings of the immeasurable\nvault, as its lights shone on their own fields or mountains; yet saw\ntrue miracle in them, thankful that none but the Supreme Ruler could\nbind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion. I\nneed not surely tell you, that in this exertion of the intellect and the\nheart, there would be a far nobler sophia than any concerned with the\nanalysis of matter, or the measurement of space.\n\n\n29. I will not weary you longer with questions, but simply tell you,\nwhat you will find ultimately to be true, that sophia is the form of\nthought, which makes common sense unselfish,--knowledge unselfish,--art\nunselfish,--and wit and imagination unselfish. Of all these, by\nthemselves, it is true that they are partly venomous; that, as knowledge\npuffeth up, so does prudence--so does art--so does wit; but, added to\nall these, wisdom, or (you may read it as an equivalent word), added to\nall these--charity, edifieth.\n\n\n30. Note the word; builds forward, or builds up, and builds securely\nbecause on modest and measured foundation, wide, though low, and in the\nnatural and living rock.\n\nSophia is the faculty which recognizes in all things their bearing upon\nlife, in the entire sum of life that we know, bestial and human; but,\nwhich, understanding the appointed objects of that life, concentrates\nits interest and its power on Humanity, as opposed on the one side to\nthe Animalism which it must rule, and distinguished on the other side\nfrom the Divinity which rules it, and which it cannot imagine.\n\nIt is as little the part of a wise man to reflect much on the nature of\nbeings above him, as of beings beneath him. It is immodest to suppose\nthat he can conceive the one, and degrading to suppose that he should be\nbusied with the other. To recognize his everlasting inferiority, and his\neverlasting greatness; to know himself, and his place; to be content to\nsubmit to God without understanding Him; and to rule the lower creation\nwith sympathy and kindness, yet neither sharing the passion of the wild\nbeast, nor imitating the science of the Insect;--this you will find is\nto be modest towards God, gentle to His creatures, and wise for\nhimself.\n\n\n31. I think you will now be able to fasten in your minds, first the idea\nof unselfishness, and secondly, that of modesty, as component elements\nof sophia; and having obtained thus much, we will at once make use of\nour gain, by rendering more clear one or two points respecting its\naction on art, that we may then see more surely its obscurer function in\nscience.\n\nIt is absolutely unselfish, we say, not in the sense of being without\ndesire, or effort to gratify that desire; on the contrary, it longs\nintensely to see, or know the things it is rightly interested in. But it\nis not interested specially in itself. In the degree of his wisdom, an\nartist is unconcerned about his work as his own;--concerned about it\nonly in the degree in which he would be, if it were another\nman's--recognizing its precise value, or no value, from that outer\nstandpoint. I do not think, unless you examine your minds very\nattentively, that you can have any conception of the difficulty of doing\nthis. Absolutely to do it is impossible, for we are all intended by\nnature to be a little unwise, and to derive more pleasure, therefore,\nfrom our own success than that of others. But the intense degree of the\ndifference is usually unmeasured by us. In preparing the drawings for\nyou to use as copies in these schools, my assistant and I are often\nsitting beside each other; and he is at work, usually, on the more\nimportant drawing of the two. I so far recognize that greater\nimportance, when it exists, that if I had the power of determining which\nof us should succeed, and which fail, I should be wise enough to choose\nhis success rather than my own. But the actual effect on my own mind,\nand comfort, is very different in the two cases. If _he_ fails, I am\nsorry, but not mortified;--on the contrary, perhaps a little pleased. I\ntell him, indulgently, 'he will do better another time,' and go down\nwith great contentment to my lunch. But, if _I_ fail, though I would\nrather, for the sake of the two drawings, have had it so, the effect on\nmy temper is very different. I say, philosophically, that it was better\nso--but I can't eat any lunch.\n\n\n32. Now, just imagine what this inherently selfish\npassion--unconquerable as you will find it by the most deliberate and\nmaintained efforts--fancy what it becomes, when instead of striving to\nsubdue, we take every means in our power to increase and encourage it;\nand when all the circumstances around us concur in the deadly\ncultivation. In all base schools of Art, the craftsman is dependent for\nhis bread on originality; that is to say, on finding in himself some\nfragment of isolated faculty, by which his work may be recognized as\ndistinct from that of other men. We are ready enough to take delight in\nour little doings, without any such stimulus;--what must be the effect\nof the popular applause which continually suggests that the little thing\nwe can separately do is as excellent as it is singular! and what the\neffect of the bribe, held out to us through the whole of life, to\nproduce--it being also at our peril _not_ to produce--something\ndifferent from the work of our neighbours? In all great schools of art\nthese conditions are exactly reversed. An artist is praised in these,\nnot for what is different in him from others, nor for solitary\nperformance of singular work; but only for doing most strongly what all\nare endeavouring; and for contributing, in the measure of his strength,\nto some great achievement, to be completed by the unity of multitudes,\nand the sequence of ages.\n\n\n33. And now, passing from art to science, the unselfishness of sophia is\nshown by the value it therein attaches to every part of knowledge, new\nor old, in proportion to its real utility to mankind, or largeness of\nrange in creation. The selfishness which renders sophia impossible, and\nenlarges the elastic and vaporous kingdom of folly, is shown by our\ncaring for knowledge only so far as we have been concerned in its\ndiscovery, or are ourselves skilled and admired in its communication. If\nthere is an art which \"puffeth up,\" even when we are surrounded by\nmagnificence of achievement of past ages, confessedly not by us to be\nrivalled, how much more must there be a science which puffeth up, when,\nby the very condition of science, it must be an advance on the\nattainments of former time, and however slight, or however slow, is\nstill always as the leaf of a pleasant spring compared to the dried\nbranches of years gone by? And, for the double calamity of the age in\nwhich we live, it has chanced that the demand of the vulgar and the dull\nfor originality in Art, is associated with the demand of a sensual\neconomy for originality in science; and the praise which is too readily\ngiven always to discoveries that are new, is enhanced by the reward\nwhich rapidity of communication now ensures to discoveries that are\nprofitable. What marvel if future time shall reproach us with having\ndestroyed the labours, and betrayed the knowledge of the greatest\nnations and the wisest men, while we amused ourselves with fantasy in\nart, and with theory in science: happy, if the one was idle without\nbeing vicious, and the other mistaken without being mischievous. Nay,\ntruth, and success, are often to us more deadly than error. Perhaps no\nprogress more triumphant has been made in any science than that of\nChemistry; but the practical fact which will remain for the\ncontemplation of the future, is that we have lost the art of painting on\nglass, and invented gun-cotton and nitroglycerine. \"Can you imagine,\"\nthe future will say, \"those English fools of the nineteenth century, who\nwent about putting up memorials of themselves in glass which they could\nnot paint, and blowing their women and children to pieces with\ncartridges they would not fight with?\"\n\n\n34. You may well think, gentlemen, that I am unjust and prejudiced in\nsuch sayings;--you may imagine that when all our mischievous inventions\nhave done their worst, and the wars they provoked by cowardice have been\nforgotten in dishonour, our great investigators will be remembered, as\nmen who laid first the foundations of fruitful knowledge, and vindicated\nthe majesty of inviolable law. No, gentlemen; it will not be so. In a\nlittle while, the discoveries of which we are now so proud will be\nfamiliar to all. The marvel of the future will not be that we should\nhave discerned them, but that our predecessors were blind to them. We\nmay be envied, but shall not be praised, for having been allowed first\nto perceive and proclaim what could be concealed no longer. But the\nmisuse we made of our discoveries will be remembered against us, in\neternal history; our ingenuity in the vindication, or the denial, of\nspecies, will be disregarded in the face of the fact that we destroyed,\nin civilized Europe, every rare bird and secluded flower; our chemistry\nof agriculture will be taunted with the memories of irremediable famine;\nand our mechanical contrivance will only make the age of the\nmitrailleuse more abhorred than that of the guillotine.\n\n\n35. Yes, believe me, in spite of our political liberality, and poetical\nphilanthropy; in spite of our almshouses, hospitals, and Sunday-schools;\nin spite of our missionary endeavours to preach abroad what we cannot\nget believed at home; and in spite of our wars against slavery,\nindemnified by the presentation of ingenious bills,--we shall be\nremembered in history as the most cruel, and therefore the most unwise,\ngeneration of men that ever yet troubled the earth:--the most cruel in\nproportion to their sensibility,--the most unwise in proportion to their\nscience. No people, understanding pain, ever inflicted so much: no\npeople, understanding facts, ever acted on them so little. You execrate\nthe name of Eccelin of Padua, because he slew two thousand innocent\npersons to maintain his power; and Dante cries out against Pisa that she\nshould be sunk in the sea, because, in revenge for treachery, she put to\ndeath, by the slow pangs of starvation, not the traitor only, but his\nchildren. But we men of London, we of the modern Pisa, slew, a little\nwhile since, _five hundred_ thousand men instead of _two_ thousand--(I\nspeak in official terms, and know my numbers)--these we slew, all\nguiltless; and these we slew, not for defence, nor for revenge, but most\nliterally in _cold_ blood; and these we slew, fathers and children\ntogether, by slow starvation--simply because, while we contentedly kill\nour own children in competition for places in the Civil Service, we\nnever ask, when once they have got the places, whether the Civil Service\nis done.\n\n\n36. That was our missionary work in Orissa, some three or four years\nago;--our Christian miracle of the five loaves, assisted as we are in\nits performance, by steam-engines for the threshing of the corn, and by\nrailroads for carrying it, and by proposals from English noblemen to cut\ndown all the trees in England, for better growing it. That, I repeat, is\nwhat we did, a year or two ago; what are we doing now? Have any of you\nchanced to hear of the famine in Persia? Here, with due science, we\narrange the roses in our botanic garden, thoughtless of the country of\nthe rose. With due art of horticulture, we prepare for our harvest of\npeaches;--it might perhaps seriously alarm us to hear, next autumn, of a\ncoming famine of peaches. But the famine of all things, in the country\nof the peach--do you know of it, care for it:--quaint famine that it is,\nin the fruitfullest, fairest, richest of the estates of earth; from\nwhich the Magi brought their treasures to the feet of Christ?\n\nHow much of your time, scientific faculty, popular literature, has been\ngiven, since this year began, to ascertain what England can do for the\ngreat countries under her command, or for the nations that look to her\nfor help; and how much to discuss the chances of a single impostor's\ngetting a few thousands a year?\n\nGentlemen, if your literature, popular and other; or your art, popular\nand other; or your science, popular and other, is to be eagle-eyed,\nremember that question I to-day solemnly put to you--will you hawk at\ngame or carrion? Shall it be only said of the thoughts of the heart of\nEngland--\"Wheresoever the _carcase_ is, thither shall the eagles be\ngathered together\"?\n\n\n\n\n                              LECTURE III.\n\n               THE RELATION OF WISE ART TO WISE SCIENCE.\n\n              _\"The morrow after St. Valentine's,\" 1872._\n\n\n37. Our task to-day is to examine the relation between art and science,\neach governed by sophia, and becoming capable, therefore, of consistent\nand definable relation to each other. Between foolish art and foolish\nscience, there may indeed be all manner of reciprocal mischievous\ninfluence; but between wise art and wise science there is essential\nrelation, for each other's help and dignity.\n\nYou observe, I hope, that I always use the term 'science,' merely as the\nequivalent of 'knowledge.' I take the Latin word, rather than the\nEnglish, to mark that it is knowledge of constant things, not merely of\npassing events: but you had better lose even that distinction, and\nreceive the word \"scientia\" as merely the equivalent of our English\n\"knowledge,\" than fall into the opposite error of supposing that\nscience means systematization or discovery. It is not the arrangement of\nnew systems, nor the discovery of new facts, which constitutes a man of\nscience; but the submission to an eternal system; and the proper grasp\nof facts already known.\n\n\n38. And, at first, to-day, I use the word \"art\" only of that in which it\nis my special office to instruct you; graphic imitation; or, as it is\ncommonly called, Fine art. Of course, the arts of construction,--building,\ncarpentering, and the like, are directly dependent on many sciences,\nbut in a manner which needs no discussion, so that we may put that part\nof the business out of our way. I mean by art, to-day, only imitative\nart; and by science, to-day, not the knowledge of general laws, but of\nexistent facts. I do not mean by science, for instance, the knowledge\nthat triangles with equal bases and between parallels, are equal, but\nthe knowledge that the stars in Cassiopeia are in the form of a =W=.\n\nNow, accepting the terms 'science' and 'art' under these limitations,\nwise art is only the reflex or shadow of wise science. Whatever it is\nreally desirable and honourable to know, it is also desirable and\nhonourable to know as completely and as long as possible; therefore, to\npresent, or re-present, in the most constant manner; and to bring again\nand again, not only within the thoughts, but before the eyes; describing\nit, not with vague words, but distinct lines, and true colours, so as to\napproach always as nearly as may be to the likeness of the thing itself.\n\n\n39. Can anything be more simple, more evidently or indisputably natural\nand right, than such connection of the two powers? That you should\ndesire to know what you ought; what is worthy of your nature, and\nhelpful to your life: to know that;--nothing less,--nothing more; and to\nkeep record and definition of such knowledge near you, in the most vivid\nand explanatory form?\n\nNothing, surely, can be more simple than this; yet the sum of art\njudgment and of art practice is in this. You are to recognize, or know,\nbeautiful and noble things--notable, notabilia, or nobilia; and then you\nare to give the best possible account of them you can, either for the\nsake of others, or for the sake of your own forgetful or apathetic\nself, in the future.\n\nNow as I gave you and asked you to remember without failing, an aphorism\nwhich embraced the law of wise knowledge, so, to-day, I will ask you to\nremember, without fail, one, which absolutely defines the relation of\nwise art to it. I have, already, quoted our to-day's aphorism to you, at\nthe end of my fourth lecture on sculpture. Read the few sentences at the\nend of that lecture now, down to\n\n    \"THE BEST, IN THIS KIND, ARE BUT SHADOWS.\"\n\nThat is Shakspeare's judgment of his own art. And by strange\ncoincidence, he has put the words into the mouth of the hero whose\nshadow, or semblance in marble, is admittedly the most ideal and heroic\nwe possess, of man; yet, I need not ask you, whether of the two, if it\nwere granted you to see the statue by Phidias, or the hero Theseus\nhimself, you would choose rather to see the carved stone, or the living\nKing. Do you recollect how Shakspeare's Theseus concludes his sentence,\nspoken of the poor tradesmen's kindly offered art, in the \"Midsummer\nNight's Dream\"?\n\n\"The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if\nimagination amend them.\"\n\nIt will not burden your memories painfully, I hope, though it may not\nadvance you materially in the class list, if you will learn this entire\nsentence by heart, being, as it is, a faultless and complete epitome of\nthe laws of mimetic art.\n\n\n40. \"BUT SHADOWS!\" Make them as beautiful as you can; use them only to\nenable you to remember and love what they are cast by. If ever you\nprefer the skill of them to the simplicity of the truth, or the pleasure\nof them to the power of the truth, you have fallen into that vice of\nfolly, (whether you call her \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03af\u03b1 or \u03bc\u03c9\u03c1\u03af\u03b1,) which concludes the subtle\ndescription of her given by Prodicus, that she might be seen continually\n\u03b5\u1f30\u03c2 \u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u1f11\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c3\u03ba\u03b9\u1f70\u03bd \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03b2\u03bb\u03ad\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd--to look with love, and exclusive\nwonder, at _her own_ shadow.\n\n\n41. There is nothing that I tell you with more eager desire that you\nshould believe--nothing with wider ground in my experience for requiring\nyou to believe, than this, that you never will love art well, till you\nlove what she mirrors better.\n\nIt is the widest, as the clearest experience I have to give you; for the\nbeginning of all my own right art work in life, (and it may not be\nunprofitable that I should tell you this,) depended not on my love of\nart, but of mountains and sea. All boys with any good in them are fond\nof boats, and of course I liked the mountains best when they had lakes\nat the bottom; and I used to walk always in the middle of the loosest\ngravel I could find in the roads of the midland counties, that I might\nhear, as I trod on it, something like the sound of the pebbles on\nsea-beach. No chance occurred for some time to develop what gift of\ndrawing I had; but I would pass entire days in rambling on the\nCumberland hill-sides, or staring at the lines of surf on a low sand;\nand when I was taken annually to the Water-colour Exhibition, I used to\nget hold of a catalogue before-hand, mark all the Robsons, which I knew\nwould be of purple mountains, and all the Copley Fieldings, which I knew\nwould be of lakes or sea; and then go deliberately round the room to\nthese, for the sake, observe, not of the pictures, in any wise, but only\nof the things painted.\n\nAnd through the whole of following life, whatever power of judgment I\nhave obtained, in art, which I am now confident and happy in using, or\ncommunicating, has depended on my steady habit of always looking for the\nsubject principally, and for the art, only as the means of expressing\nit.\n\n\n42. At first, as in youth one is almost sure to be, I was led too far by\nmy certainty of the rightness of this principle: and provoked into its\nexclusive assertion by the pertinacity with which other writers denied\nit: so that, in the first volume of \"Modern Painters,\" several passages\noccurred setting the subject or motive of the picture so much above the\nmode of its expression, that some of my more feebly gifted disciples\nsupposed they were fulfilling my wishes by choosing exactly the subjects\nfor painting which they were least able to paint. But the principle\nitself, I maintain, now in advanced life, with more reverence and\nfirmness than in earliest youth: and though I believe that among the\nteachers who have opposed its assertion, there are few who enjoy the\nmere artifices of composition or dexterities of handling so much as I,\nthe time which I have given to the investigation of these has only\nfarther assured me that the pictures were noblest which compelled me to\nforget them.\n\n\n43. Now, therefore, you see that on this simple theory, you have only to\nask what will be the subjects of wise science; these also, will be, so\nfar as they can be imitatively or suggestively represented, the subjects\nof wise art: and the wisdom of both the science and art will be\nrecognized by their being lofty in their scope, but simple in their\nlanguage; clear in fancy, but clearer in interpretation; severe in\ndiscernment, but delightful in display.\n\n\n44. For example's sake, since we have just been listening to Shakspeare\nas a teacher of science and art, we will now examine him as a _subject_\nof science and art.\n\nSuppose we have the existence and essence of Shakspeare to investigate,\nand give permanent account of; we shall see that, as the scope and\nbearing of the science become nobler, art becomes more helpful to it;\nand at last, in its highest range, even necessary to it; but still only\nas its minister.\n\nWe examine Shakspeare, first, with the science of chemistry, which\ninforms us that Shakspeare consists of about seventy-five parts in the\nhundred of water, some twelve or fifteen of nitrogen, and the rest,\nlime, phosphorus, and essential earthy salts.\n\nWe next examine him by the science of anatomy, which tells us (with\nother such matters,) that Shakspeare has seven cervical, twelve dorsal,\nand five lumbar vertebr\u00e6; that his fore arm has a wide sphere of\nrotation; and that he differs from other animals of the ape species by\nbeing more delicately prehensile in the fingers, and less perfectly\nprehensile in the toes.\n\nWe next approach Shakspeare with the science of natural history, which\ntells us the colour of his eyes and hair, his habits of life, his\ntemper, and his predilection for poaching.\n\nThere ends, as far as this subject is concerned, our possible science of\nsubstantial things. Then we take up our science of ideal things: first\nof passion, then of imagination; and we are told by these that\nShakspeare is capable of certain emotions, and of mastering or\ncommanding them in certain modes. Finally, we take up our science of\ntheology, and ascertain that he is in relation, or in supposed relation,\nwith such and such a Being, greater than himself.\n\n\n45. Now, in all these successive stages of scientific description, we\nfind art become powerful as an aid or record, in proportion to the\nimportance of the inquiry. For chemistry, she can do scarcely anything:\nmerely keep note of a colour, or of the form of a crystal. For anatomy,\nshe can do somewhat more; and for natural history, almost all things:\nwhile in recording passion, and affectionate intellect, she walks hand\nin hand with the highest science; and to theology, can give nobler aid\neven than verbal expression of literature.\n\n\n46. And in considering this power of hers, remember that the theology of\nart has only of late been thought deserving of attention: Lord Lindsay,\nsome thirty years ago, was the first to recognize its importance; and\nwhen I entered upon the study of the schools of Tuscany in 1845, his\n\"Christian Mythology\" was the only guide I could trust. Even as late as\n1860, I had to vindicate the true position, in Christian science, of\nLuini, the despised pupil of Leonardo. But only assuming, what with\ngeneral assent I might assume, that Raphael's dispute of the\nSacrament--(or by its less frequently given, but true name--Raphael's\nTheologia,) is the most perfect effort yet made by art to illustrate\ndivine science, I am prepared hereafter to show you that the most\nfinished efforts of theologic literature, as compared with that piece of\npictorial interpretation, have expressed less fully the condition of\nwise religious thought; and have been warped more dangerously into\nunwise religious speculation.\n\n\n47. Upon these higher fields of inquiry we are not yet to enter. I shall\nendeavour for some time only to show you the function of modest art, as\nthe handmaid of natural science; and the exponent, first of the beauty\nof the creatures subject to your own human life; and then of the history\nof that life in past time; of which one chief source of illustration is\nto be found in the most brilliant, and in its power on character,\nhitherto the most practically effective of the arts--Heraldry.\n\nIn natural history, I at first intended to begin with the lower types of\nlife; but as the enlarged schools now give me the means of extending the\nuse of our examples, we will at once, for the sake of more general\nservice, take up ornithology, of the uses of which, in general culture,\nI have one or two grave words to say.\n\n\n48. Perhaps you thought that in the beginning of my lecture to-day I too\nsummarily dismissed the arts of construction and action. But it was not\nin disrespect to them; and I must indeed ask you carefully to note one\nor two points respecting the arts of which an example is set us by\nbirds;--building, and singing.\n\nThe other day, as I was calling on the ornithologist whose collection of\nbirds is, I suppose, altogether unrivalled in Europe,--(at once a\nmonument of unwearied love of science, and an example, in its treatment,\nof the most delicate and patient art)--Mr. Gould--he showed me the nest\nof a common English bird; a nest which, notwithstanding his knowledge of\nthe dexterous building of birds in all the world, was not without\ninterest even to him, and was altogether amazing and delightful to me.\nIt was a bullfinch's nest, which had been set in the fork of a sapling\ntree, where it needed an extended foundation. And the bird had built\nthis first story of her nest with withered stalks of clematis blossom;\nand with nothing else. These twigs it had interwoven lightly, leaving\nthe branched heads all at the outside, producing an intricate Gothic\nboss of extreme grace and quaintness, apparently arranged both with\ntriumphant pleasure in the art of basket-making, and with definite\npurpose of obtaining ornamental form.\n\n\n49. I fear there is no occasion to tell you that the bird had no purpose\nof the kind. I say that I _fear_ this, because I would much rather have\nto undeceive you in attributing too much intellect to the lower animals,\nthan too little. But I suppose the only error which, in the present\ncondition of natural history, you are likely to fall into, is that of\nsupposing that a bullfinch is merely a mechanical arrangement of nervous\nfibre, covered with feathers by a chronic cutaneous eruption; and\nimpelled by a galvanic stimulus to the collection of clematis.\n\n\n50. You would be in much greater, as well as in a more shameful, error,\nin supposing this, than if you attributed to the bullfinch the most\ndeliberate rivalship with Mr. Street's prettiest Gothic designs. The\nbird has exactly the degree of emotion, the extent of science, and the\ncommand of art, which are necessary for its happiness; it had felt the\nclematis twigs to be lighter and tougher than any others within its\nreach, and probably found the forked branches of them convenient for\nreticulation. It had naturally placed these outside, because it wanted a\nsmooth surface for the bottom of its nest; and the beauty of the result\nwas much more dependent on the blossoms than the bird.\n\n\n51. Nevertheless, I am sure that if you had seen the nest,--much more,\nif you had stood beside the architect at work upon it,--you would have\ngreatly desired to express your admiration to her; and chat if\nWordsworth, or any other simple and kindly person, could even wish, for\na little flower's sake,\n\n    \"That to this mountain daisy's self were known\n    The beauty of its star-shaped shadow, thrown\n    On the smooth surface of this naked stone,\"\n\nmuch more you would have yearned to inform the bright little\nnest-builder of your sympathy; and to explain to her, on art principles,\nwhat a pretty thing she was making.\n\n\n52. Does it never occur to you, then, that to some of the best and\nwisest artists among ourselves, it may not be always possible to explain\nwhat pretty things they are making; and that, perhaps, the very\nperfection of their art is in their knowing so little about it?\n\nWhether it has occurred to you or not, I assure you that it is so. The\ngreatest artists, indeed, will condescend, occasionally, to be\nscientific;--will labour, somewhat systematically, about what they are\ndoing, as vulgar persons do; and are privileged, also, to enjoy what\nthey have made more than birds do; yet seldom, observe you, as being\nbeautiful, but very much in the sort of feeling which we may fancy the\nbullfinch had also,--that the thing, whether pretty or ugly, could not\nhave been better done; that they could not have made it otherwise, and\nare thankful it is no worse. And, assuredly, they have nothing like the\ndelight in their own work which it gives to other people.\n\n\n53. But putting the special simplicities of good artists out of\nquestion, let me ask you, in the second place, whether it is not\npossible that the same sort of simplicity might be desirable in the\nwhole race of mankind; and that we ought all to be doing human work\nwhich would appear better done to creatures much above us, than it does\nto ourselves. Why should not _our_ nests be as interesting things to\nangels, as bullfinches' nests are to us?\n\nYou will, probably, both smile at, and shrink from, such a supposition,\nas an insolent one. But to my thought, it seems, on the contrary, the\nonly modest one. That _we_ should be able to admire the work of angels\nseems to me the impertinent idea; not, at all, that they should be able\nto admire ours.\n\n\n54. Under existing circumstances, I confess the difficulty. It cannot be\nimagined that either the back streets of our manufacturing towns, or the\ndesigns of our suburban villas, are things which the angels desire to\nlook into: but it seems to me an inevitable logical conclusion that if\nwe are, indeed, the highest of the brute creation, we should, at least,\npossess as much unconscious art as the lower brutes; and build nests\nwhich shall be, for ourselves, entirely convenient; and may, perhaps, in\nthe eyes of superior beings, appear more beautiful than to our own.\n\n\n55. \"Which shall be, for ourselves, entirely _convenient_.\" Note the\nword;--becoming, decorous, harmonious, satisfying. We may not be able to\nbuild anything sublime; but, at all events, we should, like other\nflesh-invested creatures, be able to contrive what was decent, and it\nshould be a human privilege to think that we may be admired in heaven\nfor our contrivance.\n\nI have some difficulty in proceeding with what I want to say, because I\nknow you must partly think I am jesting with you. I feel indeed some\ndisposition to smile myself; not because I jest, but in the sense of\ncontrast between what, logically, it seems, ought to be; and what we\nmust confess, not jestingly, to be the facts. How great also,--how\nquaint, the confusion of sentiment in our minds, as to this matter! We\ncontinually talk of honouring God with our buildings; and yet, we dare\nnot say, boldly, that, in His sight, we in the least expect to honour\nourselves by them! And admitting, though I by no means feel disposed to\nadmit, that here and there we may, at present, be honouring Him by work\nthat is worthy of the nature He gave us, in how many places, think you,\nare we offending Him by work that is disgraceful to it?\n\n\n56. Let me return, yet for an instant, to my bird and her nest. If not\nactually complacent and exultant in her architecture, we may at least\nimagine that she, and her mate, and the choir they join with, cannot but\nbe complacent and exultant in their song. I gave you, in a former\nlecture, the skylark as a type of mastership in music; and\nremembering--some of you, I suppose, are not likely soon to forget,--the\nsaint to whom yesterday was dedicated, let me read to you to-day some of\nthe prettiest English words in which our natural feeling about such song\nis expressed.\n\n    \"And anone, as I the day espide,\n    No lenger would I in my bed abide,\n    But unto a wood that was fast by,\n    I went forth alone boldely,\n    And held the way downe by a brook side,\n\n    Till I came to a laund of white and green,\n    So faire one had I never in been,\n    The ground was green, ypoudred with daisie,\n    The floures and the greves like hie,\n    All greene and white, was nothing els seene.\n\n    There sat I downe among the faire flours,\n    And saw the birds trip out of hir hours,\n    There as they rested hem all the night,\n    They were so joyfull of the dayes light,\n    They began of May for to done honours.\n\n    They coud that service all by rote,\n    There was many a lovely note,\n    Some sang loud, as they had plained,\n    And some in other manner voice yfained,\n    And some all out with the full throte.\n\n    They proyned hem and made hem right gay,\n    And daunceden and lepten on the spray,\n    And evermore two and two in fere,\n    Right so as they had chosen hem to yere\n    In Feverere, upon saint Valentines day.\"\n\nYou recollect, perhaps, the dispute that follows between the cuckoo and\nthe nightingale, and the promise which the sweet singer makes to Chaucer\nfor rescuing her.\n\n    \"And then came the Nightingale to me\n    And said Friend, forsooth I thanke thee\n    That thou hast liked me to rescue,\n    And one avow to Love make I now\n    That all this May, I will thy singer be.\n\n    I thanked her, and was right well apaied,\n    Yea, quoth she, and be not thou dismaied,\n    Tho' thou have heard the cuckoo erst than me;\n    For, if I live, it shall amended be,\n    The next May, if I be not affraied.\"\n\n\"If I be not affraied.\" Would she not put the \"if\" more timidly now, in\nmaking the same promise to any of you, or in asking for the judgment\nbetween her and her enemy, which was to be past, do you remember, on\nthis very day of the year, so many years ago, and within eight miles of\nthis very spot?\n\n    \"And this shall be without any Nay\n    On the morrow after St. Valentine's day,\n    Under a maple that is faire and green\n    Before the chamber window of the Queen\n    At Woodstoke, upon the greene lawn.\n\n    She thanked them, and then her leave took\n    And into an hawthorn by that broke.\n    And there she sate, and sang upon that tree\n    '_Terme of life love hath withheld me_'\n    So loud, that I with that song awoke.\"\n\n\n57. \"Terme of life love hath withheld me!\" Alas, how have we men\nreversed this song of the nightingale! so that our words must be \"Terme\nof life, hatred hath withheld me.\"\n\nThis, then, was the old English science of the song of birds; and\nperhaps you are indignant with me for bringing any word of it back to\nyou? You have, I doubt not, your new science of song, as of\nnest-building: and I am happy to think you could all explain to me, or\nat least you will be able to do so before you pass your natural science\nexamination, how, by the accurate connection of a larynx with a bill,\nand by the action of heat, originally derived from the sun, upon the\nmuscular fibre, an undulatory motion is produced in the larynx, and an\nopening and shutting one in the bill, which is accompanied, necessarily,\nby a piping sound.\n\n\n58. I will not dispute your statement; still less do I wish to answer\nfor the absolute truth of Chaucer's. You will find that the complete\ntruth embraces great part of both; and that you may study, at your\nchoice, in any singing bird, the action of universal heat on a\nmarvellous mechanism, or of individual life, on a frame capable of\nexquisite passion. But the point I wish you to consider is the relation\nto this lower creature's power, of your own human agencies in the\nproduction of sound, where you can best unite in its harmony.\n\n\n59. I had occasion only the other day to wait for half an hour at the\nbottom of Ludgate Hill. Standing as much out of the way as I could,\nunder the shadow of the railroad bridge, I watched the faces, all eager,\nmany anxious, and some intensely gloomy, of the hurried passers by; and\nlistened to the ceaseless crashing, whistling, and thundering sounds\nwhich mingled with the murmur of their steps and voices. And in the\nmidst of the continuous roar, which differed only from that of the\nwildest sea in storm by its complexity and its discordance, I was\nwondering, if the sum of what all these people were doing, or trying to\ndo, in the course of the day, could be made manifest, what it would come\nto.\n\n\n60. The sum of it would be, I suppose, that they had all contrived to\nlive through the day in that exceedingly unpleasant manner, and that\nnothing serious had occurred to prevent them from passing the following\nday likewise. Nay, I knew also that what appeared in their way of life\npainful to me, might be agreeable to them; and it chanced, indeed, a\nlittle while afterwards, that an active and prosperous man of business,\nspeaking to one of my friends of the disappointment he had felt in a\nvisit to Italy, remarked, especially, that he was not able to endure\nmore than three days at Venice, because there was no noise there.\n\n\n61. But, granting the contentment of the inhabitants of London in\nconsistently producing these sounds, how shall we say this vocal and\ninstrumental art of theirs may compare, in the scheme of Nature, with\nthe vocal art of lower animals? We may indeed rank the danger-whistle of\nthe engines on the bridge as an excruciating human improvement on that\nof the marmot; and the trampling of feet and grinding of wheels, as the\nhuman accentuation of the sounds produced by insects, by the friction of\ntheir wings or thighs against their sides: but, even in this comparison,\nit may cause us some humiliation to note that the cicada and the\ncricket, when pleased to sing in their vibratory manner, have leisure\nto rest in their delight; and that the flight of the firefly is silent.\nBut how will the sounds we produce compare with the song of birds? This\nLondon is the principal nest of men in the world; and I was standing in\nthe centre of it. In the shops of Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, on each\nside of me, I do not doubt I could have bought any quantity of books for\nchildren, which by way of giving them religious, as opposed to secular,\ninstruction, informed them that birds praised God in their songs. Now,\nthough, on the one hand, you may be very certain that birds are not\nmachines, on the other hand it is just as certain that they have not the\nsmallest intention of praising God in their songs; and that we cannot\nprevent the religious education of our children more utterly than by\nbeginning it in lies. But it might be expected of _ourselves_ that we\nshould do so, in the songs we send up from our principal nest! And\nalthough, under the dome at the top of Ludgate Hill, some attempt of the\nkind may be made every seventh day, by a limited number of persons, we\nmay again reflect, with humiliation, that the birds, for better or\nworse, sing all, and every day; and I could not but ask myself, with\nmomentarily increasing curiosity, as I endeavoured to trace the emotions\nand occupations of the persons who passed by me, in the expression of\ntheir faces--what would be the effect on them, if any creatures of\nhigher order were suddenly to appear in the midst of them with any such\nmessage of peace, and invitation to rejoicing, as they had all been\nprofessing to commemorate at Christmas.\n\n\n62. Perhaps you recollect, in the lectures given on landscape during the\nspring of this year, my directing your attention to a picture of\nMantegna's in the loan exhibition, representing a flight of twelve\nangels in blue sky, singing that Christmas song. I ought to tell you,\nhowever, that one of our English artists of good position dissented from\nmy opinion about the picture; and remarked that in England \"we wanted\ngood art, and not funny art.\" Whereas, to me, it is this vocal and\narchitectural art of Ludgate Hill which appears funny art; and not\nMantegna's. But I am compelled to admit that could Mantegna's picture\nhave been realized, the result would, in the eyes of most men, have been\nfunnier still. For suppose that over Ludgate Hill the sky had indeed\nsuddenly become blue instead of black; and that a flight of twelve\nangels, \"covered with silver wings, and their feathers with gold,\" had\nalighted on the cornice of the railroad bridge, as the doves alight on\nthe cornices of St. Mark's at Venice; and had invited the eager men of\nbusiness below, in the centre of a city confessedly the most prosperous\nin the world, to join them for five minutes in singing the first five\nverses of such a psalm as the 103rd--\"Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and\n_all that is within me_\" (the opportunity now being given for the\nexpression of their most hidden feelings) \"all that is within me, bless\nHis holy name, and forget not all His benefits.\" Do you not even thus,\nin mere suggestion, feel shocked at the thought, and as if my now\nreading the words were profane? And cannot you fancy that the sensation\nof the crowd at so violent and strange an interruption of traffic, might\nbe somewhat akin to that which I had occasion in my first lecture on\nsculpture to remind you of,--the feeling attributed by Goethe to\nMephistopheles at the song of the angels: \"Discord I hear, and\nintolerable jingling\"?\n\n\n63. Nay, farther, if indeed none of the benefits bestowed on, or\naccomplished by, the great city, were to be forgotten, and if search\nwere made, throughout its confines, into the results of its wealth,\nmight not the literal discord in the words themselves be greater than\nthe felt discord in the sound of them?\n\nI have here in my hand a cutting from a newspaper, which I took with me\nthree years ago, to a meeting in the interest of social science, held in\nthe rooms of the Society of Arts, and under the presidency of the Prime\nMinister of England. Under the (so called) 'classical' paintings of\nBarry, representing the philosophy and poetry of the ancients, Mr.\nGladstone was in the chair; and in his presence a member of the Society\nfor the Promotion of Social Science propounded and supported the\nstatement, not irrelevant to our present inquiry, that the essential\nnature of man was that of a beast of prey. Though, at the time,\n(suddenly called upon by the author of \"Tom Brown at Oxford,\") I feebly\nendeavoured to contradict that Socially Scientific person, I do not at\npresent desire to do so. I have given you a creature of prey for\ncomparison of knowledge. \"Doth the eagle know what is in the pit?\"--and\nin this great nest of ours in London, it would be well if to all our\nchildren the virtue of the creature of prey were fulfilled, and that,\nindeed, the stir and tumult of the city were \"as the eagle stirreth up\nher nest and fluttereth over her young.\" But the slip of paper I had\nthen, and have now, in my hand,[D] contains information about the state\nof the nest, inconsistent with such similitude. I am not answerable for\nthe juxtaposition of paragraphs in it. The first is a proposal for the\nbuilding of a new church in Oxford, at the cost of twenty thousand\npounds; the second is the account of the inquest on a woman and her\nchild who were starved to death in the Isle of Dogs. The bodies were\nfound lying, without covering, on a bed made of heaped rags; and there\nwas no furniture in the room but a wooden stool, on which lay a tract\nentitled \"_The Goodness of God._\" The husband, who had been out of work\nfor six months, went mad two days afterwards; and being refused entrance\nat the workhouse because it was \"full of mad people,\" was carried off,\nthe \"Pall Mall Gazette\" says not where.\n\n  [D] \"Pall Mall Gazette,\" January 29th, 1869.\n\n\n64. Now, gentlemen, the question I wish to leave with you to-day is\nwhether the Wisdom which rejoices in the habitable parts of the earth,\nand whose delights are with the sons of men, can be supposed, under\ncircumstances such as these, to delight herself in that most closely and\nincreasingly inhabited portion of the globe which we ourselves now dwell\non; and whether, if she cannot grant us to surpass the art of the\nswallow or the eagle, she may not require of us at least, to reach the\nlevel of their happiness. Or do you seriously think that, either in the\nlife of Ludgate Hill, or death of the Isle of Dogs; in the art of\nLudgate Hill, or idleness of the Isle of Dogs; and in the science and\nsanity of Ludgate Hill, or nescience and insanity of the Isle of Dogs,\nwe have, as matters stand now, any clear encouragement to repeat, in\nthat 103rd psalm, the three verses following the five I named; and to\nbelieve in our hearts, as we say with our lips, that we have yet,\ndwelling among us, unoffended, a God \"who forgiveth all our iniquities,\nwho healeth all our diseases; who redeemeth our life from destruction,\nwho crowneth us with loving-kindness and tender mercies, and _who\nsatisfieth our mouth with good things, so that our youth is_ RENEWED\nLIKE THE EAGLE'S\"?\n\n\n\n\n                              LECTURE IV.\n\n                THE POWER OF MODESTY IN SCIENCE AND ART.\n\n                         _17th February, 1872._\n\n\n65. I believe, gentlemen, that some of you must have been\nsurprised,--and, if I succeeded in making my last lecture clearly\nintelligible, many ought to have been surprised,--at the limitations I\nasked you to admit with respect to the idea of science, and the position\nwhich I asked you to assign to it. We are so much, by the chances of our\ntime, accustomed to think of science as a process of discovery, that I\nam sure some of you must have been gravely disconcerted by my\nrequesting, and will to-day be more disconcerted by my firmly\nrecommending, you to use the word, and reserve the thought, of science,\nfor the acquaintance with things long since discovered, and established\nas true. We have the misfortune to live in an epoch of transition from\nirrational dulness to irrational excitement; and while once it was the\nhighest courage of science to question anything, it is now an agony to\nher to leave anything unquestioned. So that, unawares, we come to\nmeasure the dignity of a scientific person by the newness of his\nassertions, and the dexterity of his methods in debate; entirely\nforgetting that science cannot become perfect, as an occupation of\nintellect, while anything remains to be discovered; nor wholesome as an\ninstrument of education, while anything is permitted to be debated.\n\n\n66. It appears, doubtless, a vain idea to you that an end should ever be\nput to discovery; but remember, such impossibility merely signifies that\nmortal science must remain imperfect. Nevertheless, in many directions,\nthe limit to practically useful discovery is rapidly being approached;\nand you, as students, would do well to suppose that it has been already\nattained. To take the science of ornithology, for instance: I suppose\nyou would have very little hope of shooting a bird in England, which\nshould be strange to any master of the science, or of shooting one\nanywhere, which would not fall under some species already described. And\nalthough at the risk of life, and by the devotion of many years to\nobservation, some of you might hope to bring home to our museum a\ntitmouse with a spot on its tail which had never before been seen, I\nstrongly advise you not to allow your studies to be disturbed by so\ndazzling a hope, nor your life exclusively devoted even to so important\nan object. In astronomy, the fields of the sky have not yet, indeed,\nbeen ransacked by the most costly instruments; and it may be in store\nfor some of you to announce the existence, or even to analyse the\nmaterials, of some luminous point which may be seen two or three times\nin the course of a century, by any one who will journey to India for the\npurpose; and, when there, is favoured by the weather. But, for all\npractical purposes, the stars already named and numbered are as many as\nwe require to hear of; and if you thoroughly know the visible motions,\nand clearly conceive the known relations, even of those which can be\nseen by the naked eye, you will have as much astronomy as is necessary,\neither for the occupation of thought or the direction of navigation.\n\n\n67. But, if you were discontented with the limit I proposed for your\nsciences, much more, I imagine, you were doubtful of the ranks I\nassigned to them. It is not, I know, in your modern system, the general\npractice to put chemistry, the science of atoms, lowest, and theology,\nthe science of Deity, highest: nay, many of us have ceased to think of\ntheology as a science at all, but rather as a speculative pursuit, in\nsubject, separate from science; and in temper, opposed to her.\n\nYet it can scarcely be necessary for me to point out to you, in so many\nterms, that what we call theology, if true, is a science; and if false,\nis not theology; or that the distinction even between natural science\nand theology is illogical: for you might distinguish indeed between\nnatural and unnatural science, but not between natural and spiritual,\nunless you had determined first that a spirit had no nature. You will\nfind the facts to be, that entirely true knowledge is both possible and\nnecessary--first of facts relating to matter, and then of the forces and\npassions that act on or in matter;--that, of all these forces, the\nnoblest we can know is the energy which either imagines, or perceives,\nthe existence of a living power greater than its own; and that the study\nof the relations which exist between this energy, and the resultant\naction of men, are as much subjects of pure science as the curve of a\nprojectile. The effect, for instance, upon your temper, intellect, and\nconduct during the day, of your going to chapel with or without belief\nin the efficacy of prayer, is just as much a subject of definite\nscience, as the effect of your breakfast on the coats of your stomach.\nWhich is the higher knowledge, I have, with confidence, told you; and am\nnot afraid of any test to which you may submit my assertion.\n\n\n68. Assuming such limitation, then, and such rank, for our knowledge;\nassuming, also, what I have now, perhaps to your weariness, told you,\nthat graphic art is the shadow, or image, of knowledge,--I wish to point\nout to you to-day the function, with respect to both, of the virtue\ncalled by the Greeks '\u03c3\u03c9\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7' 'safeness of mind,' corresponding to\nthe 'salus' or 'sanitas' mentis, of the Latins; 'health of heart' is,\nperhaps, the best English; if we receive the words 'mens,' '\u03bc\u1fc6\u03bd\u03b9\u03c2,' or\n'\u03c6\u03c1\u03ae\u03bd,' as expressing the passionate soul of the human being,\ndistinguished from the intellectual; the 'mens sana' being possible to\nall of us, though the contemplative range of height her wisdom may be\nabove our capacities; so that to each of us Heaven only permits the\nambition of being \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03cc\u03c2, but commands the resolution to be \u03c3\u03ce\u03c6\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd.\n\n\n69. And, without discussing the use of the word by different writers, I\nwill tell you that the dearest and safest idea of the mental state\nitself is to be gained from the representations of it by the words of\nancient Christian religion, and even from what you may think its\nsuperstitions. Without any discussion also as to the personal existence\nor traditional character of evil spirits, you will find it a practical\nfact, that external temptations and inevitable trials of temper, have\npower against you which your health and virtue depend on your resisting;\nthat, if not resisted, the evil energy of them will pass into your own\nheart, \u03c6\u03c1\u03ae\u03bd, or \u03bc\u1fc6\u03bd\u03b9\u03c2; and that the ordinary and vulgarized phrase \"the\nDevil, or betraying Spirit, is _in him_\" is the most scientifically\naccurate which you can apply to any person so influenced. You will find\nalso that, in the compass of literature, the casting out of, or\ncleansing from, such a state is best symbolized for you by the image of\none who had been wandering wild and naked _among tombs_, sitting still,\nclothed, and in his right mind, and that in whatever literal or\nfigurative sense you receive the Biblical statement of what followed,\nthis is absolutely certain, that the herd of swine hastening to their\ndestruction, in perfect sympathy with each other's fury, is the most\naccurate symbol ever given, in literature, of consummate human \u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n(The conditions of insanity,[E] delighting in scenes of death, which\naffect at the present time the arts of revolutionary Europe, were\nillustrated in the sequel of this lecture: but I neither choose to take\nany permanent notice of the examples I referred to, nor to publish any\npart of what I said, until I can enter more perfectly into the analysis\nof the elements of evil passion which always distorted and polluted even\nthe highest arts of Greek and Christian loyal religion; and now occupy\nin deadly entireness, the chambers of imagination, devastated, and left\ndesolate of joy, by impiety, and disobedience.\n\nIn relation to the gloom of gray colour characteristic especially of the\nmodern French revolutionary school, I entered into some examination of\nthe conditions of real temperance and reserve in colour, showing that it\nconsisted not in refusing colour, but in governing it; and that the most\npure and bright colours might be thus perfectly governed, while the most\ndull were probably also the most violent and intemperate. But it would\nbe useless to print this part of the lecture without the\ncolour-illustrations used.\n\nPassing to the consideration of intemperance and immodesty in the choice\neven of landscape subjects, I referred thus for contrast, to the\nquietude of Turner's \"Greta and Tees.\")\n\n  [E] I use this word always meaning it to be understood literally,\n      and in its full force.\n\n\n70. If you wish to feel the reserve of this drawing, look, first, into\nthe shops at their display of common chromo-lithotints; see how they are\nmade up of Matterhorns, Monte Rosas, blue glaciers, green lakes, white\ntowers, magnificent banditti, romantic peasantry, or always-successful\nsportsmen or fishermen in Highland costume; and then see what Turner is\ncontent with. No Matterhorns are needful, or even particularly pleasing\nto him. A bank, some eight or ten feet high, of Yorkshire shale is\nenough. He would not thank you for giving him all the giant forests of\nCalifornia:--would not be so much interested in them nor half so happy\namong them, as he is here with a switch of oak sapling, which the Greta\nhas pulled down among the stones, and teased awhile, and which, now that\nthe water is lower, tries to get up again, out of its way.\n\nHe does not want any towers or towns. Here you are to be contented with\nthree square windows of a country gentleman's house. He does not want\nresplendent banditti. Behold! here is a brown cow and a white one: what\nwould you have more? And this scarcely-falling rapid of the Tees--here\npausing to circle round a pool, and there laughing as it trips over a\nledge of rock, six or seven inches high, is more to him--infinitely\nmore--than would be the whole colossal drainage of Lake Erie into Lake\nOntario, which Carlyle has justly taken for a type of the Niagara of our\nnational precipitous \u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7.\n\n\n71. I need not point out to you the true temperance of colour in this\ndrawing--how slightly green the trees are, how softly blue the sky.\n\nNow I put a chromo-lithotint beside it.\n\nWell, why is that good, this bad? Simply because if you think, and\nwork, and discipline yourselves nobly, you will come to like the Greta\nand Tees; if not, you will come to like _this_. The one is what a strong\nman likes; the other what a weak one likes: that is modest, full of true\n\u03b1\u1f30\u03b4\u1f7c\u03c2, noble restraint, noble reverence;--this has no \u03b1\u1f30\u03b4\u1f7c\u03c2, no fear, no\nmeasure;--not even purpose, except, by accumulation of whatever it can\nsee or snatch, to move the vile apathy of the public \u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7 into\nsensation.\n\n\n72. The apathy of \u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7--note the expression! You might think that it\nwas \u03c3\u03c9\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7, which was apathetic, and that intemperance was full of\npassion. No; the exact contrary is the fact. It is death in ourselves\nwhich seeks the exaggerated external stimulus. I must return for a\nmoment to the art of modern France.\n\nThe most complete rest and refreshment I can get, when I am overworked,\nin London (for if I try to rest in the fields, I find them turned into\nvillas in the course of the week before) is in seeing a French play. But\nthe French act so perfectly that I am obliged to make sure beforehand\nthat all is to end well, or it is as bad as being helplessly present at\nsome real misery.\n\nI was beguiled the other day, by seeing it announced as a \"Com\u00e9die,\"\ninto going to see \"Frou-Frou.\" Most of you probably know that the three\nfirst of its five acts _are_ comedy, or at least playful drama, and that\nit plunges down, in the two last, to the sorrowfullest catastrophe of\nall conceivable--though too frequent in daily life--in which\nirretrievable grief is brought about by the passion of a moment, and the\nruin of all that she loves, caused by the heroic error of an entirely\ngood and unselfish person. The sight of it made me thoroughly ill, and I\nwas not myself again for a week.\n\nBut, some time afterwards, I was speaking of it to a lady who knew\nFrench character well; and asked her how it was possible for a people so\nquick in feeling to endure the action before them of a sorrow so\npoignant. She said, \"It is because they have not sympathy enough: they\nare interested only by the external scene, and are, in truth, at\npresent, dull, not quick in feeling. My own French maid went the other\nevening to see that very play: when she came home, and I asked her what\nshe thought of it, she said 'it was charming, and she had amused herself\nimmensely.' 'Amused! but is not the story very sad?' 'Oh, yes,\nmademoiselle, it is bien triste, but it is charming; and then, how\npretty Frou-Frou looks in her silk dress!'\"\n\n\n73. Gentlemen, the French maid's mode of regarding the tragedy is, if\nyou think of it, a most true image of the way in which fashionable\nsociety regards the world-suffering, in the midst of which, so long as\nit can amuse itself, all seems to it well. If the ball-room is bright,\nand the dresses pretty, what matter how much horror is beneath or\naround? Nay, this apathy checks us in our highest spheres of thought,\nand chills our most solemn purposes. You know that I never join in the\ncommon outcries against Ritualism; yet it is too painfully manifest to\nme that the English Church itself has withdrawn her eyes from the\ntragedy of all churches, to perk herself up anew with casement and\nvestment, and say of herself, complacently, in her sacred \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03bb\u03af\u03b1, \"How\npretty Frou-Frou is, in her silk dress!\"\n\n\n74. We recognize, however, without difficulty, the peril of\ninsatiableness and immodesty in the pleasures of Art. Less recognized,\nbut therefore more perilous, the insatiableness and immodesty of Science\ntempt us through our very virtues. The fatallest furies of scientific\n\u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7 are consistent with the most noble powers of self-restraint and\nself-sacrifice. It is not the lower passions, but the loftier hopes and\nmost honourable desires which become deadliest when the charm of them is\nexalted by the vanity of science. The patience of the wisest of Greek\nheroes never fails, when the trial is by danger or pain; but do you\nrecollect that, before his trial by the song of the Sirens, the sea\nbecomes calm? And in the few words which Homer has told you of their\nsong, you have not perhaps yet with enough care observed that the form\nof temptation is precisely that to which a man victorious over every\nfleshly trial would be likely to yield. The promise is not that his body\nshall be gratified, but that his soul shall rise into rapture; he is not\nurged, as by the subtlety of Comus, to disdain the precepts of wisdom,\nbut invited, on the contrary, to learn,--as you are all now invited by\nthe \u1f00\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7 of your age,--better wisdom from the wise.\n\n\"For we know all\" (they say) \"that was done in Troy according to the\nwill of the gods, and we know everything that is upon the all-nourishing\nearth.\"\n\nAll heavenly and earthly knowledge, you see. I will read you Pope's\nexpansion of the verses; for Pope never alters idly, but always\nillustrates when he expands.\n\n\n    \"Oh stay, oh pride of Greece!\n\n    (You hear, they begin by flattery).\n\n                                  Ulysses, stay,\n    Oh cease thy course, and listen to our lay.\n    Blest is the man ordained our voice to hear,\n    The song instructs the soul, and charms the ear.\n    Approach! Thy soul shall into raptures rise;\n    Approach! and learn new wisdom from the wise.\n    We know whate'er the kings of mighty name\n    Achieved at Ilion in the field of Fame,\n    Whate'er beneath the Sun's bright journey lies.\n    Oh, stay, and learn new wisdom from the wise.\"\n\nIs it not singular that so long ago the danger of this novelty of wisdom\nshould have been completely discerned? Is it not stranger still that\nthree thousand years have passed by, and we have not yet been able to\nlearn the lesson, but are still eager to add to our knowledge, rather\nthan to use it; and every day more passionate in discovering,--more\nviolent in competition,--are every day more cold in admiration, and more\ndull in reverence?\n\n\n75. But, gentlemen, Homer's Ulysses, bound to the mast, survives.\nDante's Ulysses is bound to the mast in another fashion. He,\nnotwithstanding the protection of Athena, and after all his victories\nover fate, is still restless under the temptation to seek new wisdom. He\ngoes forth past the Pillars of Hercules, cheers his crew amidst the\nuncompassed solitudes of the Atlantic, and perishes in sudden Charybdis\nof the infinite sea. In hell, the restless flame in which he is wrapt\ncontinually, among the advisers of evil, is seen, from the rocks above,\nlike the firefly's flitting to and fro; and the waving garment of\ntorture, which quivers as he speaks, and aspires as he moves, condemns\nhim to be led in eternal temptation, and to be delivered from evil\nnevermore.\n\n\n\n\n                               LECTURE V.\n\n              THE POWER OF CONTENTMENT IN SCIENCE AND ART.\n\n                         _22nd February, 1872._\n\n\n76. I must ask you, in order to make these lectures of any permanent\nuse, to be careful in keeping note of the main conclusion at which we\narrive in the course of each, and of the sequence of such results. In\nthe first, I tried to show you that Art was only wise when unselfish in\nher labour; in the second, that Science was only wise when unselfish in\nher statement; in the third, that wise Art was the shadow, or visible\nreflection, of wise Science; and in the fourth, that all these\nconditions of good must be pursued temperately and peacefully. I have\nnow farther to tell you that they must be pursued independently.\n\n\n77. You have not often heard me use that word \"independence.\" And, in\nthe sense in which of late it has been accepted, you have never heard\nme use it but with contempt. For the true strength of every human soul\nis to be dependent on as many nobler as it can discern, and to be\ndepended upon, by as many inferior as it can reach.\n\nBut to-day I use the word in a widely different sense. I think you must\nhave felt, in what amplification I was able to give you of the idea of\nwisdom as an unselfish influence in Art and Science, how the highest\nskill and knowledge were founded in human tenderness, and that the\nkindly Art-wisdom which rejoices in the habitable parts of the earth, is\nonly another form of the lofty Scientific charity, which rejoices 'in\nthe truth.' And as the first order of Wisdom is to know thyself--though\nthe least creature that can be known--so the first order of Charity is\nto be sufficient for thyself, though the least creature that can be\nsufficed; and thus contented and appeased, to be girded and strong for\nthe ministry to others. If sufficient to thy day is the evil thereof,\nhow much more should be the good!\n\n\n78. I have asked you to recollect one aphorism respecting Science, one\nrespecting Art; let me--and I will ask no more at this time of\nasking--press you to learn, farther, by heart, those lines of the Song\nof the Sirens: six lines of Homer, I trust, will not be a weariness to\nyou--\n\n    \u03bf\u1f50 \u03b3\u03ac\u03c1 \u03c0\u03ce \u03c4\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u1fc7\u03b4\u03b5 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03ae\u03bb\u03b1\u03c3\u03b5 \u03bd\u03b7\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03b1\u1f30\u03bd\u1fc3,\n    \u03c0\u03c1\u03af\u03bd \u03b3' \u1f21\u03bc\u03ad\u03c9\u03bd \u03bc\u03b5\u03bb\u03af\u03b3\u03b7\u03c1\u03c5\u03bd \u1f00\u03c0\u1f78 \u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bc\u03ac\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f44\u03c0' \u1f00\u03ba\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c3\u03b1\u03b9;\n    \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb' \u1f45\u03b3\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03c8\u03ac\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2 \u03bd\u03b5\u1fd6\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bb\u03b5\u1f30\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03b5\u1f30\u03b4\u03ce\u03c2.\n    \u1f34\u03b4\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u03b3\u03ac\u03c1 \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03b8', \u1f44\u03c2' \u1f10\u03bd\u1f76 \u03a4\u03c1\u03bf\u03af\u1fc3 \u03b5\u1f50\u03c1\u03b5\u03af\u1fc3\n    \u1f08\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bf\u03b9 \u03a4\u03c1\u1ff6\u03ad\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03b8\u03b5\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f30\u1f44\u03c4\u03b7\u03c4\u03b9 \u03bc\u03cc\u03b3\u03b7\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd;\n    \u1f34\u03b4\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u03b4', \u1f45\u03c3\u03c3\u03b1 \u03b3\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03c7\u03b8\u03bf\u03bd\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03bb\u03c5\u03b2\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u1fc3.\n\n                                HOM., _Od._, xii. 186.\n\n\"No one ever rowed past this way in his black ship, before he had\nlistened to the honey-sweet singing of our lips. But he stays pleased,\nthough he may know much. For we know all things which the Greeks and\nTrojans did in the wide Trojan plain, by the will of the gods, and we\nknow what things take place in the much nourishing earth.\" And this,\nremember, is absolutely true. No man ever went past in the black\nship,--obeying the grave and sad law of life by which it is appointed\nfor mortals to be victors on the ocean,--but he was tempted, as he drew\nnear that deadly island, wise as he might be, (\u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bb\u03b5\u1f30\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03b5\u1f30\u03b4\u03ce\u03c2,) by\nthe voices of those who told him that they knew everything which had\nbeen done by the will of God, and everything which took place in earth\nfor the service of man.\n\n\n79. Now observe those two great temptations. You are to know everything\nthat has been done by the will of God: and to know everything that is\n_vital_ in the earth. And try to realize to yourselves, for a little\nwhile, the way in which these two siren promises have hitherto troubled\nthe paths of men. Think of the books that have been written in false\nexplanation of Divine Providence: think of the efforts that have been\nmade to show that the particular conduct which we approve in others, or\nwish ourselves to follow, is according to the will of God. Think what\nghastly convulsions in thought, and vileness in action, have been fallen\ninto by the sects which thought they had adopted, for their patronage,\nthe perfect purposes of Heaven. Think of the vain research, the wasted\ncenturies of those who have tried to penetrate the secrets of life, or\nof its support. The elixir vit\u00e6, the philosopher's stone, the germ-cells\nin meteoric iron, '\u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03c7\u03b8\u03bf\u03bd\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03bb\u03c5\u03b2\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u1fc3.' But at this day, when we\nhave loosed the last band from the masts of the black ship, and when,\ninstead of plying every oar to escape, as the crew of Homer's Ulysses,\nwe row like the crew of Dante's Ulysses, and of our oars make wings for\nour foolish flight,\n\n    E, volta nostra poppe nel mattino\n    De' remi facemmo ale al folle volo--\n\nthe song of the sirens becomes fatal as never yet it has been in time.\nWe think ourselves privileged, first among men, to know the secrets of\nHeaven, and fulfil the economy of earth; and the result is, that of all\nthe races that yet have been put to shame by their false wisdom or false\nart,--which have given their labour for that which is not bread, and\ntheir strength for that which satisfieth not,--we have most madly\nabandoned the charity which is for itself sufficing, and for others\nserviceable, and have become of all creatures the most insufficient to\nourselves, and the most malignant to our neighbours. Granted a given\ndegree of knowledge--granted the '\u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u03bb\u03b5\u1f30\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1 \u03b5\u1f30\u03b4\u03ce\u03c2' in science, in art,\nand in literature,--and the present relations of feeling between France\nand Germany, between England and America, are the most horrible at once\nin their stupidity and malignity, that have ever taken place on the\nglobe we inhabit, even though all its great histories, are of sin, and\nall its great songs, of death.\n\n\n80. Gentlemen, I pray you very solemnly to put that idea of knowing all\nthings in Heaven and Earth out of your hearts and heads. It is very\nlittle that we can ever know, either of the ways of Providence, or the\nlaws of existence. But that little is enough, and exactly enough: to\nstrive for more than that little is evil for us; and be assured that\nbeyond the need of our narrow being,--beyond the range of the kingdom\nover which it is ordained for each of us to rule in serene \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03ac\u03c1\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1 and\nself-possession, he that increaseth toil, increaseth folly; and he that\nincreaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.\n\n\n81. My endeavour, therefore, to-day will be to point out to you how in\nthe best wisdom, that there may be happy advance, there must first be\nhappy contentment; that, in one sense, we must always be entering its\nkingdom as a little child, and pleased yet for a time _not_ to put away\nchildish things. And while I hitherto have endeavoured only to show how\nmodesty and gentleness of disposition purified Art and Science, by\npermitting us to recognize the superiority of the work of others to our\nown--to-day, on the contrary, I wish to indicate for you the uses of\ninfantine self-satisfaction; and to show you that it is by no error or\nexcess in our nature, by no corruption or distortion of our being, that\nwe are disposed to take delight in the little things that we can do\nourselves, more than in the great things done by other people. So only\nthat we recognize the littleness and the greatness, it is as much a part\nof true Temperance to be pleased with the little we know, and the little\nwe can do, as with the little that we have. On the one side Indolence,\non the other Covetousness, are as much to be blamed, with respect to our\nArts, as our possessions; and every man is intended to find an exquisite\npersonal happiness in his own small skill, just as he is intended to\nfind happiness in his own small house or garden, while he respects,\nwithout coveting, the grandeur of larger domains.\n\n\n82. Nay, more than this: by the wisdom of Nature, it has been appointed\nthat more pleasure may be taken in small things than in great, and more\nin rude Art than in the finest. Were it otherwise, we might be disposed\nto complain of the narrow limits which have been set to the perfection\nof human skill.\n\nI pointed out to you, in a former lecture, that the excellence of\nsculpture had been confined in past time to the Athenian and Etrurian\nvales. The absolute excellence of painting has been reached only by the\ninhabitants of a single city in the whole world; and the faultless\nmanner of religious architecture holds only for a period of fifty years\nout of six thousand. We are at present tormenting ourselves with the\nvain effort to teach men everywhere to rival Venice and Athens,--with\nthe practical result of having lost the enjoyment of Art\naltogether;--instead of being content to amuse ourselves still with the\npainting and carving which were possible once, and would be pleasant\nalways, in Paris, and London, at Strasbourg, and at York.\n\nI do not doubt that you are greatly startled at my saying that greater\npleasure is to be received from inferior Art than from the finest. But\nwhat do you suppose makes all men look back to the time of childhood\nwith so much regret, (if their childhood has been, in any moderate\ndegree, healthy or peaceful)? That rich charm, which the least\npossession had for us, was in consequence of the poorness of our\ntreasures. That miraculous aspect of the nature around us, was because\nwe had seen little, and knew less. Every increased possession loads us\nwith a new weariness; every piece of new knowledge diminishes the\nfaculty of admiration; and Death is at last appointed to take us from a\nscene in which, if we were to stay longer, no gift could satisfy us, and\nno miracle surprise.\n\n\n83. Little as I myself know, or can do, as compared with any man of\nessential power, my life has chanced to be one of gradual progress in\nthe things which I began in childish choice; so that I can measure with\nalmost mathematical exactitude the degree of feeling with which less and\ngreater degrees of wealth or skill affect my mind.\n\nI well remember the delight with which, when I was beginning mineralogy,\nI received from a friend, who had made a voyage to Peru, a little bit of\nlimestone about the size of a hazel nut, with a small film of native\nsilver adhering to its surface. I was never weary of contemplating my\ntreasure, and could not have felt myself richer had I been master of the\nmines of Copiapo.\n\nI am now about to use as models for your rock drawings stones which my\nyear's income, when I was a boy, would not have bought. But I have long\nceased to take any pleasure in their possession; and am only thinking,\nnow, to whom else they can be of use, since they can be of no more to\nme.\n\n\n84. But the loss of pleasure to me caused by advance in knowledge of\ndrawings has been far greater than that induced by my riches in\nminerals.\n\nI have placed, in your reference series, one or two drawings of\narchitecture, made when I was a youth of twenty, with perfect ease to\nmyself, and some pleasure to other people. A day spent in sketching then\nbrought with it no weariness, and infinite complacency. I know better\nnow what drawing should be; the effort to do my work rightly fatigues me\nin an hour, and I never care to look at it again from that day forward.\n\n\n85. It is true that men of great and real power do the best things with\ncomparative ease; but you will never hear them express the complacency\nwhich simple persons feel in partial success. There is nothing to be\nregretted in this; it is appointed for all men to enjoy, but for few to\nachieve.\n\nAnd do not think that I am wasting your time in dwelling on these simple\nmoralities. From the facts I have been stating we must derive this great\nprinciple for all effort. That we must endeavour to _do_, not what is\nabsolutely best, but what is easily within our power and adapted to our\ntemper and condition.\n\n\n86. In your educational series is a lithographic drawing, by Prout, of\nan old house in Strasbourg. The carvings of its woodwork are in a style\naltogether provincial, yet of which the origin is very distant. The\ndelicate Renaissance architecture of Italy was affected, even in its\nfinest periods, by a tendency to throw out convex masses at the bases of\nits pillars; the wood-carvers of the 16th century adopted this bulged\nform as their first element of ornamentation, and these windows of\nStrasbourg are only imitations by the German peasantry of what, in its\nfinest type, you must seek as far away as the Duomo of Bergamo.\n\nBut the burgher, or peasant, of Alsace enjoyed his rude imitation,\nadapted, as it was, boldly and frankly to the size of his house and the\ngrain of the larch logs of which he built it, infinitely more than the\nrefined Italian enjoyed the floral luxuriance of his marble; and all the\ntreasures of a great exhibition could not have given him the tenth part\nof the exultation with which he saw the gable of his roof completed over\nits jutting fret-work; and wrote among the rude intricacies of its\nsculpture, in flourished black letter, that \"He and his wife had built\ntheir house with God's help, and prayed Him to let them live long in\nit,--they, and their children.\"\n\n\n87. But it is not only the rustic method of architecture which I wish\nyou to note in this plate; it is the rustic method of drawing also. The\nmanner in which these blunt timber carvings are drawn by Prout is just\nas provincial as the carvings themselves. Born in a faraway district of\nEngland, and learning to draw, unhelped, with fishing-boats for his\nmodels; making his way instinctively until he had command of his pencil\nenough to secure a small income by lithographic drawing; and finding\npicturesque character in buildings from which all the finest lines of\ntheir carving had been effaced by time; possessing also an instinct in\nthe expression of such subjects so peculiar as to win for him a\nsatisfying popularity, and, far better, to enable him to derive\nperpetual pleasure in the seclusion of country hamlets, and the quiet\nstreets of deserted cities,--Prout had never any motive to acquaint\nhimself with the refinements, or contend with the difficulties, of a\nmore accomplished art. So far from this, his manner of work was, by its\nvery imperfection, in the most perfect sympathy with the subjects he\nenjoyed. The broad chalk touches in which he has represented to us this\nhouse at Strasbourg are entirely sufficient to give true idea of its\neffect. To have drawn its ornaments with subtlety of Leonardesque\ndelineation would only have exposed their faults, and mocked their\nrusticity. The drawing would have become painful to you from the sense\nof the time which it had taken to represent what was not worth the\nlabour, and to direct your attention to what could only, if closely\nexamined, be matter of offence. But here you have a simple and\nprovincial draughtsman happily and adequately expressing a simple and\nprovincial architecture; nor could either builder or painter have become\nwiser, but to their loss.\n\n\n88. Is it then, you will ask me, seriously to be recommended, and,\nhowever recommendable, is it possible, that men should remain contented\nwith attainments which they know to be imperfect? and that now, as in\nformer times, large districts of country, and generations of men, should\nbe enriched or amused by the products of a clumsy ignorance? I do not\nknow how far it is possible, but I know that wherever you desire to have\ntrue art, it is necessary. Ignorance, which is contented and clumsy,\nwill produce what is imperfect, but not offensive. But ignorance\n_dis_contented and dexterous, learning what it cannot understand, and\nimitating what it cannot enjoy, produces the most loathsome forms of\nmanufacture that can disgrace or mislead humanity. Some years since, as\nI was looking through the modern gallery at the quite provincial German\nSchool of D\u00fcsseldorf, I was fain to leave all their epic and religious\ndesigns, that I might stay long before a little painting of a shepherd\nboy carving his dog out of a bit of deal. The dog was sitting by, with\nthe satisfied and dignified air of a personage about for the first time\nin his life to be worthily represented in sculpture; and his master was\nevidently succeeding to his mind in expressing the features of his\nfriend. The little scene was one which, as you know, must take place\ncontinually among the cottage artists who supply the toys of Nuremberg\nand Berne. Happy, these! so long as, undisturbed by ambition, they spend\ntheir leisure time in work pretending only to amuse, yet capable, in its\nown way, of showing accomplished dexterity, and vivid perception of\nnature. We, in the hope of doing great things, have surrounded our\nworkmen with Italian models, and tempted them with prizes into\ncompetitive mimicry of all that is best, or that we imagine to be best,\nin the work of every people under the sun. And the result of our\ninstruction is only that we are able to produce--I am now quoting the\nstatement I made last May, \"the most perfectly and roundly ill-done\nthings\" that ever came from human hands. I should thankfully put upon my\nchimney-piece the wooden dog cut by the shepherd boy; but I should be\nwilling to forfeit a large sum rather than keep in my room the number 1\nof the Kensington Museum--thus described in its catalogue--\"Statue in\nblack and white marble, of a Newfoundland dog standing on a serpent,\nwhich rests on a marble cushion;--the pedestal ornamented with Pietra\nDura fruits in relief.\"\n\n\n89. You will, however, I fear, imagine me indulging in my usual paradox,\nwhen I assure you that all the efforts we have been making to surround\nourselves with heterogeneous means of instruction, will have the exactly\nreverse effect from that which we intend;--and that, whereas formerly we\nwere able only to do a little well, we are qualifying ourselves now to\ndo everything ill. Nor is the result confined to our workmen only. The\nintroduction of French dexterity and of German erudition has been\nharmful chiefly to our most accomplished artists--and in the last\nExhibition of our Royal Academy there was, I think, no exception to the\nmanifest fact that every painter of reputation painted worse than he did\nten years ago.\n\n\n90. Admitting, however, (not that I suppose you will at once admit, but\nfor the sake of argument, supposing,) that this is true, what, we have\nfurther to ask, can be done to discourage ourselves from calamitous\nemulation, and withdraw our workmen from the sight of what is too good\nto be of use to them?\n\nBut this question is not one which can be determined by the needs, or\nlimited to the circumstances of Art. To live generally more modest and\ncontented lives; to win the greatest possible pleasure from the smallest\nthings; to do what is likely to be serviceable to our immediate\nneighbours, whether it seem to them admirable or not; to make no\npretence of admiring what has really no hold upon our hearts; and to be\nresolute in refusing all additions to our learning, until we have\nperfectly arranged and secured what learning we have got;--these are\nconditions, and laws, of unquestionable \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa and \u03c3\u03c9\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7, which will\nindeed lead us up to fine art if we are resolved to have it fine; but\nwill also do what is much better, make rude art precious.\n\n\n91. It is not, however, by any means necessary that provincial art\n_should_ be rude, though it may be singular. Often it is no less\ndelicate than quaint, and no less refined in grace than original in\ncharacter. This is likely always to take place when a people of\nnaturally fine artistic temper work with the respect which, as I\nendeavoured to show you in a former lecture, ought always to be paid to\nlocal material and circumstance.\n\nI have placed in your educational series the photograph of the door of a\nwooden house in Abbeville, and of the winding stair above; both so\nexquisitely sculptured that the real vine-leaves which had wreathed\nthemselves about their pillars, cannot, in the photograph, be at once\ndiscerned from the carved foliage. The latter, quite as graceful, can\nonly be known for art by its quaint setting.\n\nYet this school of sculpture is altogether provincial. It could only\nhave risen in a richly-wooded chalk country, where the sapling trees\nbeside the brooks gave example to the workman of the most intricate\ntracery, and the white cliffs above the meadows furnished docile\nmaterial to his hand.\n\n\n92. I have now, to my sorrow, learned to despise the elaborate\nintricacy, and the playful realizations, of the Norman designers; and\ncan only be satisfied by the reserved and proud imagination of the\nmaster schools. But the utmost pleasure I now take in these is almost as\nnothing, compared to the joy I used to have, when I knew no better, in\nthe fretted pinnacles of Rouen, and white lace, rather than stonework,\nof the chapels of Reu and Amboise.\n\nYet observe that the first condition of this really precious provincial\nwork is its being the best that can be done under the given\ncircumstances; and the second is, that though provincial, it is not in\nthe least frivolous or ephemeral, but as definitely civic, or public, in\ndesign, and as permanent in the manner of it, as the work of the most\nlearned academies: while its execution brought out the energies of each\nlittle state, not necessarily in rivalship, but severally in the\nperfecting of styles which Nature had rendered it impossible for their\nneighbours to imitate.\n\n\n93. This civic unity, and the feeling of the workman that he is\nperforming his part in a great scene which is to endure for centuries,\nwhile yet, within the walls of his city, it is to be a part of his own\npeculiar life, and to be separate from all the world besides, developes,\ntogether, whatever duty he acknowledges as a patriot, and whatever\ncomplacency he feels as an artist.\n\nWe now build, in our villages, by the rules of the Academy of London;\nand if there be a little original vivacity or genius in any provincial\nworkman, he is almost sure to spend it in making a ridiculous toy.\nNothing is to me much more pathetic than the way that our neglected\nworkmen thus throw their lives away. As I was walking the other day\nthrough the Crystal Palace, I came upon a toy which had taken the\nleisure of five years to make; you dropped a penny into the chink of it,\nand immediately a little brass steam-engine in the middle started into\nnervously hurried action; some bell-ringers pulled strings at the bottom\nof a church steeple which had no top; two regiments of cavalry marched\nout from the sides, and man\u0153uvred in the middle; and two well-dressed\npersons in a kind of opera-box expressed their satisfaction by approving\ngestures.\n\nIn old Ghent, or Bruges, or York, such a man as the one who made this\ntoy, with companions similarly minded, would have been taught how to\nemploy himself, not to their less amusement, but to better purpose; and\nin their five years of leisure hours they would have carved a flamboyant\ncrown for the belfry-tower, and would have put chimes into it that would\nhave told the time miles away, with a pleasant tune for the hour, and a\nvariation for the quarters, and cost the passers-by in all the city and\nplain not so much as the dropping of a penny into a chink.\n\n\n94. Do not doubt that I feel, as strongly as any of you can feel, the\nutter impossibility at present of restoring provincial simplicity to our\ncountry towns.\n\nMy despondency respecting this, and nearly all other matters which I\nknow to be necessary, is at least as great,--it is certainly more\npainful to me,--in the decline of life,--than that which any of my\nyounger hearers can feel. But what I have to tell you of the unchanging\nprinciples of nature, and of art, must not be affected by either hope or\nfear. And if I succeed in convincing you what these principles are,\nthere are many practical consequences which you may deduce from them, if\never you find yourselves, as young Englishmen are often likely to find\nthemselves, in authority over foreign tribes of peculiar or limited\ncapacities.\n\nBe assured that you can no more drag or compress men into perfection\nthan you can drag or compress plants. If ever you find yourselves set in\na position of authority, and are entrusted to determine modes of\neducation, ascertain first what the people you would teach have been in\nthe habit of doing, and encourage them to do _that_ better. Set no other\nexcellence before their eyes; disturb none of their reverence for the\npast; do not think yourselves bound to dispel their ignorance, or to\ncontradict their superstitions; teach them only gentleness and truth;\nredeem them by example from habits which you know to be unhealthy or\ndegrading; but cherish, above all things, _local associations_, and\n_hereditary skill_.\n\nIt is the curse of so-called civilization to pretend to originality by\nthe wilful invention of new methods of error, while it quenches wherever\nit has power, the noble originality of nations, rising out of the purity\nof their race, and the love of their native land.\n\n\n95. I could say much more, but I think I have said enough to justify for\nthe present what you might otherwise have thought singular in the\nmethods I shall adopt for your exercise in the drawing schools. I shall\nindeed endeavour to write down for you the laws of the art which is\ncentrally best; and to exhibit to you a certain number of its\nunquestionable standards: but your own actual practice shall be limited\nto objects which will explain to you the meaning, and awaken you to the\nbeauty, of the art of your own country.\n\nThe first series of my lectures on sculpture must have proved to you\nthat I do not despise either the workmanship or the mythology of Greece;\nbut I must assert with more distinctness than even in my earliest works,\nthe absolute unfitness of all its results to be made the guides of\nEnglish students or artists.\n\nEvery nation can represent, with prudence, or success, only the\nrealities in which it delights. What you have with you, and before you,\ndaily, dearest to your sight and heart, _that_, by the magic of your\nhand, or of your lips, you can gloriously express to others; and what\nyou ought to have in your sight and heart,--what, if you have not,\nnothing else can be truly seen or loved,--is the human life of your own\npeople, understood in its history, and admired in its presence.\n\nAnd unless that be first made beautiful, idealism must be false and\nimagination monstrous.\n\nIt is your influence on the existing world which, in your studies here,\nyou ought finally to consider; and although it is not, in that\ninfluence, my function to direct you, I hope you will not be\ndiscontented to know that I shall ask no effort from your art-genius,\nbeyond the rational suggestion of what we may one day hope to see\nactually realized in England, in the sweetness of her landscape, and the\ndignity of her people.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn connection with the subject of this lecture, I may mention to you\nthat I have received an interesting letter, requesting me to assist in\npromoting some improvements designed in the city of Oxford.\n\nBut as the entire charm and educational power of the city of Oxford, so\nfar as that educational power depended on reverent associations, or on\nvisible solemnities and serenities of architecture, have been already\ndestroyed; and, as far as our own lives extend, destroyed, I may say,\nfor ever, by the manufacturing suburb which heaps its ashes on one side,\nand the cheap-lodging suburb which heaps its brickbats on the other; I\nam myself, either as antiquary or artist, absolutely indifferent to what\nhappens next; except on grounds respecting the possible health,\ncleanliness, and decency which may yet be obtained for the increasing\npopulation.\n\nHow far cleanliness and decency bear on art and science, or on the\nchanged functions of the university to its crowd of modern students, I\nhave partly to consider in connection with the subject of my next\nlecture, and I will reserve therefore any definite notice of these\nproposed improvements in the city, until the next occasion of meeting\nyou.\n\n\n\n\n                              LECTURE VI.\n\n              THE RELATION TO ART OF THE SCIENCE OF LIGHT.\n\n                         _24th February, 1872._\n\n\n96. I have now, perhaps to the exhaustion of your patience, but you will\nfind, not without real necessity, defined the manner in which the mental\ntempers, ascertained by philosophy to be evil or good, retard and\nadvance the parallel studies of science and art.\n\nIn this and the two next following lectures I shall endeavour to state\nto you the literal modes in which the virtues of art are connected with\nthe principles of exact science; but now, remember, I am speaking, not\nof the consummate science of which art is the image; but only of what\nscience we have actually attained, which is often little more than\nterminology (and even that uncertain), with only a gleam of true science\nhere and there.\n\nI will not delay you by any defence of the arrangement of sciences I\nhave chosen. Of course we may at once dismiss chemistry and pure\nmathematics from our consideration. Chemistry can do nothing for art but\nmix her colours, and tell her what stones will stand weather; (I wish,\nat this day, she did as much;) and with pure mathematics we have nothing\nwhatever to do; nor can that abstract form of high mathesis stoop to\ncomprehend the simplicity of art. To a first wrangler at Cambridge,\nunder the present conditions of his trial, statues will necessarily be\nstone dolls, and imaginative work unintelligible. We have, then, in true\nfellowship with art, only the sciences of light and form, (optics and\ngeometry). If you will take the first syllable of the word 'geometry' to\nmean earth in the form of flesh, as well as of clay, the two words sum\nevery science that regards graphic art, or of which graphic art can\nrepresent the conclusions.\n\n\n97. To-day we are to speak of optics, the science of seeing;--of that\npower, whatever it may be, which (by Plato's definition), \"through the\neyes, manifests colour to us.\"\n\nHold that definition always, and remember that 'light' means accurately\nthe power that affects the eyes of animals with the sensation proper to\nthem. The study of the effect of light on nitrate of silver is\nchemistry, not optics; and what is light to _us_ may indeed shine on a\nstone; but is not light to the stone. The \"fiat lux\" of creation is,\ntherefore, in the deep sense of it, \"fiat anima.\"\n\nWe cannot say that it is merely \"fiat oculus,\" for the effect of light\non living organism, even when sightless, cannot be separated from its\ninfluence on sight. A plant consists essentially of two parts, root and\nleaf: the leaf by nature seeks light, the root by nature seeks darkness:\nit is not warmth or cold, but essentially light and shade, which are to\nthem, as to us, the appointed conditions of existence.\n\n\n98. And you are to remember still more distinctly that the words \"fiat\nlux\" mean indeed \"fiat anima,\" because even the power of the eye itself,\nas such, is _in_ its animation. You do not see _with_ the lens of the\neye. You see _through_ that, and by means of that, but you see with the\nsoul of the eye.\n\n\n99. A great physiologist said to me the other day--it was in the\nrashness of controversy, and ought not to be remembered, as a deliberate\nassertion, therefore I do not give his name, still he did say--that\nsight was \"altogether mechanical.\" The words simply meant, if they meant\nanything, that all his physiology had never taught him the difference\nbetween eyes and telescopes. Sight is an absolutely spiritual\nphenomenon; accurately, and only, to be so defined; and the \"Let there\nbe light,\" is as much, when you understand it, the ordering of\nintelligence, as the ordering of vision. It is the appointment of change\nof what had been else only a mechanical effluence from things unseen to\nthings unseeing,--from stars that did not shine to earth that could not\nperceive;--the change, I say, of that blind vibration into the glory of\nthe sun and moon for human eyes; so rendering possible also the\ncommunication out of the unfathomable truth, of that portion of truth\nwhich is good for us, and animating to us, and is set to rule over the\nday and night of our joy and sorrow.\n\n\n100. The sun was set thus 'to rule the day.' And of late you have\nlearned that he was set to rule everything that we know of. You have\nbeen taught that, by the Sirens, as a piece of entirely new knowledge,\nmuch to be exulted over. We painters, indeed, have been for some time\nacquainted with the general look of the sun, and long before there were\npainters there were wise men,--Zoroastrian and other,--who had suspected\nthat there was power in the sun; but the Sirens of yesterday have\nsomewhat new, it seems, to tell you of his authority, \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03c7\u03b8\u03bf\u03bd\u1f76\n\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03bb\u03c5\u03b2\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03af\u03c1\u1fc3. I take a passage, almost at random, from a recent\nscientific work.\n\n\"Just as the phenomena of water-formed rocks all owe their existence\ndirectly or indirectly chiefly to the sun's energy, so also do the\nphenomena interwoven with life. This has long been recognised by various\neminent British and foreign physicists; and in 1854 Professor ----, in\nhis memoir on the method of pal\u00e6ontology, asserted that organisms were\nbut _manifestations of applied physics and applied chemistry_. Professor\n---- puts the generalisations of physicists in a few words: When\nspeaking of the sun, it is remarked--'He rears the whole vegetable\nworld, and through it the animal; the lilies of the field are his\nworkmanship, the verdure of the meadows, and the cattle upon a thousand\nhills. He forms the muscle, he urges the blood, he builds the brain. His\nfleetness is in the lion's foot; he springs in the panther, he soars in\nthe eagle, he slides in the snake. He builds the forest and hews it\ndown, the power which raised the tree and that which wields the axe\nbeing one and the same.'\"\n\nAll this is exceedingly true; and it is new in _one_ respect, namely, in\nthe ascertainment that the quantity of solar force necessary to produce\nmotive power is measurable, and, in its sum, unalterable. For the rest,\nit was perfectly well known in Homer's time, as now, that animals could\nnot move till they were warm; and the fact that the warmth which enables\nthem to do so is finally traceable to the sun, would have appeared to a\nGreek physiologist, no more interesting than, to a Greek poet, would\nhave been the no less certain fact, that \"Tout ce qui se peut dire de\nbeau est dans les dictionnaires; il n'y a que les mots qui sont\ntranspos\u00e9s\"--Everything fine, that can be said, is in the dictionaries;\nit is only that the words are transposed.\n\nYes, indeed; but to the \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c4\u03ae\u03c2 the gist of the matter is _in_ the\ntransposition. The sun does, as the delighted physicist tells you,\nunquestionably \"slide in the snake;\" but how comes he to adopt that\nmanner, we artists ask, of (literally) transposition?\n\n\n101. The summer before last, as I was walking in the woods near the\nGiesbach, on the Lake of Brientz, and moving very quietly, I came\nsuddenly on a small steel-gray serpent, lying in the middle of the path;\nand it was greatly surprised to see me. Serpents, however, always have\ncomplete command of their feelings, and it looked at me for a quarter of\na minute without the slightest change of posture: then, with an almost\nimperceptible motion, it began to withdraw itself beneath a cluster of\nleaves. Without in the least hastening its action, it gradually\nconcealed the whole of its body. I was about to raise one of the leaves,\nwhen I saw what I thought was the glance of another serpent, in the\nthicket at the path side; but it was the same one, which having once\nwithdrawn itself from observation beneath the leaves, used its utmost\nagility to spring into the wood; and with so instantaneous a flash of\nmotion, that I never saw it leave the covert, and only caught the gleam\nof light as it glided away into the copse.\n\n\n102. Now, it was to me a matter of supreme indifference whether the\nforce which the creature used in this action was derived from the sun,\nthe moon, or the gas-works at Berne. What was, indeed, a matter of\ninterest to me, was just that which would have struck a peasant, or a\nchild;--namely, the calculating wisdom of the creature's device; and the\nexquisite grace, strength, and precision of the action by which it was\naccomplished.\n\n\n103. I was interested then, I say, more in the device of the creature,\nthan in its source of motion. Nevertheless, I am pleased to hear, from\nmen of science, how necessarily that motion proceeds from the sun. But\nwhere did its _device_ come from? There is no wisdom, no device in the\ndust, any more than there is warmth in the dust. The springing of the\nserpent is from the sun:--the wisdom of the serpent,--whence that?\n\n\n104. From the sun also, is the only answer, I suppose, possible to\nphysical science. It is not a false answer: quite true, like the other,\nup to a certain point. To-day, in the strength of your youth, you may\nknow what it is to have the power of the sun taken out of your arms and\nlegs. But when you are old, you will know what it is to have the power\nof the sun taken out of your minds also. Such a thing may happen to you,\nsometimes, even now; but it will continually happen to you when you are\nmy age. You will no more, then, think over a matter to any good purpose\nafter twelve o'clock in the day. It may be possible to think over, and,\nmuch more, to talk over, matters, to little, or to bad, purpose after\ntwelve o'clock in the day. The members of your national legislature do\ntheir work, we know, by gaslight; but you don't suppose the power of the\nsun is in any of _their_ devices? Quite seriously, all the vital\nfunctions,--and, like the rest and with the rest, the pure and wholesome\nfaculties of the brain,--rise and set with the sun: your digestion and\nintellect are alike dependent on its beams; your thoughts, like your\nblood, flow from the force of it, in all scientific accuracy and\nnecessity. Sol illuminatio nostra est; Sol salus nostra; Sol sapientia\nnostra.\n\nAnd it is the final act and outcome of lowest national atheism, since it\ncannot deny the sun, at least to strive to do without it; to blast the\nday in heaven with smoke, and prolong the dance, and the council, by\nnight, with tapers, until at last, rejoicing--Dixit insipiens in corde\nsuo, non est Sol.\n\n\n105. Well, the sliding of the serpent, and the device of the serpent, we\nadmit, come from the sun. The flight of the dove, and its\nharmlessness,--do they also?\n\nThe flight,--yes, assuredly. The Innocence?--It is a new question. How\nof that? Between movement and non-movement--nay, between sense and\nnon-sense--the difference rests, we say, in the power of Apollo; but\nbetween malice and innocence, where shall we find the root of _that_\ndistinction?\n\n\n106. Have you ever considered how much literal truth there is in the\nwords--\"The light of the body is the eye. If, therefore, thine eye be\nevil\"--and the rest? How _can_ the eye be evil? How, if evil, can it\nfill the whole body with darkness?\n\nWhat is the meaning of having one's body _full_ of darkness? It cannot\nmean merely being blind. Blind, you may fall in a ditch if you move; but\nyou may be well, if at rest. But to be evil-eyed, is not that worse than\nto have no eyes? and instead of being only in darkness, to have darkness\nin _us_, portable, perfect, and eternal?\n\n\n107. Well, in order to get at the meaning we may, indeed, now appeal to\nphysical science, and ask her to help us. How many manner of eyes are\nthere? You physical-science students should be able to tell us painters\nthat. We only know, in a vague way, the external aspect and expression\nof eyes. We see, as we try to draw the endlessly-grotesque creatures\nabout us, what infinite variety of instruments they have; but you know,\nfar better than we do, how those instruments are constructed and\ndirected. You know how some play in their sockets with independent\nrevolution,--project into near-sightedness on pyramids of bone,--are\nbrandished at the points of horns,--studded over backs and\nshoulders,--thrust at the ends of antenn\u00e6 to pioneer for the head, or\npinched up into tubercles at the corners of the lips. But how do the\ncreatures see out of all these eyes?\n\n\n108. No business of ours, you may think? Pardon me. This is no Siren's\nquestion--this is altogether business of ours, lest, perchance, any of\nus should see partly in the same manner. Comparative sight is a far more\nimportant question than comparative anatomy. It is no matter, though we\nsometimes walk--and it may often be desirable to climb--like apes; but\nsuppose we only _see_ like apes, or like lower creatures? I can tell\nyou, the science of optics is an essential one to us; for exactly\naccording to these infinitely grotesque directions and multiplications\nof instrument you have correspondent, not only intellectual but moral,\nfaculty in the soul of the creatures. Literally, if the eye be pure, the\nbody is pure; but, if the light of the body be but darkness, how great\nis that darkness!\n\n\n109. Have you ever looked attentively at the study I gave you of the\nhead of the rattle-snake? The serpent will keep its eyes fixed on you\nfor an hour together, a vertical slit in each admitting such image of\nyou as is possible to the rattlesnake retina, and to the rattlesnake\nmind. How much of you do you think it sees? I ask that, first, as a pure\nphysical question. I do not know; it is not my business to know. You,\nfrom your schools of physical science, should bring me answer. How much\nof a man can a snake see? What sort of image of him is received through\nthat deadly vertical cleft in the iris;--through the glazed blue of the\nghastly lens? Make me a picture of the appearance of a man, as far as\nyou can judge it can take place on the snake's retina. Then ask\nyourselves, farther, how much of speculation is possible to the snake,\ntouching this human aspect?\n\n\n110. Or, if that seem too far beneath possible inquiry, how say you of\na tiger's eye, or a cat's? A cat may look at a king;--yes; but can it\n_see_ a king when it looks at him? The beasts of prey never seem to me\nto _look_, in our sense, at all. Their eyes are fascinated by the motion\nof anything, as a kitten's by a ball;--they fasten, as if drawn by an\ninevitable attraction, on their food. But when a cat caresses you, it\nnever looks at you. Its heart seems to be in its back and paws, not its\neyes. It will rub itself against you, or pat you with velvet tufts,\ninstead of talons; but you may talk to it an hour together, yet not\nrightly catch its eye. Ascend higher in the races of being--to the fawn,\nthe dog, the horse; you will find that, according to the clearness of\nsight, is indeed the kindness of sight, and that at last the noble eyes\nof humanity look through humanity, from heart into heart, and with no\nmechanical vision. And the Light of the body is the eye--yes, and in\nhappy life, the light of the heart also.\n\n\n111. But now note farther: there is a mathematical power in the eye\nwhich may far transcend its moral power. When the moral power is feeble,\nthe faculty of measurement, or of distinct delineation, may be supreme;\nand of comprehension none. But here, again, I want the help of the\nphysical science schools. I believe the eagle has no scent, and hunts by\nsight, yet flies higher than any other bird. Now, I want to know what\nthe appearance is to an eagle, two thousand feet up, of a sparrow in a\nhedge, or of a partridge in a stubble-field. What kind of definition on\nthe retina do these brown spots take to manifest themselves as signs of\na thing eatable; and if an eagle sees a partridge so, does it see\neverything else so? And then tell me, farther, does it see only a square\nyard at a time, and yet, as it flies, take summary of the square yards\nbeneath it? When next you are travelling by express sixty miles an hour,\npast a grass bank, try to see a grasshopper, and you will get some idea\nof an eagle's optical business, if it takes only the line of ground\nunderneath it. Does it take more?\n\n\n112. Then, besides this faculty of clear vision, you have to consider\nthe faculty of metric vision. Neither an eagle, nor a kingfisher, nor\nany other darting bird, can see things with both their eyes at the same\ntime as completely as you and I can; but think of their faculty of\nmeasurement as compared with ours! You will find that it takes you\nmonths of labour before you can acquire accurate power, even of\n_deliberate_ estimate of distances with the eye; it is one of the points\nto which, most of all, I have to direct your work. And the curious thing\nis that, given the degree of practice, you will measure ill or well with\nthe eye in proportion to the quantity of life in you. No one can measure\nwith a glance, when they are tired. Only the other day I got half an\ninch out of a foot, in drawing merely a coat of arms, because I was\ntired. But fancy what would happen to a swallow, if _it_ was half an\ninch out in a foot, in flying round a corner!\n\n\n113. Well, that is the first branch of the questions which we want\nanswered by optical science;--the actual distortion, contraction, and\nother modification, of the sight of different animals, as far as it can\nbe known from the forms of their eyes. Then, secondly, we ourselves need\nto be taught the connection of the sense of colour with health; the\ndifference in the physical conditions which lead us to seek for gloom,\nor brightness of hue; and the nature of purity in colour, first in the\nobject seen, and then in the eye which prefers it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n(The portion of lecture here omitted referred to illustrations of\nvulgarity and delicacy in colour, showing that the vulgar colours, even\nwhen they seemed most glaring, were in reality impure and dull; and\ndestroyed each other by contention; while noble colour, intensely bright\nand pure, was nevertheless entirely governed and calm, so that every\ncolour bettered and aided all the rest.)\n\n\n114. You recollect how I urged you in my opening course of lectures\nrather to work in the school of crystalline colour than in that of\nshade.\n\nSince I gave that first course of lectures, my sense of the necessity of\nthis study of brightness primarily, and of purity and gaiety beyond all\nother qualities, has deeply been confirmed by the influence which the\nunclean horror and impious melancholy of the modern French school--most\nliterally the school of death--has gained over the popular mind. I will\nnot dwell upon the evil phrenzy to-day. But it is in order, at once to\ndo the best I can, in counteraction of its deadly influence, though not\nwithout other and constant reasons, that I give you heraldry, with all\nits splendour and its pride, its brightness of colour, and\nhonourableness of meaning, for your main elementary practice.\n\n\n115. To-day I have only time left to press on your thoughts the deeper\nlaw of this due joy in colour and light.\n\nOn any morning of the year, how many pious supplications, do you\nsuppose, are uttered throughout educated Europe for \"light\"? How many\nlips at least pronounce the word, and, perhaps, in the plurality of\ninstances, with some distinct idea attached to it? It is true the\nspeakers employ it only as a metaphor. But why is their language thus\nmetaphorical? If they mean merely to ask for spiritual knowledge or\nguidance, why not say so plainly, instead of using this jaded figure of\nspeech? No boy goes to his father when he wants to be taught, or helped,\nand asks his father to give him 'light.' He asks what he wants, advice\nor protection. Why are not we also content to ask our Father for what we\nwant, in plain English?\n\nThe metaphor, you will answer, is put into our mouths, and felt to be a\nbeautiful and necessary one.\n\nI admit it. In your educational series, first of all examples of modern\nart, is the best engraving I could find of the picture which, founded\non that idea of Christ's being the Giver of Light, contains, I believe,\nthe most true and useful piece of religious vision which realistic art\nhas yet embodied. But why is the metaphor so necessary, or, rather, how\nfar is it a metaphor at all? Do you think the words 'Light of the World'\nmean only 'Teacher or Guide of the World'? When the Sun of Justice is\nsaid to rise with health in its wings, do you suppose the image only\nmeans the correction of error? Or does it even mean so much? The Light\nof Heaven is needed to do that perfectly. But what we are to pray for is\nthe Light of the _World_; nay, the Light \"that lighteth _every man that\ncometh into the world_.\"\n\n\n116. You will find that it is no metaphor--nor has it ever been so.\n\nTo the Persian, the Greek, and the Christian, the sense of the power of\nthe God of Light has been one and the same. That power is not merely in\nteaching or protecting, but in the enforcement of purity of body, and of\nequity or justice in the heart; and this, observe, not heavenly purity,\nnor final justice; but, now, and here, actual purity in the midst of the\nworld's foulness,--practical justice in the midst of the world's\niniquity. And the physical strength of the organ of sight,--the physical\npurity of the flesh, the actual love of sweet light and stainless\ncolour,--are the necessary signs, real, inevitable, and visible, of the\nprevailing presence, with any nation, or in any house, of the \"Light\nthat lighteth every man that cometh into the world.\"\n\n\n117. _Physical_ purity;--actual love of sweet light, and of fair colour.\nThis is one palpable sign, and an entirely needful one, that we have got\nwhat we pretend to pray for every morning. That, you will find, is the\nmeaning of Apollo's war with the Python--of your own St. George's war\nwith the dragon. You have got that battle stamped again on every\nsovereign in your pockets, but do you think the sovereigns are helping,\nat this instant, St. George in his battle? Once, on your gold of the\nHenrys' times, you had St. Michael and the dragon, and called your coins\n'angels.' How much have they done lately, of angelic work, think you, in\npurifying the earth?\n\n\n118. Purifying, literally, purging and cleansing. That is the first\n\"sacred art\" all men have to learn. And the words I deferred to the\nclose of this lecture, about the proposed improvements in Oxford, are\nvery few. Oxford is, indeed, capable of much improvement, but only by\nundoing the greater part of what has been done to it within the last\ntwenty years; and, at present, the one thing that I would say to\nwell-meaning persons is, 'For Heaven's sake--literally for Heaven's\nsake--let the place alone, and clean it.' I walked last week to\nIffley--not having been there for thirty years. I did not know the\nchurch inside; I found it pitch-dark with painted glass of barbarous\nmanufacture, and the old woman who showed it infinitely proud of letting\nme in at the front door instead of the side one. But close by it, not\nfifty yards down the hill, there was a little well--a holy well it\nshould have been; beautiful in the recess of it, and the lovely ivy and\nweeds above it, had it but been cared for in a human way; but so full of\nfrogs that you could not have dipped a cup in it without catching one.\n\nWhat is the use of pretty painted glass in your churches when you have\nthe plagues of Egypt outside of them?\n\n\n119. I walked back from Iffley to Oxford by what was once the most\nbeautiful approach to an academical city of any in Europe. Now it is a\nwilderness of obscure and base buildings. You think it a fine thing to\ngo into Iffley church by the front door;--and you build cheap\nlodging-houses over all the approach to the chief university of English\nliterature! That, forsooth, is your luminous cloister, and porch of\nPolygnotus to your temple of Apollo. And in the centre of that temple,\nat the very foot of the dome of the Radclyffe, between two principal\ncolleges, the lane by which I walked from my own college half an hour\nago, to this place,--Brasen-nose Lane--is left in a state as loathsome\nas a back-alley in the East end of London.\n\n\n120. These, I suppose, are the signs of extending liberality, and\ndisseminated advantages of education.\n\nGentlemen, if, as was lately said by a leading member of your\nGovernment, the function of a university be only to examine, it may\nindeed examine the whole mob of England in the midst of a dunghill; but\nit cannot teach the gentlemen of England in the midst of a dunghill; no,\nnor even the people of England. How many of her people it _ought_ to\nteach is a question. We think, now-a-days, our philosophy is to light\nevery man that cometh into the world, and to light every man equally.\nWell, when indeed you give up all other commerce in this island, and, as\nin Bacon's \"New Atlantis,\" only buy and sell to get God's first\ncreature, which was light, there may be some equality of gain for us in\nthat possession. But until then,--and we are very far from such a\ntime--the light cannot be given to all men equally. Nay, it is becoming\nquestionable whether, instead of being equally distributed to all, it\nmay not be equally withdrawn from us all: whether the ideas of purity\nand justice,--of loveliness which is to sanctify our peace,--and of\njustice which is to sanctify our battle, are not vanishing from the\npurpose of our policy, and even from the conception of our education.\n\nThe uses, and the desire, of seclusion, of meditation, of restraint, and\nof correction--are they not passing from us in the collision of worldly\ninterests, and restless contests of mean hope, and meaner fear? What\nlight, what health, what peace, or what security,--youths of England--do\nyou come here now to seek? In what sense do you receive--with what\nsincerity do you adopt for yourselves--the ancient legend of your\nschools, \"Dominus illuminatio mea, et salus mea; quem timebo\"?\n\n\n121. Remember that the ancient theory on which this university was\nfounded,--not the theory of any one founder, observe, nor even the\nconcluded or expressed issue of the wisdom of many; but the tacit\nfeeling by which the work and hope of all were united and\ncompleted--was, that England should gather from among her children a\ncertain number of purest and best, whom she might train to become, each\nin their day of strength, her teachers and patterns in religion, her\ndeclarers and doers of justice in law and her leaders in battle. Bred,\nit might be, by their parents, in the fond poverty of learning, or\namidst the traditions and discipline of illustrious houses,--in either\nmanner separate, from their youth up, to their glorious offices--they\ncame here to be kindled into the lights that were to be set on the hills\nof England, brightest of the pious, the loyal, and the brave. Whatever\ncorruption blighted, whatever worldliness buried, whatever sin polluted\ntheir endeavour, this conception of its meaning remained; and was indeed\nso fulfilled in faithfulness, that to the men whose passions were\ntempered, and whose hearts confirmed, in the calm of these holy places,\nyou, now living, owe all that is left to you of hope in heaven, and all\nof safety or honour that you have to trust and defend on earth.\n\nTheir children have forfeited, some by guilt, and many in folly, the\nleadership they inherited; and every man in England now is to do and to\nlearn what is right in his own eyes. How much need, therefore, that we\nshould learn first of all what eyes are; and what vision they ought to\npossess--science of sight granted only to clearness of soul; but granted\nin its fulness even to mortal eyes: for though, after the skin, worms\nmay destroy their body, happy the pure in heart, for they, yet in their\nflesh, shall see the Light of Heaven, and know the will of God.\n\n\n\n\n                              LECTURE VII.\n\n         THE RELATION TO ART OF THE SCIENCES OF INORGANIC FORM.\n\n                         _February 9th, 1872._\n\n\n122. I did not wish in my last lecture, after I had directed your\nattention to the special bearing of some of the principles I pleaded\nfor, to enforce upon you any farther general conclusions. But it is\nnecessary now to collect the gist of what I endeavoured to show you\nrespecting the organs of sight; namely, that in proportion to the\nphysical perfectness or clearness of them is the degree in which they\nare raised from the perception of prey to the perception of beauty and\nof affection. The imperfect and brutal instrument of the eye may be\nvivid with malignity, or wild with hunger, or manifoldly detective with\nmicroscopic exaggeration, assisting the ingenuity of insects with a\nmultiplied and permanent monstrosity of all things round them; but the\nnoble human sight, careless of prey, disdainful of minuteness, and\nreluctant to anger, becomes clear in gentleness, proud in reverence, and\njoyful in love. And finally, the physical splendour of light and colour,\nso far from being the perception of a mechanical force by a mechanical\ninstrument, is an entirely spiritual consciousness, accurately and\nabsolutely proportioned to the purity of the moral nature, and to the\nforce of its natural and wise affections.\n\n\n123. That was the sum of what I wished to show you in my last lecture;\nand observe, that what remains to me doubtful in these things,--and it\nis much--I do not trouble you with. Only what I know that on experiment\nyou can ascertain for yourselves, I tell you, and illustrate, for the\ntime, as well as I can. Experiments in art are difficult, and take years\nto try; you may at first fail in them, as you might in a chemical\nanalysis; but in all the matters which in this place I shall urge on\nyour attention I can assure you of the final results.\n\nThat, then, being the sum of what I could tell you with certainty\nrespecting the methods of sight, I have next to assure you that this\nfaculty of sight, disciplined and pure, is the only proper faculty\nwhich the graphic artist is to use in his inquiries into nature. His\noffice is to show her appearances; his duty is to know them. It is not\nhis duty, though it may be sometimes for his convenience, while it is\nalways at his peril, that he knows more;--knows the _causes_ of\nappearances, or the essence of the things that produce them.\n\n\n124. Once again, therefore, I must limit my application of the word\nscience with respect to art. I told you that I did not mean by 'science'\nsuch knowledge as that triangles on equal bases and between parallels\nare equal, but such knowledge as that the stars in Cassiopeia are in the\nform of a _W_. But, farther still, it is not to be considered as\nscience, for an artist, that they are stars at all. What _he_ has to\nknow is that they are luminous points which twinkle in a certain manner,\nand are pale yellow, or deep yellow, and may be quite deceptively\nimitated at a certain distance by brass-headed nails. This he ought to\nknow, and to remember accurately, and his art knowledge--the science,\nthat is to say--of which his art is to be the reflection, is the sum of\nknowledges of this sort; his memory of the look of the sun and moon at\nsuch and such times, through such and such clouds; his memory of the\nlook of the mountains,--of the look of sea,--of the look of human faces.\n\n\n125. Perhaps you would not call that 'science' at all. It is no matter\nwhat either you or I call it. It _is_ science of a certain order of\nfacts. Two summers ago, looking from Verona at sunset, I saw the\nmountains beyond the Lago di Garda of a strange blue, vivid and rich\nlike the bloom of a damson. I never saw a mountain-blue of that\nparticular quality before or since. My science as an artist consists in\nmy knowing that sort of blue from every other sort, and in my perfect\nrecollection that this particular blue had such and such a green\nassociated with it in the near fields. I have nothing whatever to do\nwith the atmospheric causes of the colour: that knowledge would merely\noccupy my brains wastefully, and warp my artistic attention and energy\nfrom their point. Or to take a simpler instance yet: Turner, in his\nearly life, was sometimes good-natured, and would show people what he\nwas about. He was one day making a drawing of Plymouth harbour, with\nsome ships at the distance of a mile or two, seen against the light.\nHaving shown this drawing to a naval officer, the naval officer\nobserved with surprise, and objected with very justifiable indignation,\nthat the ships of the line had no port-holes. \"No,\" said Turner,\n\"certainly not. If you will walk up to Mount Edgecumbe, and look at the\nships against the sunset, you will find you can't see the port-holes.\"\n\"Well, but,\" said the naval officer, still indignant, \"you know the\nport-holes are there.\" \"Yes,\" said Turner, \"I know that well enough; but\nmy business is to draw what I see, and not what I know is there.\"\n\n\n126. Now, that is the law of all fine artistic work whatsoever; and,\nmore than that, it is, on the whole, perilous to you, and undesirable,\nthat you _should_ know what is there. If, indeed, you have so perfectly\ndisciplined your sight that it cannot be influenced by prejudice;--if\nyou are sure that none of your knowledge of what is there will be\nallowed to assert itself; and that you can reflect the ship as simply as\nthe sea beneath it does, though you may know it with the intelligence of\na sailor,--then, indeed, you may allow yourself the pleasure, and what\nwill sometimes be the safeguard from error, of learning what ships or\nstars, or mountains, are in reality; but the ordinary powers of human\nperception are almost certain to be disturbed by the knowledge of the\nreal nature of what they draw: and, until you are quite fearless of your\nfaithfulness to the appearances of things, the less you know of their\nreality the better.\n\n\n127. And it is precisely in this passive and na\u00efve simplicity that art\nbecomes, not only greatest in herself, but most useful to science. If\nshe _knew_ anything of what she was representing, she would exhibit that\npartial knowledge with complacency; and miss the points beside it, and\nbeyond it. Two painters draw the same mountain; the one has got\nunluckily into his head some curiosity about glacier marking; and the\nother has a theory of cleavage. The one will scratch his mountain all\nover;--the other split it to pieces; and both drawings will be equally\nuseless for the purposes of honest science.\n\n\n128. Any of you who chance to know my books cannot but be surprised at\nmy saying these things; for, of all writers on art, I suppose there is\nno one who appeals so often as I do to physical science. But observe, I\nappeal as a critic of art, never as a master of it. Turner made drawings\nof mountains and clouds which the public said were absurd. I said, on\nthe contrary, they were the only true drawings of mountains and clouds\never made yet: and I proved this to be so, as only it could be proved,\nby steady test of physical science: but Turner had drawn his mountains\nrightly, long before their structure was known to any geologist in\nEurope; and has painted perfectly truths of anatomy in clouds which I\nchallenge any meteorologist in Europe to explain at this day.\n\n\n129. And indeed I was obliged to leave \"Modern Painters\" incomplete, or,\nrather, as a mere sketch of intention, in analysis of the forms of cloud\nand wave, because I had not scientific data enough to appeal to. Just\nreflect for an instant how absolutely whatever has been done in art to\nrepresent these most familiar, yet most spectral forms of cloud--utterly\ninorganic, yet, by spiritual ordinance, in their kindness fair, and in\ntheir anger frightful,--how all that has yet been done to represent\nthem, from the undulating bands of blue and white which give to heraldry\nits nebule bearing, to the finished and deceptive skies of Turner, has\nbeen done without one syllable of help from the lips of science.[F]\n\n  [F] Rubens' rainbow, in the Loan Exhibition this year, was of dull\n      blue, _darker_ than the sky, in a scene lighted from the side of\n      the rainbow. Rubens is not to be blamed for ignorance of optics,\n      but for never having so much as looked at a rainbow carefully: and\n      I do not believe that my friend Mr. Alfred Hunt, whose study of\n      rainbow, in the rooms of the Water Colour Society last year, was\n      unrivalled, for vividness and truth, by any I know, learned how to\n      paint it by studying optics.\n\n\n130. The rain which flooded our fields the Sunday before last, was\nfollowed, as you will remember, by bright days, of which Tuesday the\n20th was, in London, notable for the splendour, towards the afternoon,\nof its white cumulus clouds. There has been so much black east wind\nlately, and so much fog and artificial gloom, besides, that I find it is\nactually some two years since I last saw a noble cumulus cloud under\nfull light. I chanced to be standing under the Victoria Tower at\nWestminster, when the largest mass of them floated past, that day, from\nthe north-west; and I was more impressed than ever yet by the awfulness\nof the cloud-form, and its unaccountableness, in the present state of\nour knowledge. The Victoria Tower, seen against it, had no magnitude: it\nwas like looking at Mont Blanc over a lamp-post. The domes of cloud-snow\nwere heaped as definitely; their broken flanks were as grey and firm as\nrocks, and the whole mountain, of a compass and height in heaven which\nonly became more and more inconceivable as the eye strove to ascend it,\nwas passing behind the tower with a steady march, whose swiftness must\nin reality have been that of a tempest: yet, along all the ravines of\nvapour, precipice kept pace with precipice, and not one thrust another.\n\n\n131. What is it that hews them out? Why is the blue sky pure\nthere,--cloud solid here; and edged like marble: and why does the state\nof the blue sky pass into the state of cloud, in that calm advance?\n\nIt is true that you can more or less imitate the forms of cloud with\nexplosive vapour or steam; but the steam melts instantly, and the\nexplosive vapour dissipates itself. The cloud, of perfect form, proceeds\nunchanged. It is not an explosion, but an enduring and advancing\npresence. The more you think of it, the less explicable it will become\nto you.\n\n\n132. That this should yet be unexplained in the kingdom of the air is,\nhowever, no marvel, since aspects of a similar kind are unexplained in\nthe earth, which we tread, and in the water which we drink and wash\nwith. You seldom pass a day without receiving some pleasure from the\ncloudings in marble; can you explain how the stone was clouded? You\ncertainly do not pass a day without washing your hands. Can you explain\nthe frame of a soap-bubble?\n\n\n133. I have allowed myself, by way of showing at once what I wanted to\ncome to, to overlook the proper arrangement of my subject, and I must\ndraw back a little.\n\nFor all his own purposes, merely graphic, we say, if an artist's eye is\nfine and faithful, the fewer points of science he has in his head, the\nbetter. But for purposes _more_ than graphic, in order that he may feel\ntowards things as he should, and choose them as _we_ should, he ought to\nknow something about them; and if he is quite sure that he can receive\nthe science of them without letting himself become uncandid and narrow\nin observation, it is very desirable that he should be acquainted with a\nlittle of the alphabet of structure,--just as much as may quicken and\ncertify his observation, without prejudicing it. Cautiously, therefore,\nand receiving it as a perilous indulgence, he may venture to learn,\nperhaps as much astronomy as may prevent his carelessly putting the new\nmoon wrong side upwards; and as much botany as will prevent him from\nconfusing, which I am sorry to say Turner did, too often, Scotch firs\nwith stone pines. He may concede so much to geology as to choose, of two\nequally picturesque views, one that illustrates rather than conceals the\nstructure of a crag: and perhaps, once or twice in his life, a portrait\npainter might advantageously observe how unlike a skull is to a face.\nAnd for you, who are to use your drawing as one element in general\neducation, it is desirable that physical science should assist in the\nattainment of truth which a real painter seizes by practice of eye.\n\n\n134. For this purpose I shall appeal to your masters in science to\nfurnish us, as they have leisure, with some simple and readable accounts\nof the structure of things which we have to draw continually. Such\nscientific accounts will not usually much help us to draw them, but will\nmake the drawing, when done, far more valuable to us.\n\nI have told you, for instance, that nobody--at least, no painter--can at\npresent explain the structure of a bubble. To know that structure will\nnot help you to draw sea-foam, but it will make you look at sea-foam\nwith greater interest.\n\nI am not able now to watch the course of modern science, and may perhaps\nbe in error in thinking that the frame of a bubble is still unexplained.\nBut I have not yet met, by any chance, with an account of the forces\nwhich, under concussion, arrange the particles of a fluid into a\nglobular film; though, from what I know of cohesion, gravity, and the\nnature of the atmosphere, I can make some shift to guess at the kind of\naction that takes place in forming a single bubble. But how one bubble\nabsorbs another without breaking it; or what exact methods of tension\nprepare for the change of form, and establish it in an instant, I am\nutterly at a loss to conceive.\n\nHere, I think, then, is one familiar matter which up to the possible\npoint, science might condescendingly interpret for us. The exhaustion of\nthe film in preparation for its change: the determination of the smaller\nbubble to yield itself up to the larger; the instantaneous flash into\nthe new shape, and the swift adjustment of the rectangular lines of\nintersection in the marvellous vaulting--all this I want to be\nexplained to us, so that, if we cannot understand it altogether, we may\nat least know exactly how far we do, and how far we do not.\n\n\n135. And, next to the laws of the formation of a bubble, I want to see,\nin simple statement, those of the formation of a bottle. Namely, the\nlaws of its resistance to fracture, from without and within, by\nconcussion or explosion; and the due relations of form to thickness of\nmaterial; so that, putting the problem in a constant form, we may know,\nout of a given quantity of material, how to make the strongest bottle\nunder given limitations as to shape. For instance,--you have so much\nglass given you: your bottle is to hold two pints, to be flat-bottomed,\nand so narrow and long in the neck that you can grasp it with your hand.\nWhat will be its best ultimate form?\n\n\n136. Probably, if you thought it courteous, you would laugh at me just\nnow; and, at any rate, are thinking to yourselves that _this_ art\nproblem at least needs no scientific investigation, having been\npractically solved, long ago, by the imperative human instinct for the\npreservation of bottled stout. But you are only feeling now, gentlemen,\nand recognizing in one instance, what I tell you of all. Every\nscientific investigation is, in the same sense as this would be, useless\nto the trained master of any art. To the soap-bubble blower, and\nglass-blower,--to the pot-maker and bottle-maker,--if dexterous\ncraftsmen, your science is of no account; and the imp of their art may\nbe imagined as always looking triumphantly and contemptuously, out of\nits successfully-produced bottle, on the vain analysis of centrifugal\nimpulse and inflating breath.\n\n\n137. Nevertheless, in the present confusion of instinct and opinion as\nto beautiful form, it is desirable to have these two questions more\naccurately dealt with. For observe what they branch into. The coloured\nsegments of globe out of which foam is constituted, are portions of\nspherical vaults constructed of fluent particles. You cannot have the\nprinciples of spherical vaulting put in more abstract terms.\n\nThen considering the arch as the section of a vault, the greater number\nof Gothic arches may be regarded as the intersections of two spherical\nvaults.\n\nSimple Gothic foliation is merely the triple, quadruple, or variously\nmultiple repetition of such intersection.\n\nAnd the beauty--(observe this carefully)--the beauty of Gothic arches,\nand of their foliation, always involves reference to the strength of\ntheir structure; but only to their structure as _self-sustaining; not as\nsustaining superincumbent weight_. In the most literal of senses, \"the\nearth hath bubbles as the water hath; and these are of them.\"\n\n\n138. What do you think made Michael Angelo look back to the dome of\nSanta Maria del Fiore, saying, \"Like thee I will not build one, better\nthan thee I cannot\"? To you or to me there is nothing in that dome\ndifferent from hundreds of others. Which of you, who have been at\nFlorence, can tell me honestly he saw anything wonderful in it? But\nMichael Angelo knew the exact proportion of thickness to weight and\ncurvature which enabled it to stand as securely as a mountain of\nadamant, though it was only a film of clay, as frail, in proportion to\nits bulk, as a sea shell. Over the massy war towers of the city it\nfloated; fragile, yet without fear. \"Better than thee I cannot.\"\n\n\n139. Then think what the investigation of the bottle branches into,\njoined with that of its necessary companion, the cup. There is a sketch\nfor you of the cup of cups, the pure Greek \u03ba\u03ac\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, which is always in\nthe hand of Dionusos, as the thunderbolt is in that of Zeus. Learn but\nto draw that thoroughly, and you won't have much more to learn of\nabstract form; for the investigation of the kinds of line that limit\nthis will lead you into all the practical geometry of nature; the\nellipses of her sea-bays in perspective; the parabolas of her waterfalls\nand fountains in profile; the catenary curves of their falling festoons\nin front; the infinite variety of accelerated or retarded curvature in\nevery condition of mountain debris. But do you think mere science can\nmeasure for you any of these things? That book on the table is one of\nthe four volumes of Sir William Hamilton's \"Greek Vases.\" He has\nmeasured every important vase vertically and horizontally, with\nprecision altogether admirable, and which may, I hope, induce you to\nhave patience with me in the much less complex, though even more\nscrupulous, measurements which I shall require on my own examples. Yet\nEnglish pottery remains precisely where it was, in spite of all this\ninvestigation. Do you fancy a Greek workman ever made a vase by\nmeasurement? He dashed it from his hand on the wheel, and it was\nbeautiful: and a Venetian glass-blower swept you a curve of crystal from\nthe end of his pipe; and Reynolds or Tintoret swept you a curve of\ncolour from their pencils, as a musician the cadence of a note,\nunerring, and to be measured, if you please, afterwards, with the\nexactitude of Divine law.\n\n\n140. But, if the truth and beauty of art are thus beyond attainment by\nhelp of science, how much more its invention? I must defer what I have\nchiefly to say on this head till next lecture; but to-day I can\nillustrate, simply, the position of invention with respect to science in\none very important group of inorganic forms--those of drapery.\n\n\n141. If you throw at random over a rod a piece of drapery of any\nmaterial which will fall into graceful folds, you will get a series of\nsinuous folds in catenary curves: and any given disposition of these\nwill be nearly as agreeable as any other; though, if you throw the stuff\non the rod a thousand times, it will not fall twice alike.\n\n\n142. But suppose, instead of a straight rod, you take a beautiful nude\nstatue, and throw the piece of linen over that. You may encumber and\nconceal its form altogether; you may entirely conceal portions of the\nlimbs, and show others; or you may leave indications, under the thin\nveil, of the contours which are hidden; but in ninety-nine cases out of\na hundred you will wish the drapery taken off again; you will feel that\nthe folds are in some sort discrepant and harmful, and eagerly snatch\nthem away. However passive the material, however softly accommodated to\nthe limbs, the wrinklings will always look foreign to the form, like the\ndrip of a heavy shower of rain falling off it, and will load themselves\nin the hollows uncomfortably. You will have to pull them about; to\nstretch them one way, loosen them in another, and supply the quantity of\ngovernment which a living person would have given to the dress, before\nit becomes at all pleasing to you.\n\n\n143. Doing your best, you will still not succeed to your mind, provided\nyou have, indeed, a mind worth pleasing. No adjustment that you can\nmake, on the quiet figure, will give any approximation to the look of\ndrapery which has previously accommodated itself to the action which\nbrought the figure into the position in which it stays. On a really\nliving person, gracefully dressed, and who has paused from graceful\nmotion, you will get, again and again, arrangements of fold which you\ncan admire: but they will not remain to be copied, the first following\nmovement alters all. If you had your photographic plate ready and could\nphotograph--I don't know if it has been tried--girls, like waves, as\nthey move, you would get what was indeed lovely; and yet, when you\ncompared even such results with fine sculpture, you would see that there\nwas something wanting;--that, in the deepest sense, _all_ was yet\nwanting.\n\n\n144. Yet this is the most that the plurality of artists can do, or think\nof doing. They draw the nude figure with careful anatomy; they put their\nmodel or their lay figure into the required position; they arrange\ndraperies on it to their mind, and paint them from the reality. All such\nwork is absolutely valueless,--worse than valueless in the end of it,\nblinding us to the qualities of fine work.\n\nIn true design it is in this matter of drapery as in all else. There is\nnot a fold too much, and all that are given aid the expression, whether\nof movement or character. Here is a bit of Greek sculpture, with many\nfolds; here is a bit of Christian sculpture with few. From the many,\nnot one could be removed without harm, and to the few, not one could be\nadded. This alone is art, and no science will ever enable you to do\nthis, but the poetic and fabric instincts only.\n\n\n145. Nevertheless, however far above science, your work must comply with\nall the requirements of science. The first thing you have to ask is, Is\nit scientifically right? That is still nothing, but it is essential. In\nmodern imitations of Gothic work the artists think it religious to be\nwrong, and that Heaven will be propitious only to saints whose stoles or\npetticoats stand or fall into incredible angles.\n\nAll that nonsense I will soon get well out of your heads by enabling you\nto make accurate studies from real drapery, so that you may be able to\ndetect in a moment whether the folds in any design are natural and true\nto the form, or artificial and ridiculous.\n\n\n146. But this, which is the science of drapery, will never do more than\nguard you in your first attempts in the art of it. Nay, when once you\nhave mastered the elements of such science, the most sickening of all\nwork to you will be that in which the draperies are all right,--and\nnothing else is. In the present state of our schools one of the chief\nmean merits against which I shall have to warn you is the imitation of\nwhat milliners admire: nay, in many a piece of the best art I shall have\nto show you that the draperies are, to some extent, intentionally\nill-done, _lest_ you should look at them. Yet, through every complexity\nof desirableness, and counter-peril, hold to the constant and simple law\nI have always given you--that the best work must be right in the\nbeginning, and lovely in the end.\n\n\n147. Finally, observe that what is true respecting these simple forms of\ndrapery is true of all other inorganic form. It must become organic\nunder the artist's hand by his invention. As there must not be a fold in\na vestment too few or too many, there must not, in noble landscape, be a\nfold in a mountain, too few or too many. As you will never get from real\nlinen cloth, by copying it ever so faithfully, the drapery of a noble\nstatue, so you will never get from real mountains, copy them never so\nfaithfully, the forms of noble landscape. Anything more beautiful than\nthe photographs of the Valley of Chamouni, now in your print-sellers'\nwindows, cannot be conceived. For geographical and geological purposes\nthey are worth anything; for art purposes, worth--a good deal less than\nzero. You may learn much from them, and will mislearn more. But in\nTurner's \"Valley of Chamouni\" the mountains have not a fold too much,\nnor too little. There are no such mountains at Chamouni: they are the\nghosts of eternal mountains, such as have been, and shall be, for\nevermore.\n\n\n148. So now in sum, for I may have confused you by illustration,--\n\nI. You are, in drawing, to try only to represent the appearances of\nthings, never what you know the things to be.\n\nII. Those appearances you are to test by the appliance of the scientific\nlaws relating to aspect; and to learn, by accurate measurement, and the\nmost fixed attention, to represent with absolute fidelity.\n\nIII. Having learned to represent actual appearances faithfully, if you\nhave any human faculty of your own, visionary appearances will take\nplace to you which will be nobler and more true than any actual or\nmaterial appearances; and the realization of these is the function of\nevery fine art, which is founded absolutely, therefore, in truth, and\nconsists absolutely in imagination. And once more we may conclude with,\nbut now using them in a deeper sense, the words of our master--\"The best\nin this kind are but shadows.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is to be our task, gentlemen, to endeavour that they may be at least\nso much.\n\n\n\n\n                             LECTURE VIII.\n\n          THE RELATION TO ART OF THE SCIENCES OF ORGANIC FORM.\n\n                           _March 2nd, 1872._\n\n\n149. I have next in order to speak of the relation of art to science, in\ndealing with its own principal subject--organic form, as the expression\nof life. And, as in my former lecture, I will tell you at once what I\nwish chiefly to enforce upon you.\n\nFirst,--but this I shall have no time to dwell upon,--That the true\npower of art must be founded on a general knowledge of organic nature,\nnot of the human frame only.\n\nSecondly.--That in representing this organic nature, quite as much as in\nrepresenting inanimate things, Art has nothing to do with structures,\ncauses, or absolute facts; but only with appearances.\n\nThirdly.--That in representing these appearances, she is more hindered\nthan helped by the knowledge of things which do not externally appear;\nand therefore, that the study of anatomy generally, whether of plants,\nanimals, or man, is an impediment to graphic art.\n\nFourthly.--That especially in the treatment and conception of the human\nform, the habit of contemplating its anatomical structure is not only a\nhindrance, but a degradation; and farther yet, that even the study of\nthe external form of the human body, more exposed than it may be\nhealthily and decently in daily life, has been essentially destructive\nto every school of art in which it has been practised.\n\n\n150. These four statements I undertake, in the course of our future\nstudy, gradually to confirm to you. In a single lecture I, of course,\nhave time to do little more than clearly state and explain them.\n\nFirst, I tell you that art should take cognizance of all living things,\nand know them, so as to be able to name, that is to say, in the truest\ndistinctive way, to describe them. The Creator daily brings, before the\nnoblest of His creatures, every lower creature, that whatsoever Man\ncalls it, may be the name thereof.\n\nSecondly.--In representing, nay, in thinking of, and caring for, these\nbeasts, man has to think of them essentially with their skins on them,\nand with their souls in them. He is to know how they are spotted,\nwrinkled, furred, and feathered: and what the look of them is, in the\neyes; and what grasp, or cling, or trot, or pat, in their paws and\nclaws. He is to take every sort of view of them, in fact, except\none,--the Butcher's view. He is never to think of them as bones and\nmeat.\n\nThirdly.--In the representation of their appearance, the knowledge of\nbones and meat, of joint and muscle, is more a hindrance than a help.\n\nLastly.--With regard to the human form, such knowledge is a degradation\nas well as a hindrance; and even the study of the nude is injurious,\nbeyond the limits of honour and decency in daily life.\n\nThose are my four positions. I will not detain you by dwelling on the\nfirst two--that we should know every sort of beast, and know it with its\nskin on it, and its soul within it. What you feel to be a\nparadox--perhaps you think an incredible and insolent paradox--is my\ntelling you that you will be hindered from doing this by the study of\nanatomy. I address myself, therefore, only to the last two points.\n\n\n151. Among your standard engravings, I have put that of the picture by\nTitian, in the Strozzi Palace, of a little Strozzi maiden feeding her\ndog. I am going to put in the Rudimentary Series, where you can always\nget at it (R. 125), this much more delightful, though not in all points\nstandard, picture by Reynolds, of an infant daughter of George the\nThird's, with her Skye terrier.\n\nI have no doubt these dogs are the authentic pets, given in as true\nportraiture as their mistresses; and that the little Princess of\nFlorence and Princess of England were both shown in the company which,\nat that age, they best liked;--the elder feeding her favourite, and the\nbaby with her arms about the neck of hers.\n\nBut the custom of putting either the dog, or some inferior animal, to be\neither in contrast, or modest companionship, with the nobleness of human\nform and thought, is a piece of what may be called mental comparative\nanatomy, which has its beginning very far back in art indeed. One of\nquite the most interesting Greek vases in the British Museum is that of\nwhich the painting long went under the title of \"Anacreon and his Dog.\"\nIt is a Greek lyric poet, singing with lifted head, in the action given\nto Orpheus and Philammon in their moments of highest inspiration; while,\nentirely unaffected by and superior to the music, there walks beside him\na sharp-nosed and curly-tailed dog, painted in what the exclusive\nadmirers of Greek art would, I suppose, call an ideal manner; that is to\nsay, his tail is more like a display of fireworks than a tail; but the\nideal evidently founded on the material existence of a charming, though\nsupercilious, animal not unlike the one which is at present the chief\nsolace of my labours in Oxford, Dr. Acland's dog Bustle. I might go much\nfarther back than this; but at all events, from the time of the golden\ndog of Pandareos, the fawn of Diana, and the eagle, owl, and peacock of\nthe great Greek gods, you find a succession of animal types--centralized\nin the Middle Ages, of course, by the hound and the falcon--used in art\neither to symbolize, or contrast with, dignity in human persons. In\nmodern portraiture, the custom has become vulgarized by the anxiety of\neverybody who sends their picture, or their children's, to the Royal\nAcademy, to have it demonstrated to the public by the exhibition of a\npony, and a dog with a whip in its mouth, that they live, at the proper\nseason, in a country house. But by the greater masters the thing is done\nalways with a deep sense of the mystery of the comparative existences of\nliving creatures, and of the methods of vice and virtue exhibited by\nthem. Albert D\u00fcrer scarcely ever draws a scene in the life of the\nVirgin, without putting into the foreground some idle cherubs at play\nwith rabbits or kittens; and sometimes lets his love of the grotesque\nget entirely the better of him, as in the engraving of the Madonna with\nthe monkey. Veronese disturbs the interview of the queen of Sheba with\nSolomon, by the petulance of the queen of Sheba's Blenheim spaniel, whom\nSolomon had not treated with sufficient respect; and when Veronese is\nintroduced himself, with all his family, to the Madonna, I am sorry to\nsay that his own pet dog turns its back to the Madonna, and walks out of\nthe room.\n\n\n152. But among all these symbolic playfulnesses of the higher masters,\nthere is not one more perfect than this study by Reynolds of the infant\nEnglish Princess with her wire-haired terrier. He has put out his whole\nstrength to show the infinite differences, yet the blessed harmonies,\nbetween the human and the lower nature. First, having a blue-eyed,[G]\nsoft baby to paint, he gives its full face, as round as may be, and\nrounds its eyes to complete openness, because somebody is coming whom it\ndoes not know. But it opens its eyes in quiet wonder, and is not\ndisturbed, but behaves as a princess should. Beside this soft,\nserenely-minded baby, Reynolds has put the roughest and roughest-minded\ndog he could think of. Instead of the full round eyes, you have only the\ndark places in the hair where you know the terrier's eyes must be--sharp\nenough, if you could see them--and very certainly seeing you, but not at\nall wondering at you, like the baby's. For the terrier has instantly\nmade up his mind about you; and above all, that you have no business\nthere; and is growling and snarling in his fiercest manner, though\nwithout moving from his mistress's side, or from under her arm. You have\nthus the full contrast between the grace and true charm of the child,\nwho \"thinketh no evil\" of you, and the uncharitable narrowness of\nnature in the grown-up dog of the world, who thinks nothing but evil of\nyou. But the dog's virtue and faithfulness are not told less clearly;\nthe baby evidently uses the creature just as much for a pillow as a\nplaymate;--buries its arm in the rough hair of it with a loving\nconfidence, half already converting itself to protection: and baby will\ntake care of dog, and dog of baby, through all chances of time and\nfortune.\n\n  [G] I have not seen the picture: in the engraving the tint of the\n      eyes would properly represent grey or blue.\n\n\n153. Now the exquisiteness with which the painter has applied all his\nskill in composition, all his dexterity in touch of pencil, and all his\nexperience of the sources of expression, to complete the rendering of\nhis comparison, cannot, in any of the finest subtleties of it, be\nexplained; but the first steps of its science may be easily traced; and\nwith little pains you may see how a simple and large mass of white is\nopposed to a rugged one of grey; how the child's face is put in front\nlight, that no shadow may detract from the brightness which makes her,\nas in Arabian legends, \"a princess like to the full moon\"--how, in this\nhalo, the lips and eyes are brought out in deep and rich colour, while\nscarcely a gleam of reflection is allowed to disturb the quietness of\nthe eyes;--(the terrier's, you feel, would glitter enough, if you could\nsee them, and flash back in shallow fire; but the princess's eyes are\nthinking, and do not flash;)--how the quaint cap surrounds, with its not\nwholly painless formalism, the courtly and patient face, opposed to the\nrugged and undressed wild one; and how the easy grace of soft limb and\nrounded neck is cast, in repose, against the uneasily gathered up\ncrouching of the short legs, and petulant shrug of the eager shoulders,\nin the ignobler creature.\n\n\n154. Now, in his doing of all this, Sir Joshua was thinking of, and\nseeing, whatever was best in the creatures, within and without. Whatever\nwas most perfectly doggish--perfectly childish--in soul and body. The\nabsolute truth of outer aspect, and of inner mind, he seizes infallibly;\nbut there is one part of the creatures which he never, for an instant,\nthinks of, or cares for,--their bones. Do you suppose that, from first\nto last, in painting such a picture, it would ever enter Sir Joshua's\nmind to think what a dog's skull would look like, beside a baby's? The\nquite essential facts to him are those of which the skull gives no\ninformation--that the baby has a flattish pink nose, and the dog a bossy\nblack one. You might dissect all the dead dogs in the water supply of\nLondon without finding out, what, as a painter, it is here your only\nbusiness precisely to know,--what sort of shininess there is on the end\nof a terrier's nose; and for the position and action of the creatures,\nall the four doctors together, who set Bustle's leg for him the other\nday, when he jumped out of a two-pair-of-stairs window to bark at the\nvolunteers, could not have told Sir Joshua how to make his crouching\nterrier look ready to snap, nor how to throw the child's arm over its\nneck in complete, yet not languid, rest.\n\n\n155. Sir Joshua, then, does not think of, or care for, anatomy, in this\npicture; but if he had, would it have done him harm? You may easily see\nthat the child's limbs are not drawn with the precision that Mantegna,\nD\u00fcrer, or Michael Angelo would have given them. Would some of their\nscience not have bettered the picture?\n\nI can show you exactly the sort of influence their science would have\nhad.\n\nIn your Rudimentary Series, I have placed in sequence two of D\u00fcrer's\nmost celebrated plates (R. 65, R. 66), the coat of arms with the skull,\nand the Madonna crowned by angels; and that you may see precisely what\nqualities are, and are not, in this last, I have enlarged the head by\nphotography, and placed it in your Reference Series (117). You will find\nthe skull is perfectly understood, and exquisitely engraved, but the\nface, imperfectly understood and coarsely engraved. No man who has\nstudied the skull as carefully as D\u00fcrer did, ever could engrave a face\nbeautifully, for the perception of the bones continually thrusts itself\nupon him in wrong places, and in trying to conquer or modify it, he\ndistorts the flesh. Where the features are marked, and full of\ncharacter, he can quit himself of the impression; but in the rounded\ncontour of women's faces he is always forced to think of the skull; and\neven in his ordinary work often draws more of bones and hair, than face.\n\n\n156. I could easily give you more definite, but very disagreeable,\nproofs of the evil of knowing the anatomy of the human face too\nintimately: but will rather give you further evidence by examining the\nskull and face of the creature who has taught us so much already,--the\neagle.\n\nHere is a slight sketch of the skull of the golden eagle. It may be\ninteresting to you sometimes to make such drawings roughly for the sake\nof the points of mechanical arrangement--as here in the circular bones\nof the eye-socket; but don't suppose that drawing these a million of\ntimes over will ever help you in the least to draw an eagle itself. On\nthe contrary, it would almost to a certainty hinder you from noticing\nthe essential point in an eagle's head--the projection of the brow. All\nthe main work of the eagle's eye is, as we saw, in looking down. To keep\nthe sunshine above from teasing it, the eye is put under a triangular\npenthouse, which is precisely the most characteristic thing in the\nbird's whole aspect. Its hooked beak does not materially distinguish it\nfrom a cockatoo, but its hooded eye does. But that projection is not\naccounted for in the skull; and so little does the anatomist care about\nit, that you may hunt through the best modern works on ornithology, and\nyou will find eagles drawn with all manner of dissections of skulls,\nclaws, clavicles, sternums, and gizzards; but you won't find so much as\none poor falcon drawn with a falcon's eye.\n\n\n157. But there is another quite essential point in an eagle's head, in\ncomprehending which, again, the skull will not help us. The skull in the\nhuman creature fails in three essential points. It is eyeless, noseless,\nand lipless. It fails only in an eagle in the two points of eye and lip;\nfor an eagle has no nose worth mentioning; his beak is only a\nprolongation of his jaws. But he has lips very much worth mentioning,\nand of which his skull gives no account. One misses them much from a\nhuman skull:--\"Here hung those lips that I have kissed, I know not how\noft,\"--but from an eagle's you miss them more, for he is distinct from\nother birds in having with his own eagle's eye, a dog's lips, or very\nnearly such; an entirely fleshy and ringent mouth, bluish pink, with a\nperpetual grin upon it.\n\nSo that if you look, not at his skull, but at him, attentively enough,\nyou will precisely get \u00c6schylus's notion of him, essential in the Greek\nmind--\u03c0\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd\u1f78\u03c2 \u03ba\u03cd\u03c9\u03bd \u03b4\u03b1\u03c6\u03bf\u03b9\u03bd\u1f78\u03c2 \u03b1\u1f30\u03b5\u03c4\u03cc\u03c2--and then, if you want to see the use\nof his beak or bill, as distinguished from a dog's teeth, take a drawing\nfrom the falconry of the Middle Ages, and you will see how a piece of\nflesh becomes a _rag_ to him, a thing to tear up,--\u03b4\u03b9\u03b1\u03c1\u03c4\u03b1\u03bc\u03ae\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9 \u03c3\u03ce\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1 \u1fe5\u03ac\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2. There you have it precisely, in a falcon I got out of Mr.\nCoxe's favourite fourteenth century missal.\n\nNow look through your natural history books from end to end; see if you\ncan find one drawing, with all their anatomy, which shows you either the\neagle's eye, his lips, or this essential use of his beak, so as to\nenable you thoroughly to understand those two lines of \u00c6schylus: then,\nlook at this Greek eagle on a coin of Elis, R. 50, and this Pisan one,\nin marble, Edu. 131, and you will not doubt any more that it is better\nto look at the living birds, than to cut them to pieces.\n\n\n158. Anatomy, then,--I will assume that you grant, for the moment, as I\nwill assuredly prove to you eventually,--will not help us to draw the\ntrue appearances of things. But may it not add to our intelligent\nconception of their nature?\n\nSo far from doing this, the anatomical study which has, to our much\ndegradation and misfortune, usurped the place, and taken the name, at\nonce of art and of natural history, has produced the most singularly\nmischievous effect on the faculty of delineation with respect to\ndifferent races of animals. In all recent books on natural history, you\nwill find the ridiculous and ugly creatures clone well, the noble and\nbeautiful creatures done, I do not say merely ill, but in no wise. You\nwill find the law hold universally that apes, pigs, rats, weasels,\nfoxes, and the like,--but especially apes,--are drawn admirably; but not\na stag, not a lamb, not a horse, not a lion;--the nobler the creature,\nthe more stupidly it is always drawn, not from feebleness of art power,\nbut a far deadlier fault than that--a total want of sympathy with the\nnoble qualities of any creature, and a loathsome delight in their\ndisgusting qualities. And this law is so thoroughly carried out that the\ngreat French historian of the mammalia, St. Hilaire, chooses, as his\nsingle example of the highest of the race, the most nearly bestial type\nhe can find, human, in the world. Let no girl ever look at the book, nor\nany youth who is willing to take my word; let those who doubt me, look\nat the example he has given of womankind.\n\n\n159. But admit that this is only French anatomy, or ill-studied anatomy,\nand that, rightly studied, as Dr. Acland, for instance, would teach it\nus, it might do us some kind of good.\n\nI must reserve for my lectures on the school of Florence any analysis of\nthe effect of anatomical study on European art and character; you will\nfind some notice of it in my lecture on Michael Angelo; and in the\ncourse of that analysis, it will be necessary for me to withdraw the\nstatement made in the \"Stones of Venice,\" that anatomical science was\nhelpful to great men, though harmful to mean ones. I am now certain that\nthe greater the intellect, the more fatal are the forms of degradation\nto which it becomes liable in the course of anatomical studies; and that\nto Michael Angelo, of all men, the mischief was greatest, in destroying\nhis religious passion and imagination, and leading him to make every\nspiritual conception subordinate to the display of his knowledge of the\nbody. To-day, however, I only wish to give you my reasons for\nwithdrawing anatomy from your course of study in these schools.\n\n\n160. I do so, first, simply with reference to our time, convenience, and\nsystematic method. It has become a habit with drawing-masters to confuse\nthis particular science of anatomy with their own art of drawing, though\nthey confuse no other science with that art. Admit that, in order to\ndraw a tree, you should have a knowledge of botany: Do you expect me to\nteach you botany here? Whatever I want you to know of it I shall send\nyou to your Professor of Botany and to the Botanic Gardens, to learn. I\nmay, perhaps, give you a rough sketch of the lines of timber in a bough,\nbut nothing more.\n\nSo again, admit that, to draw a stone, you need a knowledge of geology.\nI have told you that you do not, but admit it. Do you expect me to teach\nyou, here, the relations between quartz and oxide of iron; or between\nthe Silurian and Permian systems? If you care about them, go to\nProfessor Phillips, and come back to me when you know them.\n\nAnd, in like manner, admit that, to draw a man, you want the knowledge\nof his bones:--you do not; but admit that you do. Why should you expect\nme, here, to teach you the most difficult of all the sciences? If you\nwant to know it, go to an hospital, and cut dead bodies to pieces till\nyou are satisfied; then come to me, and I'll make a shift to teach you\nto draw, even then--though your eyes and memory will be full of horrible\nthings which Heaven never meant you so much as a glance at. But don't\nexpect me to help you in that ghastly work: any more than among the\nfurnaces and retorts in Professor Maskelyne's laboratory.\n\n\n161. Let us take one more step in the logical sequence. You do not, I\nhave told you, need either chemistry, botany, geology, or anatomy, to\nenable you to understand art, or produce it. But there is one science\nwhich you _must_ be acquainted with. You must very intensely and\nthoroughly know--how to behave. You cannot so much as feel the\ndifference between two casts of drapery, between two tendencies of\nline,--how much less between dignity and baseness of gesture,--but by\nyour own dignity of character. But, though this is an essential science,\nand although I cannot teach you to lay one line beside another rightly,\nunless you have this science, you don't expect me in these schools to\nteach you how to behave, if you happen not to know it before!\n\n\n162. Well, here is one reason, and a sufficiently logical one, as you\nwill find it on consideration, for the exclusion of anatomical study\nfrom _all_ drawing schools. But there is a more cogent reason than this\nfor its exclusion, especially from elementary drawing-schools. It may be\nsometimes desirable that a student should see, as I said, how very\nunlike a face a skull is; and at a leisure moment he may, without much\nharm, observe the equivocation between knees and ankles by which it is\ncontrived that his legs, if properly made at the joints, will only bend\nbackwards, but a crane's forwards. But that a young boy, or girl,\nbrought up fresh to the schools of art from the country, should be set\nto stare, against every particle of wholesome grain in their natures, at\nthe Elgin marbles, and to draw them with dismal application, until they\nimagine they like them, makes the whole youthful temper rotten with\naffectation, and sickly with strained and ambitious fancy. It is still\nworse for young persons to be compelled to endure the horror of the\ndissecting-room, or to be made familiar with the conditions of actual\nbodily form, in a climate where the restraints of dress must for ever\nprevent the body from being perfect in contour, or regarded with\nentirely simple feeling.\n\n\n163. I have now, perhaps too often for your patience, told you that you\nmust always draw for the sake of your subject--never for the sake of\nyour picture. What you wish to see in reality, that you should make an\neffort to show, in pictures and statues; what you do not wish to see in\nreality, you should not try to draw.\n\nBut there is, I suppose, a very general impression on the mind of\npersons interested in the arts, that because nations living in cold\nclimates are necessarily unfamiliar with the sight of the naked body,\ntherefore, art should take it upon herself to show it them; and that\nthey will be elevated in thought, and made more simple and grave in\ntemper, by seeing, at least in colour and marble, what the people of the\nsouth saw in its verity.\n\n\n164. I have neither time nor inclination to enter at present into\ndiscussion of the various effects, on the morality of nations, of more\nor less frank showing of the nude form. There is no question that if\nshown at all, it should be shown fearlessly, and seen constantly; but I\ndo not care at present to debate the question: neither will I delay you\nby any expression of my reasons for the rule I am about to give. Trust\nme, I have many; and I can assert to you as a positive and perpetual\nlaw, that so much of the nude body as in the daily life of the nation\nmay be shown with modesty, and seen with reverence and delight,--so\nmuch, and no more, ought to be shown by the national arts, either of\npainting or sculpture. What, more than this, either art exhibits, will,\nassuredly, pervert taste, and, in all probability, morals.\n\n\n165. It will, assuredly, pervert taste in this essential point, that the\npolite ranks of the nation will come to think the _living_ creature and\nits dress exempt from the highest laws of taste; and that while a man or\nwoman must, indeed, be seen dressed or undressed with dignity, in\nmarble, they may be dressed or undressed, if not with _in_dignity, at\nleast, with less than dignity, in the ball-room, and the street. Now the\nlaw of all living art is that the man and woman must be more beautiful\nthan their pictures, and their pictures as decorous as the living man or\nwoman; and that real dress, and gesture, and behaviour, should be more\ngraceful than any marble or colour can effect similitude of.\n\n\n166. Thus the idea of a different dress in art and reality, of which\nthat of art is to be the ideal one, perverts taste in dress; and the\nstudy of the nude which is rarely seen, as much perverts taste in art.\n\nOf all pieces of art that I know, skilful in execution, and not criminal\nin intention;--without any exception, quite the most vulgar, and in the\nsolemn sense of the word, most abominable, are the life studies which\nare said to be the best made in modern times,--those of Mulready,\nexhibited as models in the Kensington Museum.\n\n\n167. How far the study of the seldom-seen nude leads to perversion of\nmorals, I will not, to-day, inquire; but I beg you to observe that even\namong the people where it was most frank and pure, it unquestionably led\nto evil far greater than any good which demonstrably can be traced to\nit. Scarcely any of the moral power of Greece depended on her admiration\nof beauty, or strength in the body. The power of Greece depended on\npractice in military exercise, involving severe and continual ascetic\ndiscipline of the senses; on a perfect code of military heroism and\npatriotic honour; on the desire to live by the laws of an admittedly\ndivine justice; and on the vivid conception of the presence of spiritual\nbeings. The mere admiration of physical beauty in the body, and the arts\nwhich sought its expression, not only conduced greatly to the fall of\nGreece, but were the cause of errors and crimes in her greatest time,\nwhich must for ever sadden our happiest thoughts of her, and have\nrendered her example almost useless to the future.\n\n\n168. I have named four causes of her power; discipline of senses;\nromantic ideal of heroic honour; respect for justice; and belief in God.\nThere was a fifth--the most precious of all--the belief in the purity\nand force of life in man; and that true reverence for domestic\naffection, which, in the strangest way, being the essential strength of\nevery nation under the sun, had yet been lost sight of as the chief\nelement of Greek virtue, though the Iliad itself is nothing but the\nstory of the punishment of the rape of Helen; and though every Greek\nhero called himself chiefly by his paternal name,--Tydides, rather than\nDiomed;--Pelides, rather than Achilles.\n\nAmong the new knowledges which the modern sirens tempt you to pursue,\nthe basest and darkest is the endeavour to trace the origin of life,\notherwise than in Love. Pardon me, therefore, if I give you a piece of\ntheology to-day: it is a science much closer to your art than anatomy.\n\n\n169. All of you who have ever read your Gospels carefully must have\nwondered, sometimes, what could be the meaning of those words,--\"If any\nspeak against the Son of Man it shall be forgiven; but if against the\nHoly Spirit, it shall not be forgiven, neither in this world nor in the\nnext.\"\n\nThe passage may have many meanings which I do not know; but one meaning\nI know positively, and I tell you so just as frankly as I would that I\nknew the meaning of a verse in Homer.\n\nThose of you who still go to chapel say every day your creed; and, I\nsuppose, too often, less and less every day believing it. Now, you may\ncease to believe two articles of it, and,--admitting Christianity to be\ntrue,--still be forgiven. But I can tell you--you must _not_ cease to\nbelieve the third!\n\nYou begin by saying that you believe in an Almighty Father. Well, you\nmay entirely lose the sense of that Fatherhood, and yet be forgiven.\n\nYou go on to say that you believe in a Saviour Son. You may entirely\nlose the sense of that Sonship, and yet be forgiven.\n\nBut the third article--disbelieve if you dare!\n\n\"I believe in the Holy Ghost, _the Lord and Giver of life_.\"\n\nDisbelieve that; and your own being is degraded into the state of dust\ndriven by the wind; and the elements of dissolution have entered your\nvery heart and soul.\n\nAll Nature, with one voice--with one glory,--is set to teach you\nreverence for the life communicated to you from the Father of Spirits.\nThe song of birds, and their plumage; the scent of flowers, their\ncolour, their very existence, are in direct connection with the mystery\nof that communicated life: and all the strength, and all the arts of\nmen, are measured by, and founded upon, their reverence for the passion,\nand their guardianship of the purity, of Love.\n\n\n170. Gentlemen,--the word by which I at this moment address you--by\nwhich it is the first of all your duties through life, to permit all men\nto address you with truth--that epithet of 'gentle,' as you well know,\nindicates the intense respect for race and fatherhood--for family\ndignity and chastity,--which was visibly the strength of Rome, as it had\nbeen, more disguisedly, the strength of Greece. But have you enough\nnoticed that your Saxon word 'kindness' has exactly the same relation to\n'kin,' and to the Chaucerian 'kind,' that 'gentle' has to 'gentilis'?\n\nThink out that matter a little, and you will find that--much as it\nlooks like it--neither chemistry, nor anatomy, nor republicanism, are\ngoing to have it all their own way--in the making of either beasts, or\ngentlemen. They look sometimes, indeed, as if they had got as far as two\nof the Mosaic plagues, and manufactured frogs in the ditches, and lice\non the land; but their highest boasters will not claim, yet, so much\neven as that poor victory.\n\n\n171. My friends, let me very strongly recommend you to give up that hope\nof finding the principle of life in dead bodies; but to take all pains\nto keep the life pure and holy in the living bodies you have got; and,\nfarther, not to seek your national amusement in the destruction of\nanimals, nor your national safety in the destruction of men; but to look\nfor all your joy to kindness, and for all your strength to domestic\nfaith, and law of ancestral honour. Perhaps you will not now any more\nthink it strange that in beginning your natural history studies in this\nplace, I mean to teach you heraldry, but not anatomy. For, as you learn\nto read the shields, and remember the stories, of the great houses of\nEngland, and find how all the arts that glorified them were founded on\nthe passions that inspired, you will learn assuredly, that the utmost\nsecret of national power is in living with honour, and the utmost\nsecrets of human art are in gentleness and truth.\n\n\n\n\n                              LECTURE IX.\n\n                       THE STORY OF THE HALCYON.\n\n                          _March 10th, 1872._\n\n\n172. I must to-day briefly recapitulate the purport of the preceding\nlectures, as we are about now to enter on a new branch of our subject.\n\nI stated, in the first two, that the wisdom of art and the wisdom of\nscience consisted in their being each devoted unselfishly to the service\nof men; in the third, that art was only the shadow of our knowledge of\nfacts; and that the reality was always to be acknowledged as more\nbeautiful than the shadow. In the fourth lecture I endeavoured to show\nthat the wise modesty of art and science lay in attaching due value to\nthe power and knowledge of other people, when greater than our own; and\nin the fifth, that the wise self-sufficiency of art and science lay in a\nproper enjoyment of our own knowledge and power, after it was thus\nmodestly esteemed. The sixth lecture stated that sight was a distinctly\nspiritual power, and that its kindness or tenderness was proportioned to\nits clearness. Lastly, in the seventh and eighth lectures, I asserted\nthat this spiritual sight, concerned with external aspects of things,\nwas the source of all necessary knowledge in art; and that the artist\nhas no concern with invisible structures, organic or inorganic.\n\n\n173. No concern with invisible structures. But much with invisible\nthings; with passion, and with historical association. And in these two\nclosing lectures, I hope partly to justify myself for pressing on your\nattention some matters as little hitherto thought of in drawing-schools,\nas the exact sciences have been highly, and, I believe, unjustly,\nesteemed;--mythology, namely, and heraldry.\n\nI can but in part justify myself now. Your experience of the interest\nwhich may be found in these two despised sciences will be my best\njustification. But to-day (as we are about to begin our exercises in\nbird-drawing) I think it may interest you to review some of the fables\nconnected with the natural history of a single bird, and to consider\nwhat effect the knowledge of such tradition is likely to have on our\nmode of regarding the animated creation in general.\n\n\n174. Let us take an instance of the feeling towards birds which is\nespecially characteristic of the English temper at this day, in its\nentire freedom from superstition.\n\nYou will find in your Rudimentary Series (225), Mr. Gould's plate of the\nlesser Egret,--the most beautiful, I suppose, of all birds that visit,\nor, at least, once visited, our English shores. Perfectly delicate in\nform, snow-white in plumage, the feathers like frost-work of dead\nsilver, exquisitely slender, separating in the wind like the streams of\na fountain, the creature looks a living cloud rather than a bird.\n\nIt may be seen often enough in South France and Italy. The last (or last\nbut one?) known of in England came thirty years ago, and this was its\nreception, as related by the present happy possessor of its feathers and\nbones:--\n\n\"The little Egret in my possession is a most beautiful specimen: it was\nkilled by a labourer with a stick, in Ake Carr, near Beverley, about\n1840, and was brought to me, tied up in a pocket-handkerchief, covered\nwith black wet mud and blood, in which state it was sent to Mr. Reed,\nof Doncaster, and restored by him in a most marvellous manner.\"\n\n\n175. Now, you will feel at once that, while the peasant was beating this\nbird into a piece of bloody flesh with his stick, he could not, in any\ntrue sense, see the bird; that he had no pleasure either in the sight of\nthat, or of anything near it.\n\nYou feel that he would become capable of seeing it in exact proportion\nto his desire not to kill it; but to watch it in its life.\n\nWell, that is a quite general law: in the degree in which you delight in\nthe life of any creature, you can see it; no otherwise.\n\nAnd you would feel, would you not, that if you could enable the peasant\nrightly to see the bird, you had in great part educated him?\n\n\n176. You would certainly have gone, at least, the third of the way\ntowards educating him. Then the next thing to be contrived would be that\nhe should be able to see a man rightly, as well as a bird; to understand\nand love what was good in a man, so that supposing his master was a good\nman, the sight of his master should be a joy to him. You would say that\nhe was therein better educated than if he wanted to put a gun through a\nhedge and shoot his master.\n\nThen the last part of education will be--whatever is meant by that\nbeatitude of the pure in heart--seeing God rightly, of which I shall not\nspeak to-day.\n\n\n177. And in all these phases of education, the main point, you observe,\nis that it _should_ be a beatitude: and that a man should learn \"\u03c7\u03b1\u03af\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd\n\u1f40\u03c1\u03b8\u1ff6\u03c2:\" and this rejoicing is above all things to be in actual sight;\nyou have the truth exactly in the saying of Dante when he is brought\nbefore Beatrice, in heaven, that his eyes \"satisfied themselves for\ntheir ten years' thirst.\"\n\nThis, then, I repeat, is the sum of education. All literature, art, and\nscience are vain, and worse, if they do not enable you to be glad; and\nglad justly.\n\nAnd I feel it distinctly my duty, though with solemn and true deference\nto the masters of education in this university, to say that I believe\nour modern methods of teaching, and especially the institution of severe\nand frequent examination, to be absolutely opposed to this great end;\nand that the result of competitive labour in youth is infallibly to\nmake men know all they learn wrongly, and hate the habit of learning; so\nthat instead of coming to Oxford to rejoice in their work, men look\nforward to the years they are to pass under her teaching as a deadly\nagony, from which they are fain to escape, and sometimes for their life,\n_must_ escape, into any method of sanitary frivolity.\n\n\n178. I go back to my peasant and his egret. You all think with some\nhorror of this man, beating the bird to death, as a brutal person. He is\nso; but how far are we English gentlemen, as a body, raised above him?\nWe are more delicately nurtured, and shrink from the notion of bruising\nthe creature and spoiling its feathers. That is so far right, and well.\nBut in all probability this countryman, rude and cruel though he might\nbe, had some other object in the rest of his day than the killing of\nbirds. And very earnestly I ask you, have English gentlemen, as a class,\nany other real object in their whole existence than killing birds? If\nthey discern a duty, they will indeed do it to the death; but have the\nEnglish aristocracy at this moment any clear notion of their duty? I\nbelieve solemnly, and without jest, their idea of their caste is that\nits life should be, distinctively from inferior human lives, spent in\nshooting.\n\nAnd that is not an idea of caste with which England, at this epoch, can\nany longer be governed.\n\n\n179. I have no time to-day to push my argument farther; but I have said\nenough, I think, to induce you to bear with me in the statement of my\nmain theorem--that reading and writing are in no sense education, unless\nthey contribute to this end of making us feel kindly towards all\ncreatures; but that drawing, and especially physiologic drawing, is\nvital education of a most precious kind. Farther, that more good would\nbe done by any English nobleman who would keep his estate lovely in its\nnative wildness; and let every animal live upon it in peace that chose\nto come there, than will be done, as matters are going now, by the talk\nof all the Lords in Parliament as long as we live to listen to them; and\nI will even venture to tell you my hope, though I shall be dead long\nbefore its possible fulfilment, that one day the English people will,\nindeed, so far recognize what education means as to surround this\nuniversity with the loveliest park in England, twenty miles square; that\nthey will forbid, in that environment, every unclean, mechanical, and\nvulgar trade and manufacture, as any man would forbid them in his own\ngarden;--that they will abolish every base and ugly building, and nest\nof vice and misery, as they would cast out a devil;--that the streams of\nthe Isis and Cherwell will be kept pure and quiet among their fields and\ntrees; and that, within this park, every English wild flower that can\nbloom in lowland will be suffered to grow in luxuriance, and every\nliving creature that haunts wood and stream know that it has happy\nrefuge.\n\nAnd now to our immediate work.\n\n\n180. The natural history of anything, or of any creature, divides itself\nproperly into three branches.\n\nWe have first to collect and examine the traditions respecting the\nthing, so that we may know what the effect of its existence has hitherto\nbeen on the minds of men, and may have at our command what data exist to\nhelp us in our inquiries about it, or to guide us in our own thoughts of\nit.\n\nWe have secondly to examine and describe the thing, or creature, in its\nactual state, with utmost attainable veracity of observation.\n\nLastly, we have to examine under what laws of chemistry and physics the\nmatter of which the thing is made has been collected and constructed.\n\nThus we have first to know the poetry of it--_i.e._, what it has been to\nman, or what man has made of it.\n\nSecondly, the actual facts of its existence.\n\nThirdly, the physical causes of these facts, if we can discover them.\n\n\n181. Now, it is customary, and may be generally advisable, to confine\nthe term 'natural history' to the last two branches of knowledge only. I\ndo not care what we call the first branch; but, in the accounts of\nanimals that I prepare for my schools at Oxford, the main point with me\nwill be the mythology of them; the second, their actual state and\naspect, (second, this, because almost always hitherto only half known);\nand the anatomy and chemistry of their bodies, I shall very rarely, and\npartially, as I told you, examine at all: but I shall take the greatest\npains to get at the creature's habits of life; and know all its\ningenuities, humours, delights, and intellectual powers. That is to say,\nwhat art it has, and what affection; and how these are prepared for in\nits external form.\n\n\n182. I say, deliberately and energetically, 'prepared for,' in\nopposition to the idea, too prevalent in modern philosophy, of the\nform's being fortuitously developed by repetition of impulse. It is of\ncourse true that the aspects and characters of stones, flowers, birds,\nbeasts, and men, are inseparably connected with the conditions under\nwhich they are appointed to have existence; but the method of this\nconnection is infinitely varied; so far from fortuitous, it appears\ngrotesquely, often terrifically arbitrary; and neither stone, flower,\nbeast, nor man can understand any single reason of the arbitrament, or\ncomprehend why its Creator made it thus.\n\n\n183. To take the simplest of instances,--which happens also to be one of\nthe most important to you as artists,--it is appointed that vertebrated\nanimals shall have no more than four legs, and that, if they require to\nfly, the two legs in front must become wings, it being against law that\nthey should have more than these four members in ramification from the\nspine.\n\nCan any law be conceived more arbitrary, or more apparently causeless?\nWhat strongly planted three-legged animals there might have been! what\nsymmetrically radiant five-legged ones! what volatile six-winged ones!\nwhat circumspect seven-headed ones! Had Darwinism been true, we should\nlong ago have split our heads in two with foolish thinking, or thrust\nout, from above our covetous hearts, a hundred desirous arms and\nclutching hands; and changed ourselves into Briarean Cephalopoda. But\nthe law is around us, and within; unconquerable; granting, up to a\ncertain limit, power over our bodies to circumstance and will; beyond\nthat limit, inviolable, inscrutable, and, so far as we know, eternal.\n\n\n184. For every lower animal, similar laws are established; under the\ngrasp of these it is capable of change, in visibly permitted oscillation\nbetween certain points; beyond which, according to present experience,\nit cannot pass. The adaptation of the instruments it possesses in its\nmembers to the conditions of its life is always direct, and occasionally\nbeautiful; but in the plurality of instances, partial, and involving\npainful supplementary effort. Some animals have to dig with their noses,\nsome to build with their tails, some to spin with their stomachs: their\ndexterities are usually few--their awkwardnesses numberless;--a lion is\ncontinually puzzled how to hold a bone; and an eagle can scarcely pull\nthe meat off one, without upsetting himself.\n\n\n185. Respecting the origin of these variously awkward, imperfectly, or\ngrotesquely developed phases of form and power, you need not at present\ninquire: in all probability the race of man is appointed to live in\nwonder, and in acknowledgment of ignorance; but if ever he is to know\nany of the secrets of his own or of brutal existence, it will assuredly\nbe through discipline of virtue, not through inquisitiveness of science.\nI have just used the expression, \"had Darwinism been true,\" implying its\nfallacy more positively than is justifiable in the present state of our\nknowledge; but very positively I can say to you that I have never heard\nyet one logical argument in its favour, and I have heard, and read, many\nthat were beneath contempt. For instance, by the time you have copied\none or two of your exercises on the feather of the halcyon, you will be\nmore interested in the construction and disposition of plume-filaments\nthan heretofore; and you may, perhaps, refer, in hope of help, to Mr.\nDarwin's account of the peacock's feather. I went to it myself, hoping\nto learn some of the existing laws of life which regulate the local\ndisposition of the colour. But none of these appear to be known; and I\nam informed only that peacocks have grown to be peacocks out of brown\npheasants, because the young feminine brown pheasants like fine\nfeathers. Whereupon I say to myself, \"Then either there was a distinct\nspecies of brown pheasants originally born with a taste for fine\nfeathers; and therefore with remarkable eyes in their heads,--which\nwould be a much more wonderful distinction of species than being born\nwith remarkable eyes in their tails,--or else all pheasants would have\nbeen peacocks by this time!\" And I trouble myself no more about the\nDarwinian theory.\n\nWhen you have drawn some of the actual patterns of plume and scale with\nattention, I believe you will see reason to think that spectra of\norganic species may be at least as distinct as those of metals or gases;\nbut learn at all events what they are now, and never mind what they have\nbeen.\n\n\n186. Nor need you care for methods of classification any more than for\nthe origin of classes. Leave the physiologists to invent names, and\ndispute over them; your business is to know the creature, not the name\nof it momentarily fashionable in scientific circles. What practical\nservice you can get from the order at present adopted, take, without\ncontention; and as far as possible, use English words, or be sure you\nunderstand the Latin ones.\n\n\n187. For instance, the order at present adopted in arranging the species\nof birds, is, as you know, founded only on their ways of using their\nfeet.\n\nSome catch or snatch their prey, and are called \"Snatchers\"--RAPTORES.\n\nSome perch on branches, and are called \"In-sitters,\" or\n\"Upon-sitters\"--INSESSORES.\n\nSome climb and cling on branches, and are called \"Climbers\"--SCANSORES.\n\nSome scratch the ground, and are called \"Scratchers\"--RASORES.\n\nSome stand or wade in shallow water, and, having long legs, are called\n\"Stilt-walkers\"--GRALLATORES.\n\nSome float, and make oars of their feet, and are called\n\"Swimmers\"--NATATORES.\n\n\n188. This classification is unscholarly, because there are many\nsnatchers and scratchers who perch as well as the sitters; and many of\nthe swimmers sit, when ashore, more neatly than the sitters themselves;\nand are most grave insessors, in long rows, on rock or sand: also,\n'insessor' does not mean properly a sitter, but a besieger; and it is\nawkward to call a bird a 'Rasor.' Still, the use of the feet is (on the\nwhole) characteristic, and convenient for first rough arrangement; only,\nin general reference, it will be better to use plain English words than\nthose stiff Latin ones, or their ugly translations. Linn\u00e6us, for all his\nclasses except the stilt-walkers, used the name of the particular birds\nwhich were the best types of their class; he called the snatchers\n\"hawks\" (Accipitres), the swimmers, geese, (Anseres), the scratchers,\nfowls, (Gallinae), and the perchers, sparrows, (Passeres). He has no\nclass of climbers; but he has one since omitted by Cuvier, \"pies,\"\nwhich, for certain mythological reasons presently to be noted, I will\nask you to keep. This will give you seven orders, altogether, to be\nremembered; and for each of these we will take the name of its most\nrepresentative bird. The hawk has best right undoubtedly to stand for\nthe snatchers; we will have his adversary, the heron, for the\nstilt-walkers; you will find this very advisable, no less than\nconvenient; because some of the beaks of the stilt-walkers turn down,\nand some turn up; but the heron's is straight, and so he stands well as\na pure middle type. Then, certainly, gulls will better represent the\nswimmers than geese; and pheasants are a prettier kind of scratchers\nthan fowls. We will take parrots for the climbers, magpies for the pies,\nand sparrows for the perchers. Then take them in this order: Hawks,\nparrots, pies, sparrows, pheasants, gulls, herons; and you can then\neasily remember them. For you have hawks at one end, the herons at the\nother, and sparrows in the middle, with pies on one side and pheasants\nopposite, for which arrangement you will find there is good reason; then\nthe parrots necessarily go beside the hawks, and the gulls beside the\nherons.\n\n\n189. The bird whose mythic history I am about to read to you belongs\nessentially and characteristically to that order of pies, pic\u00e6, or\npainted birds, which the Greeks continually opposed in their thoughts\nand traditions to the singing birds, representing the one by the\nmagpie, and the other by the nightingale. The myth of Autolycus and\nPhilammon, and Pindar's exquisite story of the infidelity of Coronis,\nare the centres of almost countless traditions, all full of meaning,\ndependent on the various \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03bb\u03af\u03b1, to eye and ear, of these opposed\nraces of birds. The Greek idea of the Halcyon united both these sources\nof delight. I will read you what notices of it I find most interesting,\nnot in order of date, but of brevity; the simplest first.\n\n\n190. \"And the King of Trachis, the child of the Morning Star, married\nAlcyone. And they perished, both of them, through their pride; for the\nking called his wife, Hera; and she her husband, Zeus: but Zeus made\nbirds of them (\u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c0\u03c9\u03c1\u03bd\u03ad\u03c9\u03c3\u03b5), and he made the one a Halcyon, and the\nother a Sea-mew.\"--_Appollodorus_, i. 7, 4.\n\n\"When the King of Trachis, the son of Hesperus, or of Lucifer, and\nPhilonis, perished in shipwreck, his wife Alcyone, the daughter of \u00c6olus\nand \u00c6giale, for love of him, threw herself into the sea;--who both, by\nthe mercy of the gods, were turned into the birds called Halcyons. These\nbirds, in the winter-time, build their nests, and lay their eggs, and\nhatch their young on the sea; and the sea is quiet in those days, which\nthe sailors call the Halcyonia.\"--_Hyginus, Fab._ LXV.\n\n\n191. \"Now the King of Trachis, the son of Lucifer, had to wife Halcyone.\nAnd he, wishing to consult the oracle of Apollo concerning the state of\nhis kingdom, was forbidden to go, by Halcyone, nevertheless he went; and\nperished by shipwreck. And when his body was brought to his wife\nHalcyone, she threw herself into the sea. Afterwards, by the mercy of\nThetis and Lucifer, they were both turned into the sea-birds called\nHalcyons. And you ought to know that Halcyone is the woman's name, and\nis always a feminine noun; but the bird's name is Halcyon, masculine and\nfeminine, and so also its plural, Halcyones. Also those birds make\ntheir nests in the sea, in the middle of winter; in which days the calm\nis so deep that hardly anything in the sea can be moved. Thence, also,\nthe days themselves are called Halcyonia.\"--_Servius, in Virg. Georg._\ni. 399.\n\n\n192. \"And the pairing of birds, as I said, is for the most part in\nspring time, and early summer; except the halcyon's. For the halcyon has\nits young about the turn of days in winter, wherefore, when those days\nare fine, they are called 'Halcyonine' (\u1f00\u03bb\u03ba\u03c5\u03cc\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bf\u03b9); seven, indeed,\nbefore the turn, and seven after it, as Simonides poetized, (\u1f10\u03c0\u03bf\u03af\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd).\n\n    'As, when in the wintry month\n    Zeus gives the wisdom of calm to fourteen days,\n    Then the people of the land call it\n    The hour of wind-hiding, the sacred\n    Nurse of the spotted Halcyon.'\n\n\"And in the first seven days the halcyon is said to lay her eggs, and in\nthe latter seven to bring forth and nourish her young. Here, indeed, in\nthe seas of Greece, it does not always chance that the Halcyonid days\nare at the solstice; but in the Sicilian sea, almost always. But the\n\u00e6thuia and the laros bring forth their young, (two, or three) among the\nrocks by the sea-shore; but the laros in summer, the \u00e6thuia in first\nspring, just after the turn of days; and they sit on them as other birds\ndo. And none of these birds lie torpid in holes during the winter; but\nthe halcyon is, of all, seen the seldomest, for it is seen scarcely at\nall, except just at the setting and turn of Pleias, and then it will but\nshow itself once, and away; flying, perhaps, once round a ship at\nanchor, and then it is gone instantly.\"--_Aristotle, Hist. Av._, v. 8,\n9.\n\n\n193. \"Now we are ready enough to extol the bee for a wise creature, and\nto consent to the laws by which it cares for the yellow honey, because\nwe adore the pleasantness and tickling to our palates that is in the\nsweetness of that; but we take no notice of the wisdom and art of other\ncreatures in bringing up their young, as for instance, the halcyon, who\nas soon as she has conceived, makes her nest by gathering the thorns of\nthe sea-needle-fish; and, weaving these in and out, and joining them\ntogether at the ends, she finishes her nest; round in the plan of it,\nand long, in the proportion of a fisherman's net; and then she puts it\nwhere it will be beaten by the waves, until the rough surface is all\nfastened together and made close. And it becomes so hard that a blow\nwith iron or stone will not easily divide it; but, what is more\nwonderful still, is that the opening of the nest is made so exactly to\nthe size and measure of the halcyon that nothing larger can get into it,\nand nothing smaller!--so they say;--no, not even the sea itself, even\nthe least drop of it.\"--_Plutarch: De Amore Prolis._\n\nI have kept to the last Lucian's dialogue, \"the Halcyon,\" to show you\nhow the tone of Christian thought, and tradition of Christ's walking on\nthe sea, began to steal into heathen literature.\n\n\nSOCRATES--CHAEREPHON.\n\n\n194. \"_Chaerephon._ What cry is that, Socrates, which came to us from\nthe beach? how sweet it was; what can it be? the things that live in the\nsea are all mute.\n\n\"_Socrates._ Yet it is a sea-creature, Chaerephon; the bird called\nHalcyon, concerning which the old fable runs that she was the daughter\nof \u00c6olus, and, mourning in her youth for her lost husband, was winged by\ndivine power, and now flies over the sea, seeking him whom she could not\nfind, sought throughout the earth.\n\n\"_Chaerephon._ And is that indeed the Halcyon's cry? I never heard it\nyet; and in truth it is very pitiful. How large is the bird, Socrates?\n\n\"_Socrates._ Not great; but it has received great honour from the Gods,\nbecause of its lovingness; for while it is making its nest, all the\nworld has the happy days which it calls halcyonid\u00e6, excelling all others\nin their calmness, though in the midst of storm; of which you see this\nvery day is one, if ever there was. Look, how clear the sky is, and the\nsea waveless and calm, like a mirror!\n\n\"_Chaerephon._ You say truly, and yesterday was just such another. But\nin the name of the Gods, Socrates, how is one to believe those old\nsayings, that birds were ever changed into women, or women into birds,\nfor nothing could seem more impossible?\n\n\n195. \"_Socrates._ Ah, dear Chaerephon, it is likely that we are poor and\nblunt judges of what is possible and not: for we judge by comparing to\nhuman power a power unknown to us, unimaginable, and unseen. Many\nthings, therefore, that are easy, seem to us difficult; and many things\nunattainable that may be attained; being thus thought of, some through\nthe inexperience, and some through the infantine folly, of our minds.\nFor in very deed every man may be thought of as a child--even the oldest\nof us,--since the full time of life is little, and as a baby's compared\nto universal time. And what should we have to say, my good friend, who\nknow nothing of the power of gods or of the spirits of Nature, whether\nany of such things are possible or not? You saw, Chaerephon, what a\nstorm there was, the day before yesterday; it makes one tremble even to\nthink of it again;--that lightning, and thunder, and sudden tempest, so\ngreat that one would have thought all the earth falling to ruin; and\nyet, in a little while, came the wonderful establishing of calm, which\nhas remained even till now. Whether, then, do you think it the greater\nwork, to bring such a calm out of that tormenting whirlwind, and reduce\nthe universe to peace, or to change the form of a woman into that of a\nbird? For indeed we see how very little children, who know how to knead\nclay, do something like this also; often out of one lump they will make\nform after form, of different natures: and surely to the spirit-powers\nof Nature, being in vast and inconjecturable excess beyond ours, all\nsuch things must be in their hands easy. Or how much do you think heaven\ngreater than thyself--can you say, perchance?\n\n\"_Chaerephon._ Who of men, O Socrates, could imagine or name any of\nthese things?\n\n\n196. \"_Socrates._ Nay; do we not see also, in comparing man with man,\nstrange differences in their powers and imbecilities? for complete\nmanhood, compared with utter infancy, as of a child five or ten days\nold, has difference in power, which we may well call miraculous: and\nwhen we see man excel man so far, what shall we say that the strength of\nthe whole heaven must appear, against ours, to those who can see them\ntogether, so as to compare them? Also, to you and me, and to many like\nus, sundry things are impossible that are easy to other people; as\nsinging to those ignorant of music, and reading or writing to those\nignorant of letters;--more impossible than to make women birds, or birds\nof women. For Nature, as with chance throw, and rough parable, making\nthe form of a footless and wingless beast in changeable matter; then\nputting on feet and wings, and making it glitter all over with fair\nvariegation and manifold colour, at last brings out, for instance, the\nwise bee, maker of the divine honey; and out of the voiceless and\nspiritless egg she brings many kinds of flying and foot-going and\nswimming creatures, using besides (as runs the old Logos) the sacred art\nof the great Aether.[H] We then, being altogether mortal and mean, and\nneither able to see clearly great things nor small, and, for the most\npart being unable to help ourselves even in our own calamities,--what\ncan we have to say about the powers of the immortals, either over\nhalcyons or nightingales? But the fame of fable such as our fathers gave\nit to us, this, to my children, O thou bird singing of sorrow, I will\ndeliver concerning thy hymns: and I myself will sing often of this\nreligious and human love of thine, and of the honour thou hast for it\nfrom the Gods. Wilt not thou do likewise, O Chaerephon?\n\n\"_Chaerephon._ It is rightly due indeed, O Socrates, for there is\ntwo-fold comfort in this, both for men and women, in their relations\nwith each other.\n\n\"_Socrates._ Shall we not then salute the halcyon, and so go back to the\ncity by the sands, for it is time?\n\n\"_Chaerephon._ Indeed let us do so.\"\n\n  [H] Note this sentence respecting the power of the creative Athena.\n\n\n197. The note of the scholiast on this dialogue is the only passage in\nwhich I can find any approximately clear description of the Greek\nhalcyon. It is about as large, he says, as a small sparrow; (the\nquestion how large a Greek sparrow was we must for the present allow to\nremain open;) and it is mixed of green and blue, with gleaming of purple\nabove, and it has a slender and long beak: the beak is said to be\n\"chloros,\" which I venture to translate \"green,\" when it is used of the\nfeathers, but it may mean anything, used of the beak. Then follows the\nsame account as other people's, of the nest-building, except that the\nnest is compared in shape to a medicinal gourd. And then the writer goes\non to say that there are two species of halcyons--one larger than the\nother, and silent, but the smaller, fond of singing (\u1fa0\u03b4\u03b9\u03ba\u03ae); and that\nthe females of these are so true to their mates that, when the latter\ngrow old, the female bird flies underneath them, and carries them\nwherever they would like to go; and after they die will not eat nor\ndrink anything, and so dies too. \"And there is a certain kind of them,\nof which, if any one hear the voice, it is an altogether true sign to\nhim that he will die in a short time.\"\n\n\n198. You will, I think, forgive me, if after reading to you these lovely\nfables, I do not distract you, or detain, with the difficult\ninvestigation of the degree in which they are founded on the not yet\nsufficiently known facts of the Kingfisher's life.\n\nI would much rather that you should remain impressed with the effect\nwhich the lovely colour and fitful appearance of the bird have had on\nthe imagination of men. I may satisfy you by the assurance that the\nhalcyon of England is also the commonest halcyon of Greece and of\nPalestine; and I may at once prove to you the real gain of being\nacquainted with the traditions of it, by reading to you two stanzas,\ncertainly among the most familiar to your ears in the whole range of\nEnglish poetry; yet which, I am well assured, will sound, after what we\nhave been reflecting upon to-day, almost as if they were new to you.\nNote especially how Milton's knowledge that Halcyone was the daughter of\nthe Winds, and Ceyx the son of the Morning Star, affects the course of\nhis thought in the successive stanzas--\n\n    \"But peaceful was the night,\n    Wherein the Prince of light\n    His reign of peace upon earth began:\n    The winds with wonder whist,\n    Smoothly the waters kist,\n    Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,\n    Who now hath quite forgot to rave,\n    While birds of calm sit brooding on the charm\u00e8d wave.\n\n    \"The stars, with deep amaze,\n    Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze,\n    Bending one way their precious influence;\n    And will not take their flight,\n    For all the morning light\n    Of Lucifer, that often warn'd them thence;\n    But in their glimmering orbs did glow,\n    Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.\"\n\n\n199. I should also only weary you if I attempted to give you any\ninterpretation of the much-entangled web of Greek fables connected with\nthe story of Halcyone. You observe that in all these passages I have\nsaid \"King of Trachis\" instead of Ceyx. That is partly because I don't\nknow how to pronounce Ceyx either in Greek or English; but it is chiefly\nto make you observe that this story of the sea-mew and Halcyon, now\nknown through all the world, like the sea-mew's cry, has its origin in\nthe \"Rough country,\" or crag-country, under Mount \u0152ta, made sacred to\nthe Greek mind by the death of Heracles; and observe what strange\nconnection that death has with the Halcyon's story. Heracles goes to\nthis \"Rough country\" to seek for rest; all the waves and billows of his\nlife having--as he thinks now--gone over him. But he finds death.\n\nAs far as I can form any idea of this \"rough, or torn, country\" from the\ndescriptions of Colonel Leake or any other traveller, it must resemble\nclosely the limestone cliffs just above Altorf, which break down to the\nvalley from the ridge of the Windgelle, and give source, at their foot,\nto faultlessly clear streams,--green-blue among the grass.\n\nYou will find Pausanias noting the springs of Thermopyl\u00e6 as of the\nbluest water he ever saw; and if you fancy the Lake Lucerne to be the\nsea bay running inland from Artemisium, you will have a clear and\nuseful, nor in any serious way, inaccurate, image of the scene where the\nGreeks thought their best hero should die. You may remember also, with\nadvantage, that Morgarten--the Thermopyl\u00e6 of Switzerland--lies by the\nlittle lake of Egeri, not ten miles from this bay of Altorf; and that\nthe Heracles of Switzerland is born under those Trachinian crags.\n\nIf, farther, you remember that the Halcyon would actually be seen\nflitting above the blue water of the springs, like one of their waves\ncaught up and lighted by the sun; and the sea-mews haunting the cliffs,\nyou will see how physical circumstances modify the under-tone of the\nwords of every mythic tradition.\n\nI cannot express to you how strange--how more and more strange every\nday--it seems to me, that I cannot find a single drawing, nor definite\naccount, of scenes so memorable as this, to point you to; but must guess\nand piece their image together for you as best I can from their Swiss\nsimilitudes. No English gentleman can pass through public school-life\nwithout knowing his Trachini\u00e6; yet I believe, literally, we could give\nbetter account of the forms of the mountains in the moon, than we could\nof \u0152ta. And what has art done to help us? How many Skiddaws or\nBenvenues, for one \u0152ta,--if one! And when the English gentleman\nbecomes an art-patron, he employs his painter-servant only to paint\nhimself and his house; and when Turner was striving, in his youth, to\nenforce the mythology, and picture these very scenes in Greece, and\nputting his whole strength into the endeavour to conceive them, the\nnoble pictures remained in his gallery; and for bread, he had to\npaint ---- Hall, the seat of ----, Esquire, with the carriage drive, the\nsummer-house, and the squire going out hunting.\n\nIf, indeed, the squire would make his seat worth painting, and would\nstay there, and would make the seats, or, shall we call them, forms, of\nhis peasantry, worth painting too, he would be interpreting the fable of\nthe Halcyon to purpose.\n\nBut you must, at once, and without any interpreter, feel for yourselves\nhow much is implied in those wonderful words of Simonides--written six\nhundred years before Christ;--\"when in the wild winter months, Zeus\ngives the _wisdom of calm_;\" and how much teaching there is for us in\nthe imagination of past days,--this dream-picture of what is true in\ndays that are, and are to come,--that perfect domestic love not only\nmakes its nest upon the waves, but that the waves will be calm that it\nmay.\n\n\n200. True, I repeat, for all ages, and all people, that, indeed, are\ndesirous of peace, and loving in trouble! But what fable shall we\ninvent, what creature on earth or sea shall we find, to symbolize this\nstate of ours in modern England? To what sorrowful birds shall _we_ be\nlikened, who make the principal object of our lives dispeace, and\nunrest; and turn our wives and daughters out of their nests, to work for\nthemselves?\n\nNay, strictly speaking, we have not even got so much as nests to turn\nthem out of. I was infinitely struck, only the other day, by the saying\nof a large landed proprietor (a good man, who was doing all he could for\nhis tenantry, and building new cottages for them), that the best he\n_could_ do for them, under present conditions of wages, and the like,\nwas, to give them good drainage and bare walls.\n\n\"I am obliged,\" he said to me, \"to give up all thought of anything\nartistic, and even then, I must lose a considerable sum on every cottage\nI build.\"\n\n\n201. Now, there is no end to the confused states of wrong and misery\nwhich that landlord's experience signifies. In the first place, no\nlandlord has any business with building cottages for his people. Every\npeasant should be able to build his own cottage,--to build it to his\nmind; and to have a mind to build it too. In the second place, note the\nunhappy notion which has grown up in the modern English mind, that\nwholesome and necessary delight in what is pleasant to the eye, is\nartistic affectation. You have the exponent of it all in the central and\nmighty affectation of the Houses of Parliament. A number of English\ngentlemen get together to talk; they have no delight whatever in any\nkind of beauty; but they have a vague notion that the appointed place\nfor their conversation should be dignified and ornamental; and they\nbuild over their combined heads the absurdest and emptiest piece of\nfiligree,--and, as it were, eternal foolscap in freestone,--which ever\nhuman beings disgraced their posterity by. Well, all that is done,\npartly, and greatly, in mere jobbery; but essentially also in a servile\nimitation of the H\u00f4tel-de-Ville builders of old time; but the English\ngentleman has not the remotest idea that when H\u00f4tels-de-Ville were\nbuilt, the ville enjoyed its hotel;--the town had a real pride in its\ntown hall, and place of council, and the sculptures of it had precious\nmeaning for all the populace.\n\n\n202. And in like manner, if cottages are ever to be wisely built again,\nthe peasant must enjoy his cottage, and be himself its artist, as a bird\nis. Shall cock-robins and yellow-hammers have wit enough to make\nthemselves comfortable, and bullfinches peck a Gothic tracery out of\ndead clematis,--and your English yeoman be fitted by his landlord with\nfour dead walls and a drain-pipe? That is the result of your spending\n300,000_l._ a year at Kensington in science and art, then? You have made\nbeautiful machines, too, wherewith you save the peasant the trouble of\nploughing and reaping, and threshing; and after being saved all that\ntime and toil, and getting, one would think, leisure enough for his\neducation, you have to lodge him also, as you drop a puppet into a deal\nbox, and you lose money in doing it! and two hundred years ago, without\nsteam, without electricity, almost without books, and altogether without\nhelp from \"Cassell's Educator\" or the morning newspapers, the Swiss\nshepherd could build himself a ch\u00e2let, daintily carved, and with\nflourished inscriptions, and with red and blue and white \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03bb\u03af\u03b1; and\nthe burgess of Strasburg could build himself a house like this I showed\nyou, and a spire such as all men know; and keep a precious book or two\nin his public library, and praise God for all: while we,--what are _we_\ngood for, but to damage the spire, knock down half the houses, and burn\nthe library,--and declare there is no God but Chemistry?\n\n\n203. What _are_ we good for? Are even our machines of destruction useful\nto us? Do they give us real power? Once, indeed, not like halcyons, but\nlike sea-eagles, we had our homes upon the sea; fearless alike of storm\nor enemy, winged like the wave petrel; and as Arabs of an indeed\npathless desert, we dwelt in the presence of all our brethren. Our\npride is fallen; no reed shaken with the wind, near the little singing\nhalcyon's nest, is more tremulous than we are now; though we have built\niron nests on the sea, with walls impregnable. We have lost our\npride--but have we gained peace? Do we even care to seek it, how much\nless strive to make it?\n\n\n204. Have you ever thought seriously of the meaning of that blessing\ngiven to the peace-makers? People are always expecting to get peace in\nheaven; but you know whatever peace they get there will be ready made.\nWhatever making of peace _they_ can be blest for, must be on the earth\nhere: not the taking of arms against, but the building of nests amidst,\nits \"sea of troubles.\" Difficult enough, you think? Perhaps so, but I do\nnot see that any of us try. We complain of the want of many things--we\nwant votes, we want liberty, we want amusement, we want money. Which of\nus feels, or knows, that he wants peace?\n\n\n205. There are two ways of getting it, if you do want it. The first is\nwholly in your own power; to make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts.\nThose are nests on the sea indeed, but safe beyond all others; only\nthey need much art in the building. None of us yet know, for none of us\nhave yet been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces we may build of\nbeautiful thought--proof against all adversity. Bright fancies,\nsatisfied memories, noble histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses\nof precious and restful thoughts, which care cannot disturb, nor pain\nmake gloomy, nor poverty take away from us--houses built without hands,\nfor our souls to live in.\n\n\n206. And in actual life, let me assure you, in conclusion, the first\n'wisdom of calm,' is to plan, and resolve to labour for, the comfort and\nbeauty of a home such as, if we could obtain it, we would quit no more.\nNot a compartment of a model lodging-house, not the number so-and-so of\nParadise Row; but a cottage all of our own, with its little garden, its\npleasant view, its surrounding fields, its neighbouring stream, its\nhealthy air, and clean kitchen, parlours, and bedrooms. Less than this,\nno man should be content with for his nest; more than this few should\nseek: but if it seem to you impossible, or wildly imaginary, that such\nhouses should ever be obtained for the greater part of the English\npeople, again believe me, the obstacles which are in the way of our\nobtaining them are the things which it must be the main object now of\nall true science, true art, and true literature to overcome. Science\ndoes its duty, not in telling us the causes of spots in the sun; but in\nexplaining to us the laws of our own life, and the consequences of their\nviolation. Art does its duty, not in filling monster galleries with\nfrivolous, or dreadful, or indecent pictures; but in completing the\ncomforts and refining the pleasures of daily occurrence, and familiar\nservice: and literature does its duty, not in wasting our hours in\npolitical discussion, or in idle fiction; but in raising our fancy to\nthe height of what may be noble, honest, and felicitous in actual\nlife;--in giving us, though we may ourselves be poor and unknown, the\ncompanionship of the wisest fellow-spirits of every age and\ncountry,--and in aiding the communication of clear thoughts and faithful\npurposes, among distant nations, which will at last breathe calm upon\nthe sea of lawless passion, and change into such halcyon days the winter\nof the world, that the birds of the air may have their nests in peace,\nand the Son of Man, where to lay His head.\n\n\n\n\n                               LECTURE X.\n\n                        THE HERALDIC ORDINARIES.\n\n                           _March 9th, 1872._\n\n\n207. In my last lecture, I endeavoured to illustrate to you the use of\nart to the science of physiology. I am to-day to introduce to you its\nelementary forms as an exponent of the science of history. Which,\nspeaking with perfect accuracy, we ought to call, also, \"physiology,\" or\n_natural_ history of man; for it ought to be in truth the history of his\nNature; and not merely of the accidents which have befallen him. Do we\nnot too much confuse the important part of the science with the\nunimportant?\n\nIn giving the natural history of the lion, you do not care materially\nwhere such and such a lion was trapped, or how many sheep it had eaten.\nYou want to know what sort of a minded and shaped creature it is, or\nought to be. But in all our books of human history we only care to tell\nwhat has happened to men, and how many of each other they have, in a\nmanner, eaten, when they are, what Homer calls \u03b4\u03b7\u03bc\u03bf\u03b2\u03cc\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9, people-eaters;\nand we scarcely understand, even to this day, how they are truly minded.\nNay, I am not sure that even this art of heraldry, which has for its\nmain object the telling and proclamation of our chief minds and\ncharacters to each other, and keeping record of descent by race, as far\nas it is possible, (or, under the present aspect of Darwinism,\npleasant,) to trace it;--I am not sure that even heraldry has always\nunderstood clearly what it had to tell. But I am very sure it has not\nbeen understood in the telling.\n\n\n208. Some of you have, I hope, looked at this book[I] of Arthur Helps,\non 'War and Culture,' about which I cannot now say what I would, because\nhe has done me the grace of dedicating it to me; but you will find in\nit, directly bearing on our present subject, this story about heraldry:\n\n  [I] Conversations on War and General Culture.\n\n\"A friend of mine, a physician, became entangled in the crowd at\nKennington on that memorable evening when a great Chartist row was\nexpected, and when Louis Napoleon armed himself with a constable's\nstaff to support the cause of order. My friend observed a young man of\npleasant appearance, who was very busy in the crowd, and appeared to be\na leader amongst them. Gradually, by the pressure of the crowd, the two\nwere brought near together, and the good doctor had some talk with this\nfiery partisan. They exchanged confidences; and to his astonishment, the\ndoctor found that this furious young Chartist gained his livelihood, and\na very good livelihood too, by heraldic painting--by painting the\ncoats-of-arms upon carriages. Now, if you can imagine this young man's\ndarling enterprise to have been successful, if Chartism had prevailed,\nwhat would have become of the painting of arms upon carriage-panels? I\nbelieve that my good doctor insinuated this suggestion to the young man,\nand that it was received with disdain. I must own, therefore, that the\n_utile_, even when brought home to a man's self, has much less to do\nwith people's political opinions and desires, than might at first be\nsupposed. Indeed, I would venture to maintain, that _no great change has\never been produced in the world by motives of self-interest_. Sentiment,\nthat thing which many wise people affect to despise, is the commanding\nthing as regards popular impulses and popular action.\"\n\n\n209. This last sentence would have been wholly true, had Mr. Helps\nwritten 'no great _living_ change.' The changes of Dissolution are\ncontinually produced by self-interest,--for instance, a great number of\nthe changes in your methods of life in England just now, and many of\nthose in your moral temper, are produced by the percentage on the sale\nof iron. And I should have otherwise interpreted the heroism of the\nyoung Chartist, and said that he was moved on the 10th of April, by a\ndeep under-current of self-interest; that by overthrowing Lordship, he\nexpected to get much more for himself than his salary as an heraldic\npainter; and that he had not, in painting his carriage-panels, sentiment\nenough, or even sentiment at all.\n\n\"Paint me my arms,--\" said Giotto, as the youth threw him his white\nshield with that order--\"he speaks as if he were one of the Bardi!\" Our\nEnglish panel-painter had lost the consciousness that there yet remained\nabove him, so much as one, of the Bardi.\n\nMay not that be somewhat the Bardi's fault? in that they have not taught\ntheir Giottos, lately, the function of heraldry, or of any other higher\nhistorical painting.\n\nWe have, especially, to-day, to consider what that function is.\n\n\n210. I said that the function of historical painting, in representing\nanimals, is to discern and record what is best and most beautiful in\ntheir ways of life, and their forms; so also, in representing man, it is\nto record of man what has been best in his acts and way of life, and\nfairest in his form.\n\nBut this way of the life of man has been a long one. It is difficult to\nknow it--more difficult to judge; to do either with complete equity is\nimpossible; but it is always possible to do it with the charity which\ndoes not rejoice in iniquity.\n\n\n211. Among the many mistakes we have lately fallen into, touching that\nsame charity, one of the worst is our careless habit of always thinking\nof her as pitiful, and to be concerned only with miserable and wretched\npersons; whereas her chief joy is in being reverent, and concerned\nmainly with noble and venerable persons. Her poorest function is the\ngiving of pity; her highest is the giving of _praise_. For there are\nmany men, who, however fallen, do not like to be pitied; but all men,\nhowever far risen, like to be praised.\n\n\n212. I had occasion in my last lecture to express my regret that the\nmethod of education in this country has become so distinctly\ncompetitive. It is necessary, however, to distinguish carefully between\nthe competition which is for the means of existence, and that which is\nfor the praise of learning. For my own part, so far as they affect our\nstudies here, I equally regret both: but competition for money I regret\nabsolutely; competition for praise, only when it sets the reward for too\nshort and narrow a race. I want you to compete, not for the praise of\nwhat you know, but for the praise of what you become; and to compete\nonly in that great school, where death is the examiner, and God the\njudge. For you will find, if you look into your own hearts, that the two\ngreat delights, in loving and praising, and the two great thirsts, to be\nloved and praised, are the roots of all that is strong in the deeds of\nmen, and happy in their repose. We yet, thank Heaven, are not ashamed to\nacknowledge the power of love; but we confusedly and doubtfully allege\nthat of honour; and though we cannot but instinctively triumph still,\nover a won boat-race, I suppose the best of us would shrink somewhat\nfrom declaring that the love of praise was to be one of the chief\nmotives of their future lives.\n\n\n213. But I believe you will find it, if you think, not only one of the\nchief, but absolutely the chief, motive of human action; nay, that love\nitself is, in its highest state, the rendering of an exquisite praise to\nbody and soul; and our English tongue is very sacred in this; for its\nSaxon word, love, is connected, through the old French verb, loer,\n(whence louange), with the Latin, 'laus,' not 'amor.'\n\nAnd you may sum the duty of your life in the giving of praise worthily,\nand being yourselves worthy of it.\n\n\n214. Therefore in the reading of all history, your first purpose must be\nto seek what is to be praised; and disdain the rest: and in doing so,\nremember always that the most important part of the history of man is\nthat of his imagination. What he actually does, is always in great part\naccidental; it is at best a partial fulfilment of his purpose; and what\nwe call history is often, as I said, merely a record of the external\naccidents which befall men getting together in large crowds. The real\nhistory of mankind is that of the slow advance of resolved deed\nfollowing laboriously just thought: and all the greatest men live in\ntheir purpose and effort more than it is possible for them to live in\nreality. If you would praise them more worthily, it is for what they\nconceived and felt; not merely for what they have done.\n\n\n215. It is therefore a true historian's work diligently to separate the\ndeed from the imagination; and when these become inconsistent, to\nremember that the imagination, if precious at all, is indeed the most\nprecious. It is no matter how much, or how little of the two first books\nof Livy may be literally true. The history of the Romans is the history\nof the nation which could _conceive_ the battle of the Lake Regillus. I\nhave rowed in rough weather on the Lake of the four cantons often enough\nto know that the legend of Tell is, in literal detail, absurd: but the\nhistory of Switzerland is that of the people who expressed their\nimagination of resistance to injustice by that legend, so as to animate\ntheir character vitally to this day.\n\n\n216. But in no part of history does the ideal separate itself so far\nfrom the reality; and in no part of it is the ideal so necessary and\nnoble, as in your own inherited history--that of Christian Chivalry.\n\nFor all English gentlemen this is the part of the tale of the race of\nman which it is most essential for them to know. They may be proud that\nit is also the greatest part. All that hitherto has been achieved of\nbest,--all that has been in noble preparation instituted,--is begun in\nthe period, and rooted in the conception, of Chivalry.\n\nYou must always carefully distinguish that conception from the base\nstrength of the resultless passions which distort and confuse it.\nInfinitely weaker, the ideal is eternal and creative; the clamorous\nrages pass away,--ruinous it may be, prosperous it may be, for their\ntime;--but insignificant for ever. You find kings and priests alike,\nalways inventing expedients to get money; you find kings and priests\nalike, always inventing pretexts to gain power. If you want to write a\npractical history of the Middle Ages, and to trace the real reasons of\nthe things that actually happened, investigate first the history of the\nmoney; and then of the quarrels for office and territory. But the\nthings that actually happened were of small consequence--the thoughts\nthat were developed are of infinite consequence.\n\n\n217. As I was walking back from Hincksey last evening, somewhat\ndiscomfited by the look of bad weather, and more in myself, as I thought\nover this closing lecture, wondering how far you thought I had been\ntalking idly to you, instead of teaching you to draw, through this term,\nI stopped before Messrs. Wyatt's window; caught--as it was intended\nevery one should be--by this display of wonderful things. And I was very\nunhappy as I looked, for it seemed to me you could not but think the\nlittle I could show you how to do quite valueless; while here were\nproduced, by mysteries of craft which you might expect me at once to\nexplain, brilliant water-colours in purple and gold, and photographs of\nsea-waves, and chromolithotints of beautiful young ladies, and\nexquisitely finished engravings of all sorts of interesting scenes, and\nsublime personages: patriots, saints, martyrs, penitents, and who not!\nand what not! all depicted with a dexterity which it has cost the\nworkmen their life's best energy to learn, and requires great cleverness\nthus to apply. While, in your room for study, there are only ugly\nphotographs of D\u00fcrers and Holbeins, and my rude outlines from leaves,\nand you scarcely ever hear me say anything in praise of that delightful\nand elaborate modern art at all.\n\n\n218. So I bought this Madonna,[J] which was the prettiest thing I saw:\nand it will enable me to tell you why this modern art is, indeed, so\nlittle to be studied, even at its best. I think you will all like the\nplate, and you ought to like it; but observe in what its beauty\nconsists. First, in very exquisite line engraving: against that I have\nnothing to say, feeling the greatest respect for the industry and skill\nit requires. Next, in a grace and severity of action which we all are\nready to praise; but this is not the painter's own bestowing; the trick\nof it is learned from Memling and Van Eyck, and other men of the\nnorthern religious school. The covering of the robe with jewels is\npleasing to you; but that is learned from Angelico and John Bellini; and\nif you will compare the jewel-painting in the John Bellini (Standard No.\n5), you will find this false and formal in comparison. Then the face is\nmuch dignified by having a crown set on it--which is copied from the\nordinary thirteenth century form, and ill done. The face itself is\nstudied from a young German mother's, and is only by the painter's want\nof skill made conventional in expression, and formal in feature. It\nwould have been wiser and more difficult to have painted her as Raphael\nor Reynolds would, with true personal resemblance, perfected in\nexpression.\n\n  [J] Now, Ref. 104.\n\n\n219. Nevertheless, in its derivative way, this is very lovely. But I\nwish you to observe that it is derivative in all things. The dress is\nderivative; the action, derivative: above all, the conception is\nderivative altogether, from that great age of Christian chivalry, which,\nin art and thought alike, surpassed the Greek chivalry, because it added\nto their enthusiasm of patriotism the enthusiasm of imaginative love,\nsanctified by this ruling vision of the Madonna, as at once perfect maid\nand perfect mother.\n\nAnd your study of the art of the middle ages must begin in your\nunderstanding how the men of them looked on Love as the source of all\nhonour, as of life; and how, from the least thing to the greatest, the\nhonouring of father and mother, the noble esteem of children, and the\nsincere respect for race, and for the courtesies and prides that graced\nand crowned its purity, were the sources of all their virtue, and all\ntheir joy.\n\n\n220. From the least things, I say, to the greatest. I am to speak to-day\nof one of, apparently, the least things; which is, indeed, one of the\ngreatest. How much of the dignity of this Madonna, do you suppose,\ndepends on the manner she bears her dress, her crown, her jewels, and\nher sceptre?\n\nIn peasant and prince alike, you will find that, ultimately, character\nis truly heralded in dress; and that splendour in dress is as necessary\nto man as colour to birds and flowers, but splendour with more meaning.\nSplendour observe, however, in the true Latin sense of the word;\n_brightness_ of colour; not gaudiness: what I have been telling you of\ncolour in pictures will apply equally to colour in dress: vulgarity\nconsists in the insolence and discord of it, not in brightness.\n\n\n221. For peasant and prince alike, in healthy national order, brightness\nof dress and beautiful arrangement of it are needful. No indication of\nmoral decline is more sure than the squalor of dress among the lower\norders, and the fear or shame of the higher classes to bear their proper\ninsignia.\n\nSuch fear and shame are singularly expressed, here in Oxford, at this\nhour. The nobleman ceases to wear the golden tassel in his cap, so\naccepting, and publicly heralding his acceptance of, the popular opinion\nof him that he has ceased to _be_ a nobleman, or noteworthy person.[K]\nAnd the members of the University, generally, shrink from wearing their\nacademical dress, so accepting, and publicly heralding their acceptance\nof, the popular opinion that everybody else may be as good scholars as\nthey. On the other hand, I see continually in the streets young men in\nbright costumes of blue and white; in such evidently proud heraldry\nproclaiming their conviction that the chief object of residence in\nOxford is learning to row; the rowing itself being, I imagine, not for\nreal boat service, but for purposes of display.\n\n  [K] \"Another stride that has been taken appears in the perishing of\n      heraldry. Whilst the privileges of nobility are passing to the\n      middle class, the badge is discredited, and the titles of\n      lordship are getting musty and cumbersome. I wonder that sensible\n      men have not been already impatient of them. They belong, with\n      wigs, powder, and scarlet coats, to an earlier age, and may be\n      advantageously consigned, with paint and tattoo, to the\n      dignitaries of Australia and Polynesia.\"--R.W. EMERSON (English\n      Traits).\n\n\n222. All dress is thus heraldic; a soldier's dress only more definitely\nso, in proclaiming the thing he means to die as well as to live for; but\nall is heraldic, from the beggar's rag to the king's diadem; it may be\ninvoluntarily, it may be, insolently; but when the characters of men are\ndetermined, and wise, their dress becomes heraldic reverently, and in\norder. \"Togam e tugurio proferre uxorem Raciliam jubet;\" and Edie\nOchiltree's blue gown is as honourably heraldic as a knight's ermine.\n\n\n223. The beginning of heraldry, and of all beautiful dress, is, however,\nsimply in the wearing of the skins of slain animals. You may discredit,\nas much as you choose, the literal meaning of that earliest statement,\n\"Unto Adam also, and to his wife, did the Lord God make coats of skin,\nand clothed them:\" but the figurative meaning of it only becomes the\nstronger. For if you think of the skins of animals as giving the four\ngreat materials of dress--leather, fur, wool, and down, you will see in\nthis verse the summary of what has ever since taken place in the method\nof the providence of the Maker of Man and beast, for the clothing of\nthe naked creature who was to rule over the rest.\n\n\n224. The first practical and savage use of such dress was that the skin\nof the head of the beast became a covering for the head of its slayer;\nthe skin of its body his coat; the skin of the fore legs was knotted in\nfront, and the skin of the hind legs and tail became tassels, the jags\nof the cut edges forming a kind of fringe here and there.\n\nYou have thus the first conception of a helmet with the mane of the\nanimal for its crest or plume, and the first conception of a cuirass\nvariously fringed, striped, or spotted; in complete accoutrement for\nwar, you have to add spear, (or arrow), and shield. The spear is\nproperly a beam of wood, iron pointed; the shield a disk of leather,\niron fronted.\n\nAnd armed strength for conflict is symbolized for all future time by the\nGreeks, under the two types of Heracles and Athena; the one with the low\nlion's crest and the arrow, the other with the high horse's crest, and\nthe spear; one with the lion-skin, the other with the goat-skin;--both\nwith the round shield.\n\n\n225. The nebris of Dionusos and leopard-skin of the priests of Egypt\nrelate to astronomy, not war; and the interest in their spots and bars,\nas variously symbolic, together with real pleasure in their\ngrotesqueness, greatly modified the entire system of Egyptian\ncolour-decoration. On the earliest Greek vases, also, the spots and bars\nof the animals are carried out in spots or chequers upon the ground,\n(sometimes representing flowers), and the delight in \"divers colours of\nneedlework,\" and in fantasy of embroidery, gradually refine and illumine\nthe design of Eastern dress. But only the patterns derived from the\ncolours of animals become classical in heraldry under the general name\nof \"furres,\" one of them \"vaire\" or verrey (\"the variegated fur,\")\nrudely figuring the material composed of the skins of small animals sewn\ntogether, alternately head to tail; the other, ermine, peculiarly\nhonourable, from the costliness, to southern nations, of the fur it\nrepresents.\n\n\n226. The name of the principal heraldic colour has a similar origin: the\n\"rams' skins dyed red\" which were used for the curtains of the Jewish\ntabernacle, were always one of the principal articles of commerce\nbetween the east and west: in medi\u00e6val Latin they were called \"gulae,\"\nand in the French plural \"gules,\" so that to be dressed in \"gules\" came\ngradually to mean being dressed in the particular red of those skins,\nwhich was a full soft scarlet, not dazzling, but warm and glowing. It is\nused, in opposition to darker purple, in large masses in the fresco\npainting of later Rome;--is the dominant colour of ornamental writing in\nthe middle ages (giving us the ecclesiastical term \"rubric\"), and\nasserts itself finally, and most nobly, in the fresco paintings of\nGhirlandajo and Luini. I have tried to represent very closely the tint\nof it Luini has given to St. Catherine's mantle, in my study in your\nschools. Titian keeps it also as the keynote of his frescoes; so also\nTintoret; but Raphael, Correggio, and Michael Angelo, all substituted\norange for it in opposition to purple; and the entire scheme of colour\nin the Vatican frescoes is of orange and purple, broken by green and\nwhite, on a ground of grey. This orange and purple opposition in meaner\nhands became gaudy and feeble, and the system of medi\u00e6val colour was at\nlast totally destroyed by it; the orange remaining to this day the\nfavourite, and most distinctive, hue in bad glass painting.\n\n\n227. The forms of dress, however, derived from the skins of animals are\nof much more importance than the colours. Of these the principal is the\ncrest, which is properly the mane of lion or horse. The skin of the\nhorse was neither tough, nor of convenient size for wearing; but the\nclassical Greek helmet is only an adaptation of the outline of its head,\nwith the mane floating behind: many Etruscan helmets have ears also,\nwhile in medi\u00e6val armour, light plates, cut into the shape of wings of\nbirds, are often placed on each side of the crest, which then becomes\nnot the mane of the animal merely, but the image of the entire creature\nwhich the warrior desires to be renowned for having slain.\n\n\n228. The Heraldic meaning of the crest is accordingly, first, that the\nKnight asserts himself to have prevailed over the animal it represents;\nand to be stronger than such a creature would be, therefore, against his\nhuman enemies. Hence, gradually, he considers himself invested with the\npower and character of the slain creature itself; and, as it were, to\nhave taken from it, for his spoil, not its skin only but its strength.\nThe crest, therefore, is the heraldic indication of personality, and is\nproperly to be distinguished from the bearing on the shield, because\nthat indicated race; but the crest, personal character and valour.\n\n\n229. I have traced the practical truth which is the foundation of this\nidea of the transmitted strength of the slain creature becoming the\ninheritance of its victor, in the account given of the coins of\nCamarina, in \"The Queen of the Air.\" But it is strange and sad to\nreflect how much misery has resulted, in the history of man, from the\nimaginative excuse for cruelty afforded by the adopted character of\nsavage animals; and how many wolves, bears, lions, and eagles, have been\nnational symbols, instead of gentler creatures. Even the heraldic symbol\nof Christ is in Italy oftener the lion than the lamb: and among the\ninnumerable painters of his Desert Prophet, only Filippo Lippi\nunderstood the full meaning of the raiment of camel's hair, and made him\nwear the camel's skin, as Heracles the Lion's.\n\n\n230. Although the crest is thus essentially an expression of personal\ncharacter, it practically becomes hereditary; and the sign on shield and\nhelmet is commonly the same. But the shield has a system of bearings\npeculiar to itself, to which I wish especially to direct your attention\nto-day.\n\nOur word 'shield' and the German 'schild' mean 'the covering thing,'\nthat behind which you are sheltered, but you must be careful to\ndistinguish it from the word shell, which means properly a scale or\nplate, developed like a fish's scale, for the protection of the body.\n\nThere are properly only two kinds of shields, one round and the other\nsquare, passing into oval and oblong; the round one being for use in\nfree action, the square one for adjustment to ground or walls; but, on\nhorseback, the lower part of the shield must be tapered off, in order to\nfall conveniently on the left side of the horse.\n\nAnd, therefore, practically you have two great forms of shield; the\nGreek round one, for fighting on foot, or in the chariot, and the Gothic\npointed one, for fighting on horseback. The oblong one for motionless\ndefence is, however, almost always given to the mythic figure of\nFortitude, and the bearings of the Greek and Gothic shields are always\ndesigned with reference to the supposed figures of the circle and\nsquare.\n\nThe Greek word for the round shield is aspis.' I have no doubt, merely\na modification, of 'apsis,' the potter's wheel; the proper word for the\nGothic shield is 'ecu,' from the Latin 'scutum,' meaning a shield\ncovered with leather. From 'ecu' you have 'ecuyer;'--from scutum\n'scutiger,' both passing into our English 'squire.'\n\n\n231. The aspis of the Greeks might be much heavier than the Gothic\nshield, because a Greek never rode fully armed; his object was to allow\nboth to his horse and to himself the most perfect command of limb\ncompatible with protection; if, therefore, he was in full armour, and\nwanted his horse to carry him, he put a board upon wheels, and stood on\nthat, harnessing sometimes to it four horses of the highest breed\nabreast. Of all hitherto practised exertions of manual dexterity, the\ndriving thus at full speed over rough ground, standing in the chariot,\nis, as far as I know, the greatest ever attained by general military\ndiscipline.\n\nIt is true that to do anything perfectly well is about equally\ndifficult; and I suppose that in a chariot race, a tournament, or a\nmodern game at cricket, the manual art of the most highly-trained men\nwould be almost equally fine; still, practically, in Gothic chivalry,\nthe knight trusted more to his weight and less to his skill than a\nGreek did; nor could a horse's pace under armour ever render precision\nof aim so difficult as at unarmed speed.\n\n\n232. Another great difference of a parallel kind exists in the knight's\nbody armour. A Greek never hopes to turn a lance by his cuirass, nor to\nbe invulnerable except by enchantment, in his body-armour, because he\nwill not have it cumbrous enough to impede his movements; but he makes\nhis shield, if possible, strong enough to stop a lance, and carries it\nas he would a piece of wall: a Gothic knight, on the contrary,\nendeavoured to make his coat armour invulnerable, and carried the shield\nmerely to ward thrusts on the left side, never large enough to encumber\nthe arm that held the reins. All fine design in Gothic heraldry is\nfounded, therefore, on the form of a short, but pointed shield, convex\nenough to throw the point of a spear aside easily; a form roughly\nextending from the beginning of the twelfth to the middle of the\nfifteenth century, but of which the most beautiful types are towards the\nend of the thirteenth.\n\n\n233. The difference in method of device between the Gothic and classic\nshields resulted partly from this essential difference in form. The\npointed shield, having definitely two sides, like a pointed arch, and a\ndetermined position, naturally suggested an arrangement of bearings\ndefinitely on one side or the other, or above, or below the centre,\nwhile the Greek shield had its boss, or its main bearing, in the centre\nalways, with subordinate decoration round. Farther, the Gothic fineness\nof colour-instinct seized at once on this division of parts as an\nopportunity for inlaying or counterchanging colours; and finally, the\nrespect for race, carried out by registry of the remotest branches of\nnoble families, compelled the Gothic heralds of later times to use these\nmethods of dividing or quartering in continually redoubled complexity.\n\n\n234. Essentially, therefore, as distinguished from the classic shield,\nthe Gothic one is particoloured beneath its definite bearings, or\nrather, bi-coloured; for the tinctures are never more than two in the\nmain design of them; and the specific methods of arrangement of these\ntwo masses of colour have deeper and more ancient heraldic significance\nthan, with few exceptions, their superimposed bearings. I have arranged\nthe twelve principal ones[L] in the 7th of your rudimentary exercises,\nand they will be entirely fixed in your minds by once drawing it.\n\n  [L] Charges which \"doe peculiarly belong to this art, and are of\n      ordinary use therein, in regard whereof they are called\n      'ordinaries.'\"--See GUILLIM, sect. ii. chap. iii. (Ed. 1638.)\n\n      \"They have also the title of honourable ordinaries in that the\n      court armour is much honoured thereby.\" The French call them\n      \"pi\u00e8ces honorables.\"\n\n\n235. Observe respecting them.\n\n1. The Chiefe; a bar of colour across the upper part of the shield,\nsignifies authority or chief-dom, as the source of all order, power, and\npeace.\n\n2. The cross, as an ordinary, distinguished from the cross as a bearing,\nconsists simply of two bars dividing the shield into four quarters; and,\nI believe, that it does not in this form stand properly as a symbol of\nChristian faith, but only as one of Christian patience and fortitude.\nThe cross as a symbol of faith is terminated within the field.\n\n3. The Fesse, a horizontal bar across the middle of the shield,\nrepresents the knight's girdle, or anything that binds and secures, or\ncontinues. The word is a corruption of fascia. Sir Francis Drake\nreceived for arms from Queen Elizabeth a Fesse waved between two\npole-stars, where it stands for the waved surface of the sea, and\npartly, also, to signify that Sir Francis put a girdle round the earth;\nand the family of Drummond carries three diminutive Fesses, or bars,\nwaved, because their ancestor brought Queen Margaret safe through many\nstorms.\n\n4. The Bend, an oblique bar descending from right to left of the holder\nof the shield, represents the sword belt. The Latin balteus and balteum\nare, I believe, the origin of the word. They become bendellus and\nbendellum; then bandeau and bande. Benda is the word used for the riband\nround the neck of St. Etheldreda, in the account of her death quoted by\nDu Cange. I believe, also, the fesse stands often for the cross-bar of\nthe castle gate, and the bend for its very useful diagonal bar: this is\nonly a conjecture, but I believe as likely to be true as the idea,\ncertainly admitted in heraldry, that the bend sometimes stands for a\nscaling ladder: so also the next four most important ordinaries have all\nan architectural significance.\n\n5. The Pale, an upright bar dividing the shield in half, is simply an\nupright piece of timber in a palisade. It signifies either defence or\nenclosure.\n\n6. The Pile, a wedge-shaped space of colour with the point downwards,\nrepresents what we still call a pile; a piece of timber driven into\nmoist ground to secure the foundation of any building.\n\n7. The Canton, a square space of colour in either of the upper corners\nof the shield, signifies the corner-stone of a building. The origin and\nvarious use of this word are very interesting. The Greek \u03ba\u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03ccs, used\nby Aristotle for the corner of the eyes, becomes canto,\nand then cantonus. The French coin (corner), is usually derived from the\nLatin cuneus; but I have no doubt it is one corruption of canton: the\nmedi\u00e6val-Latin cantonus is either an angle or recess, or a four-square\ncorner-stone. The heraldic canton is the corner-stone of a building, and\nthe French cantonnier is a road-mender, because the essential thing in\nrepairing a road is to get its corner or edge firm.\n\n8. The Chevron, a band bent at an angle (properly a right angle), with\nits point upwards, represents the gable or roof of a house. Thus the\nfour last-named ordinaries represent the four essentials of a fixed\nhabitation: the pale, its enclosure within a given space of ground; the\npile, its foundation; the canton, its wall, and the chevron its roof.\n\n9. The Orle, a narrow band following the outline of the shield midway\nbetween its edge and centre, is a more definite expression of enclosure\nor fortification by moat or rampart. The relations of this word, no less\nthan that of the canton, are singular, and worth remembering. Du Cange\nquotes under it an order of the municipality of Piacenza, that always,\nin the custom-house where the salt-tax was taken, \"a great orled disk\"\nshould be kept; \"dischus magnus orlatus,\" _i.e._, a large plate, with a\nrim, in which every day fresh salt should be placed. Then note that the\nword disk is used in the Middle Ages, either for a plate, or a table,\n(the \"holy disk\" is the patina of the sacrament), but most generally for\na table, whence you get the old German disch; our dish, the French\ndisner, diner; and our dinner. The disk cut out into a ring becomes a\nquoit, which is the simplest form of orle. The word 'orle' itself comes,\nI believe, from ora, in old Latin, which took a diminutive, orula; or\nperhaps the 'l' was put in merely to distinguish, to the ear, a\nmargined thing, 'orlatus,' from a gilded thing, 'auratus.' It stands for\nthe hem of a robe, or the fillet of a crown, as well as for any margin;\nand it is given as an ordinary to such as have afforded protection and\ndefence, because it defends what is within it. Reduced to a narrow band,\nit becomes a 'Tressure.' If you have a sovereign of 1860 to 1870 in your\npocket, and look at the right hand upper corner of the Queen's arms, you\nwill see the Scottish Lion within the tressure decorated with\nfleur-de-lys, which Scotland bears in memory of her treaty with\nCharlemagne.\n\n10. The Gyron, a triangular space of colour with its point in the centre\nof the shield, derives its name from the old Latin gyro, a fold, \"pars\nvestis qu\u00e2 laxior fit, et in superiori parte contracta, in largiorem\nformam in imo se explicat.\" The heraldic 'gyron,' however, also has a\ncollateral reference to, and root in, the word 'gremium,' bosom or lap;\nand it signifies properly the chief fold or fall of the dress either\nover the bosom, or between the knees; and has whatever symbolic\nexpression may be attributed to that fold, as a sign of kindness or\nprotection. The influence of the lines taken by softly falling drapery\nin giving gentleness to the action of figures was always felt by the\nGothic artists as one of the chief elements of design; and the two\nconstantly repeated figures of Christ holding souls in the 'gremium' of\nHis robe, and of the Madonna casting hers over suppliants, gave an\ninevitably recognised association to them.\n\n11. The Flasque, a space of colour terminated by a curved line on each\nflank of the shield, derives its name from the Latin flecto, and is the\nbearing of honour given for successful embassy. It must be counted among\nthe ordinaries, but is of rare occurrence in what groups of authentic\nbearings I have examined.\n\n12. The Saltire, from salir, represents the securest form of machine for\nmounting walls; it has partly the same significance as the ladder of the\nScaligers, but, being properly an ordinary, and not a bearing, has the\nwider general meaning of successful ascent, not that of mere local\nattack. As a bearing, it is the St. Andrew's Cross.\n\n\n236. These twelve forms of ordinary then, or first colour divisions of\nthe shield, represent symbolically the establishment, defence, and\nexaltation of the Knight's house by his Christian courage; and are in\nthis symbolism, different from all other military bearings. They are\nthroughout essentially founded on the \"quartering\" or division of the\nfield into four spaces by the sign of the Cross: and the history of the\nchivalry of Europe is absolutely that of the connection of domestic\nhonour with Christian faith, and of the exaltation of these two\nsentiments into the highest enthusiasm by cultivated imagination.\n\nThe means of this culture by the finer arts; the errors, or falls, of\nthe enthusiasm so excited; its extinction by avarice, pride, and lust,\nin the period of the (so called) Renaissance, and the possibility of a\ntrue Renaissance, or Restoration, of courage and pure hope to Christian\nmen in their homes and industries, must form the general subject of the\nstudy into which I have henceforth to lead you. In a future course of\nlectures it will be my endeavour to show you, in the elementary forms of\nChristian architecture, the evidence of such mental development and\ndecline in Europe from the tenth to the seventeenth century; but\nremember that my power or any one else's, to show you truths of this\nkind, must depend entirely on the degree of sympathy you have in\nyourselves with what is decorous and generous. I use both these words\nadvisedly, and distinctively, for every high quality of art consists\neither in some expression of what is decent,--becoming,--or disciplined\nin character, or of what is bright and generous in the forces of human\nlife.\n\nI need not say that I fear no want of such sympathy in you; yet the\ncircumstances in which you are placed are in many respects adverse to\nit.\n\n\n237. I find, on returning to the University after a period of thirty\nyears, the scope of its teaching greatly extended, the zeal of its\nmasters certainly undiminished; and, as far as I can judge, the feeling\nof the younger members of the University better, and their readiness to\ncomply with all sound advice, greater, than in my time. What scandals\nthere have been among us, I think have been in great part accidental,\nand consequent chiefly on the intense need for excitement of some\ntrivial kind, which is provoked by our restless and competitive work. In\ntemper, in general amenability to right guidance, and in their sense of\nthe advantages open to them, more may now be hoped than ever yet from\nthe students of Oxford--one thing only I find wanting to them\naltogether--distinctness of aim.\n\n\n238. In their new schools of science they learn the power of machinery\nand of physical elements, but not that of the soul; I am afraid, in our\nnew schools of liberal religion they learn rather to doubt their own\nfaiths than to look with patience or respect on those of others; and in\nour new schools of policy, to efface the canons of the past, without\nhaving formed any distinct conception of those which must regulate the\ninstitutions of the future.\n\n\n239. It is therefore a matter of very deep rejoicing to me that, in\nbringing before your examination the best forms of English art, I am\nnecessarily leading you to take interest in the history of your country\nat the time when, so to speak, it became England. You see how, in every\ncollege which is now extending or renewing its buildings, the adopted\nstyle is approximately that of the thirteenth century;--it being felt,\nand rightly felt, by a continually-extending instinct, that only then\nthe national mind had unimpaired power of ideal conception. Whatever\nelse we may have advanced in, there is no dispute that, in the great\narts, we have steadily, since that thirteenth century, declined: and I\nhave, therefore, since accepting this professorship, partly again taken\nup my abandoned idea of writing the story of that century, at least in\nEngland; of writing it, or, at all events, collecting it, with the help\nof my pupils, if they care to help me. By myself, I can do nothing; yet\nI should not ask them to help me if I were not certain that at this\ncrisis of our national existence the fixing the minds of young and old\nupon the customs and conception of chivalry is the best of all moral\neducation. One thing I solemnly desire to see all children\ntaught--obedience; and one to all persons entering into life--the power\nof unselfish admiration.\n\n\n240. The incident which I have related in my fourth lecture on\nsculpture, seen by me last year on the bridge of Wallingford, is a\nsufficient example of the courtesies in which we are now bringing up our\npeasant children. Do you think that any science or art we can teach them\nwill make them happy under such conditions? Nay, in what courtesy or in\nwhat affection are we even now carefully training ourselves;--above all,\nin what form of duty or reverence to those to whom we owe all our power\nof understanding even what duty or reverence means? I warned you in my\nformer lecture against the base curiosity of seeking for the origin of\nlife in the dust; in earth instead of heaven: how much more must I warn\nyou against forgetting the true origin of the life that is in your own\nsouls, of that good which you have heard with your ears, and your\nfathers have told you. You buy the picture of the Virgin as furniture\nfor your rooms; but you despise the religion, and you reject the memory,\nof those who have taught you to love the aspect of whatsoever things and\ncreatures are good and pure: and too many of you, entering into life,\nare ready to think, to feel, to act, as the men bid you who are\nincapable of worship, as they are of creation;--whose power is only in\ndestruction: whose gladness only in disdain; whose glorying is in their\nshame. You know well, I should think, by this time, that I am not one to\nseek to conceal from you any truth of nature, or superstitiously\ndecorate for you any form of faith; but I trust deeply--(and I will\nstrive, for my poor part, wholly, so to help you in steadfastness of\nheart)--that you, the children of the Christian chivalry which was led\nin England by the Lion-Heart, and in France by Roland, and in Spain by\nthe Cid, may not stoop to become as these, whose thoughts are but to\ninvent new foulness with which to blaspheme the story of Christ, and to\ndestroy the noble works and laws that have been founded in His name.\n\nWill you not rather go round about this England and tell the towers\nthereof, and mark well her bulwarks, and consider her palaces, that you\nmay tell it to the generation following? Will you not rather honour with\nall your strength, with all your obedience, with all your holy love and\nnever-ending worship, the princely sires, and pure maids, and nursing\nmothers, who have bequeathed and blest your life?--that so, for you\nalso, and for your children, the days of strength, and the light of\nmemory, may be long in this lovely land which the Lord your God has\ngiven you.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n[_The references are not to the page, but to the numbered paragraphs,\ncommon to all the editions of this work_].\n\n  Abbeville, house at, 91.\n\n  Academy, London, and village architecture, 93.\n      \"    Royal, 6.\n\n  Achilles, 168.\n\n  Acland, Dr., 159.\n     \"         his dog \"Bustle,\" 151.\n\n  Actions and aims, 214.\n\n  Advance and contentment in knowledge, 81.\n\n  \u00c6schylus, Prom. Vinct., 1022, quoted, 157.\n\n  \u00c6stheticism, modern, and sombre colours, 114.\n\n  \u00c6thuia, the bird, 192.\n\n  Affectation, artistic, 201.\n\n  Age, feeling of increasing, 104.\n    \"  the present, its dulness and excitement, 65.\n    \"         \"     its vanity in art and science, 33.\n\n  \u1f08\u03b3\u03bd\u03bf\u03af\u03b1, 8.\n\n  \u0391\u1f30\u03b4\u1f7c\u03c2 in art, 71.\n\n  Aims and actions, 214.\n\n  Alabama, the, 24.\n\n  Alcyone, 190.\n\n  Alsace, inscription on peasant's house in, 86.\n    \"     peasants of, their delight and art, _ib._\n\n  Altorf, 199.\n\n  Amboise, chapel of, 92.\n\n  America and England, relations of, 79.\n\n  Amusement, modern forms of, 71, 72.\n\n  Anacreon and his dog, (Greek vase), 151.\n\n  Anatomy, a degradation in painting man, 150.\n      \"    a hindrance  \"  \"  animals, _ib._\n      \"    comparative mental, 151.\n      \"    destroys art, _pref._ vii.\n      \"    its effect on the artist's mind and power, 158.\n      \"    its place in relation to art, 149, _seq._\n      \"    most fatal to the greatest minds, 159.\n      \"    Sir J. Reynolds, and, 154.\n      \"    statement as to, in _Stones of Venice_, withdrawn, 159.\n\n  Anaxagoras, 23.\n\n  Angelico's jewel painting, 218.\n\n  Angels, modern feeling about, 62.\n    \"     their interest in human work, 53.\n   ----   (the coins), 117.\n\n  Ancestral honour, power of, 171.\n\n  Animalism, humanity, divinity, 30.\n\n  Animal history, modern books of, fail and why, 158. See s. _Nat.\n      Hist._\n\n  Animals, artist's right view of their nature, 150.\n      \"    each knows its own good, 23.\n      \"    desire to kill, in inverse ratio to power to see and love,\n               175.\n      \"    man's relation to, 30.\n      \"    use of, as types in art, 151.\n      \"    wearing of their skins, begins heraldry, 223.\n\n  \u1f08\u03bd\u03bf\u03af\u03b1, 8.\n\n  Apathy, modern, 72, 73.\n\n  \u1f08\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7, in men, nations, and art, 69-71, 74.\n\n  Apollo, 105.\n    \"     temple of, 119.\n    \"     the Python and, 117.\n\n  Apollodorus, quoted on the Halcyon, 190.\n\n  Apsis and Aspis, 230.\n\n  Arabs, 203.\n\n  Architects, Institute of British, 6, 93.\n\n  Architecture, decline of English, 239.\n        \"       evidence of mental development in, 236.\n        \"       short reign of perfect, 82.\n        \"       woodcarving and, 86.\n        See s. _Abbeville_, _Academy_, _Alsace_, _Amboise_, _Apsis_,\n        _Bergamo_, _Ch\u00e2let_, _Cottages_, _Hotels_, _Rouen_, _York_.\n\n  Aristotle, \"common sense\" in, 25.\n     \"       division of faculties, 8.\n     \"       \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa and prudence in, 26.\n\n     _Quoted_:--\n             Ethics vi. 7. 12. on wisdom and prudence, 19, 23.\n             Hist. Av. i. 9. 2. on \u03ba\u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03ccs 235.\n                \"      v. 8. 9. on the Halcyon, 192.\n\n  Armorial bearings, meaning of, 228.\n\n  Art--\n    aim of what it should be, 3, 76.\n    anatomy, fatal to, _pref._ vii.\n    characteristics of:--\n       eagle eyes, 36.\n       love of nature, 41.\n       modesty, Lect. iv., 74.\n          \"     of wise appreciation, 172.\n       originality, to what extent, 32, 33.\n       refinement and rudeness, 90-91.\n       sight before knowledge, 125-26.\n       simplicity before skill, 40.\n       temperance, 90.\n       unconsciousness, 53-54.\n       unity of feeling, 93.\n       unselfishness as essential to wisdom, 76, 172.\n       wisdom and folly in Lect. i.\n    definition of great:--\n       it begins rightly, ends beautifully, 146.\n       it needs no addition, bears no taking away, 147.\n                                  See below s. _Meaning._\n    difference between good and bad, 71.\n    education in:--\n       generally, 94.\n       the teacher need not talk much, 2.\n    ethics and, 18.\n       the science of right conduct essential to it, 161.\n    imitative, Shakespeare quoted on, 39.\n    influenced by:--\n       local surroundings, 91.\n       love of death, esp., modern, 69.\n    meaning of, 38.\n    national art, proper subjects of, 95.\n      \" ignorance of art, 16.\n    nature and:--\n          art less beautiful than reality, 172.\n          general knowledge of organic nature essential to art, 149.\n    science and:--\n          art above science, but must comply with it, 145.\n          \" does not teach science, 160.\n          \" the handmaid and shadow of science, 47, 68, 76, 172.\n          highest sciences need art most, 45, 96.\n          simplest art the most useful to, 127.\n          subjects of art and, the same, 43.\n          the masters of art, beyond all science, 136.\n          wise art and wise, Lect. iii. See s. _Nature_, _Use_,\n              _Science_.\n    self-sufficiency of. See above s. _Characteristics._\n    subject of, appearances rather than facts, 149.\n    theology of, only recently recognised, 46.\n    truth complete given by art _and_ science, 58. See s. _Artist._\n    use and value of,\n          as a means of record, 38-9,\n          as expressing nature, 41.\n          practical, 206.\n          to history and physiology, 38-39, 47, 207 seq.\n          to religion, 46. [See above s. _Science._\n    See s. _\u00c6stheticism_, _Affectation_, _Anatomy_, _Animals_,\n       _Architecture_, _Author_, _Beauty_, _Chromo-lithotint_,\n       _Cleanliness_, _Colour_, _Competition_, _Death_, _Decency_,\n       _Drawing_, _Dress_, _Folly_, _French_, _Gothic_, _History_,\n       _Indolence_, _Invention_, \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03af\u03b1, _Knowledge_, _Lindsay_,\n       _Madonna_, _Nature_, _Nude_, _Photography_, _Royal Academy_,\n       _Science_.\n\n  Artemisium, 199.\n\n  Artist--\n      modesty of, 31.\n      modesty about, enjoyment in, and feeling as to their own work, 52.\n      science needed by an, 124-25, 133.\n      he must know as well as see, 123.\n      subjects of, not invisible structures, though often invisible\n          things, 172-3.\n      See s. _Angelico_, _Barry_, _Bellini_, _Botticelli_, _Copley\n          Fielding_, _Correggio_, _D\u00fcrer_, _Ghirlandajo_, _Giotto_,\n          _Holbein_, _Hunt (A.)_, _Hunt (Holman)_, _Leonardo_, _Lippi_,\n          _Luini_, _Mantegna_, _M. Angelo_, _Mulready_, _Raphael_,\n          _Reynolds_, _Robson_, _Titian_, _Tintoret_, _Turner_,\n          _Van Eyck_.\n\n  Artistic affectation in England, 201.\n\n  Aspis and apsis, 230.\n\n  Associations, local, to be cherished, 94.\n\n  Astronomy--\n    how far valuable discovery yet possible in, 66.\n    two young ladies studying, 26. See s. _Stars._\n    \u1f00\u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u03af\u03b1, 8.\n\n  Atheism, modern, 202.\n    \"         \"  tries to dispense with the sun, 104.\n\n  Athena, power of, 196, and _n._\n    \"     protects Ulysses, 75.\n    \"     typical of what, 224.\n\n  Atlantic, Ulysses in the, 75.\n\n  \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1\u03c7\u03b5\u03af\u03b1, 80.\n\n  Author: (1) _Generally_, (2) _Teaching_, (3) _Books, &c._\n\n    1. _Generally_:--\n      drawings by, his own pleasure in them, 84.\n          \"        leaf-outlines, 217.\n      early boyhood, its tendencies, 41.\n      feeling of increasing age, 104.\n      life of, progressive from his childish pleasures, 83.\n      love of art, its foundation and growth, 41.\n        \"    \"     and of nature combined, 42.\n      story of a serpent and, 101.\n      study of Tuscan art begun (1846), 46.\n      success and failure, effect on, 31.\n      various movements of:--\n          at Crystal Palace, 93.\n            D\u00fcsseldorf, 88.\n            Hincksey, Oxford, 217.\n            Iffley Church, 118.\n            London, watching traffic, 59.\n            Lucerne, rowing. 215.\n            Verona (1870), 125.\n            Wallingford, 240.\n            Westminster (watching clouds), 130.\n              See s. _Acland_, _Frou-frou_, _Helps_, _Mineralogy_,\n                  _Sight_, _Water-Colour Exhibition_.\n    2. _Teaching of:_--\n      cannot follow modern science, 134.\n      despairs of return to simplicity, 94.\n      feeling for Norman art, 92.\n      his abuse of modernism, 34.\n       \"  reverence for mythology, 95.\n      on Luini, his position shown (1860), 46.\n           \"    study of the S. Catherine, 226.\n      on Turner, his defence of him, 128.\n      result of his teaching on his early disciples, 42.\n      Ritualism, not deceived by, 73.\n      teaches only what he knows, 123.\n      work at Oxford,\n        thought spent in preparing his lectures, _pref._, 2, 217.\n        assistants, 31.\n        audiences, 1.\n        plan for lectures, 236.\n\n    3. _Books, Lectures, &c.:_--\n      constant appeals to physical science in, 128.\n      fine writing in, 3\n      paradoxes in, 89.\n        _Quoted or referred to:_--\n            Aratra Pantalici, (12), 62.\n              \"        \"      (88-9), 240.\n              \"        \"      (142), 39.\n            Ariadne Florentina, (141) _pref._ viii.\n            Arrows of the Chace (ii. 178), 212.\n          Eagle's Nest--pains of writing, _pref._ vii.\n               \"        teaching of, needed, 172.\n          Fors Clavigera (Letter v., p. 4), 88.\n          Giotto and his Works in Padua (p. 25), 204.\n          Lecturer on Art (60), 18.\n              \"       \"   (66), 18.\n              \"       Landscape (1871), 62.\n              Munera Pulveris (106), 212.\n              Modern painters, incomplete, 129.\n                \"        \"     tone of Vol. I., 42.\n              Queen of the Air (135), 52.\n                \"        \"     (162 _seq._), 229.\n              Sesame and Lilies (97), 3.\n              Stones of Venice (iii. 2, 23 _seq._), 159.\n\n  Authority, heraldic sign of, 235, 1.\n\n  Autolycus and Philammon, myths of, 189.\n\n  Bacon, quoted on venomous knowledge, 20.\n                _New Atlantis_, ref. to, 120.\n\n  Bardi, the, 209.\n\n  Barry, classical paintings of, 63.\n\n  Beauty, Greek love of, 167.\n\n  Bee, wisdom of the, 193-196.\n\n  Behaviour, knowledge of right, essential to art, 161.\n\n  Belfry, 93.\n\n  Bellini, jewel painting of, 218.\n\n  Bend, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Benvenue, 199.\n\n  Bergamo, Duomo of, 86.\n\n  Berne, gas works at, 102.\n    \"    carving at, 88.\n\n  Beverley, lesser egret last seen in England at, 174.\n\n  Bible, statements of mental condition in the, 69.\n     Quoted or referred to:--\n       Gen. i. 3.        Let there be light, 99.\n        \"  ii. 19.       Brought to Adam to see what he would call\n                              them, 150.\n        \" iii. 21.       Unto Adam also and his wife ... coats of\n                              skin, 223.\n       Exod. xx. 12.     Long in the land the Lord ... giveth thee,\n                              240.\n        \"  xxv. 5.       Rams' skins dyed red, 226.\n       Deut. xxxii. 11.  An eagle ... fluttereth over her young, 63.\n       Judges v. 30.     Divers colours of needlework, 225.\n       Job xix. 26.      _After_ my flesh shall I see God, 121.\n       Ps. xiv. 1.       The fool hath said in his heart, 104.\n       \" xxvii. 1.       The Lord is my light ... whom shall I fear,\n                              104-120.\n       Ps. xlviii. 13.   Mark well her bulwarks, consider her\n                              palaces, 240.\n        \" xcvii. 2.      Clouds and darkness are round about him, 7.\n        \" ciii. 1-5.     Bless the Lord ... youth renewed like the\n                              eagle's, 63-4.\n        \" cxxxvi. 8.     The sun to rule the day, 100.\n       Prov. iii. 15.    She is more precious than rubies, 19.\n         \"   iv.  13.    Take fast hold on instruction, 19.\n         \"   viii. 30-31.  I was daily His delight ... rejoicing ...\n                              with the sons of men, 19, 64.\n       Eccl. i. 18.      He that increaseth knowledge increaseth\n                              sorrow, 80.\n       Malachi iv. 2.    Sun of _justice_ ... with healing in his\n                              wings, 115.\n       Matt. v. 8.       Blessed the pure in heart ... shall see God,\n                                   121, 176.\n        \"    vi. 22-23. The light of the body is the eye, 106, 108, 110.\n        \"  viii. 20.    Son of Man hath not where to lay his head, 205.\n        \"  x. 16.       Wise as serpents, 103-105.\n        \"  xi. 7.       A reed shaken with the wind, 203.\n        \"  xii. 31-32.  Blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, 169.\n        \"  xv. 14.      Blind ... fall into the ditch, 106.\n        \"  xxiv. 28.    Where the carcase is, etc., 36.\n       Mark v. 3.       Dwelling among the tombs, 69.\n        \"  v. 15.       Clothed and in his right mind, 69.\n        \"  x. 15.       Receive the Kingdom as a little child, 81.\n       John i. 9.       Light that lighteth every man, 115, 116, 120.\n       1 Cor. viii. 1.  Knowledge puffeth up, 29.\n         \"    xiii. 5.  Charity ... thinketh no evil, 152.\n         \"     \"    6.  Rejoiceth not in iniquity, 210.\n         \"     \"   11.  Put away childish things, 81.\n       2 Cor. iii.  6.  The letter Killeth, 4.\n         \"    v.    1.  Houses not built by hands, 205.\n       1 Peter i.  12.  Things the angels desire to look into, 54.\n\n  Birds, builders and singers, 48.\n    \"    classifications of (raptores, rasores, &c.), 187-9.\n    \"    English temper towards, illustrated 174-5.\n    \"    praising God, 61.\n    \"    rare, becoming extinct, 34.\n    \"    shooting them, the first idea of English gentlemen, 178.\n    See s. _\u00c6thuia_, _Bullfinch_, _Clematis_, _Cuvier_, _Egret_,\n    _Gould_, _Gull_, _Halcyon_, _Hawk_, _Heron_, _Kingfisher_,\n    _Laros_, _Nest_, _Nightingale_, _Ornithology_, _Peacock_,\n    _Pheasant_, _Skylark_.\n\n  Blake, Wm., as painter and as poet, 21.\n    \"       quoted, \"The Book of Thel,\" \"Doth the eagle know,\" &c., 21,\n              22, 63.\n\n  Blindness of mind and body, 106.\n\n  Boat race, 212.\n\n  Boats, loved by all boys, 41.\n\n  Books, children's, 61.\n\n  Botanic gardens at Oxford, 160.\n\n  Botticelli, as an engraver, _pref._ vii.\n\n       \"      his study of face and limb, _pref._ viii.\n\n  Bottle, science of the formation of a, 135.\n\n  Brutes, man's relation to the, 30. See s. _Animals_.\n\n  Briareus, 183.\n\n  British Museum, Greek Vase, \"Anacreon and his dog\" at, 151.\n\n  Bruges, 93.\n\n  Bubble, soap, unexplained, 132, 134.\n\n  Bullfinch's nest, 48.\n\n  Bustle, Dr. Acland's dog, author's delight in, 151, 154.\n\n\n  California, 70.\n\n  Camarina, 229.\n\n  Cambridge wranglers, value of art to, 96.\n\n  Canton, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Carlyle, T., \"Shooting Niagara,\" 70.\n\n  Carrion and game, choice of, 11, 36.\n\n  Cassell's _Educator_, 202.\n\n  Cassiopeia, 124.\n\n  Cat, its power and use of sight, 110.\n   \"   \"may look at a king,\" _ib._\n\n  Ceyx, son of the Morning Star, 198.\n\n  Ch\u00e6rephon, in Lucian's dialogue on the Halcyon, 194.\n\n  Ch\u00e2let, education needed to build a Swiss, 202.\n\n  Chamouni, Turner's drawing of, 147.\n\n  Chance, and design in nature, 182, seq.\n\n  Change, and living change, how wrought, 208-9.\n\n  Chapel, attendance at, in Oxford, 169.\n\n  Character, evidenced by dress, 220.\n\n  Chariot, use of Greek, 231.\n\n  Charity, true, more reverent than pitiful, 211.\n\n  Charlemagne's treaty with Scotland, 235.\n\n  Chartism, story of a Chartist herald (Sir A. Helps, quoted), 208.\n\n  Charybdis, 75.\n\n  Chaucer, quoted, \"Cuckoo and Nightingale,\" 37 (motto), 56.\n\n  Chemistry, a modern God, 202.\n      \"      modern progress in, 33.\n      \"      of little use to art, 96.\n\n  Cherwell, the, 179.\n\n  Chevron, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Chiefe, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Child and dog, pictures by Titian and Reynolds, 151.\n\n  Childhood, pleasures and retrospect of, 82.\n\n  Children's books, 61.\n\n  Chivalry, Christian and Greek, 219.\n    \"         \"     history of, to be learnt by gentlemen, 216.\n    \"     conception of, as an influence in education, 239.\n    \"     European, its basis, 236.\n    \"     leaders of, 240.\n\n  Christ, heraldic symbol of, in Italy, 229.\n\n  Christian chivalry. See s. _Chivalry_.\n\n  Christianity, early traces of in heathen literature (Lucian), 194.\n      \"         idea of God as Light, 116.\n      \"         its statements of mental health, 69.\n\n  Chromo-lithotints, style of, 69-71.\n\n  Church of England, 73.\n\n  Cid, The, 240.\n\n  Civilization, false, 94.\n\n  Civil Service, the, and Orissa, 35.\n\n  Classification, scientific, 186-7.\n\n  Cleanliness and art, 95.\n\n  Clematis, a bird's nest of, 48.\n\n  Clouds, 129-30.\n    \"    effect of storm-clouds on scientist, artist, and scholar, 7.\n    \"    forms of, unexplained by science, 131.\n\n  Coins, English \"angels,\" 117.\n    \"    engravings of, 157. See s. _Angels_, _Sovereign_.\n\n  Colonization, Englishmen likely to be colonists, 94.\n\n  Colour, connection of with health, 113.\n    \"     design in, on Gothic shields, 233.\n    \"     gloomy, in art, 69.\n    \"     in dress, originates in the skins of animals, 226-7.\n    \"     love of light, 113, 116, 117.\n    \"     perception of, a spiritual and moral power, 122.\n    \"     pure, delight in, 113, 115.\n    \"     school of shade and of crystalline colour, 114.\n    \"     temperance of, 71.\n\n  Common-sense in the English, 24, 25. See s. _Aristotle_.\n\n  Competition in art, 88.\n      \"       in education, 177, 212.\n\n  Conceit of science, 22.\n\n  Conceptions, range of dignity of, and literature, 7-8.\n      \"        reason and, 11.\n\n  Consideration for others demands imagination, 27.\n\n  Contentment and advance in knowledge, 81.\n\n  Copiapo, 83.\n\n  Copley Fielding, 41.\n\n  \"Coronis,\" Pindar's, 189.\n\n  Correggio, use of orange for red by, 226.\n\n  Corruptibility of art, 11, 13.\n\n  Cottages, who should build peasants', and how, 201.\n\n  Courtesy, instance of modern, 240.\n\n  Covetousness in art, 81.\n\n  Coxe, Mr. (Bodleian Library, Oxford), 157.\n\n  Crane, legs of a, 162.\n\n  Creation, man's relation to the brute, 30.\n\n  Creatures, different knowledge fit for different, 21.\n\n  Creed, Apostles', its first three clauses, 169.\n\n  Crest, heraldic meaning of the, 228.\n    \"    personal, but becomes hereditary, 230.\n\n  Cross, heraldic, 235.\n    \"    heraldic quartering and the, 236.\n\n  Crystal Palace, toy at the, 93.\n\n  Cuirass, earliest form of, 224.\n\n  Cup, forms of, 139.\n\n  Cuvier, classification of birds, 188.\n\n\n  Daisy, Wordsworth on a, 51.\n\n  Dancing, fair and foul, 13, 14.\n\n  Dante, quoted or referred to--\n    \"       \"  _De remi, facemmo ale al folle volo_, 79.\n    \"       \"  on Pisa's cruelty, 35.\n    \"       \"  on the sight of Beatrice, 177.\n    \"       \"  on Ulysses, 75.\n\n  Darwin, account of peacock's feather, 185.\n\n  Darwinism, 153-155, 207.\n\n  Death, connection with the myth of the Halcyon, 199.\n    \"    love of, by modern art, 69.\n\n  Decency and art, 95.\n\n  Deeds, taught by art, 8.\n\n  Defence, heraldic sign of, 235. (s.).\n\n  Delights, man's best, 212.\n\n  Dependence, 77.\n\n  Derivative beauty in modern art, 219.\n\n  Design in nature, 152, seq.\n\n  Desires, man's best, 212.\n\n  Devices on Greek and Gothic shields, 233.\n\n  Devil, personality of the, 69.\n    \"    truth of the expression, \"the Devil in him,\" _ib._\n\n  Dictionaries, contain \"Tout ce qu'il y a de plus beau,\" 100.\n\n  Dinner, derivation of word, 235.\n\n  Diomed, 168.\n\n  Dionysus' cup, 139.\n    \"       nebris, 225.\n\n  Disc or disk, 235.\n\n  Discovery of one age, the common knowledge of the next, 34.\n      \"     science and, 65, 66.\n      \"     vain passion for, 74.\n      \"     value of, in itself, 33.\n\n  Divinity, Humanity, Animalism, 30.\n\n  Doctor, Helps' story of a, in Chartist riots, 208.\n\n  Dog, Anacreon and his (Greek vase), 151.\n    \"  carved by boy, 88.\n    \"  Dr. Acland's dog \"Bustle,\" 151.\n    \"  meaning of its introduction in portraits, 151.\n    \"  by Titian and Reynolds, their pictures of children and, _ib._\n\n  Doing, knowing, and talking, 2, 3, 4.\n\n  Domestic love, in peace, 168.\n    \"       \"    its place and influence, 199.\n\n  Doncaster, Mr. Reed, bird-stuffer of, 174.\n\n  Drake, Sir Francis, arms of, 235.\n\n  Drapery, effect of gentleness gained by, 235.\n    \"      its laws, 141, seq.\n    \"      on persons and statues, 143.\n\n  Drawing, a vital part of education, and why, 179.\n    \"      rules of, use of sight and science in, 148.\n    \"      \"draw for your subject, not your picture,\" 163.\n\n  Dress, a sign of character, 220.\n    \"    earliest forms of, 223-4.\n    \"    Eastern, 225.\n    \"    form and colour of, originates in skins of animals, 226-7.\n    \"    heraldic, 222, 225.\n    \"    national, should be the same in life and art, 166.\n    \"    squalor of, a sign of national decay, 221.\n\n  Drummond armorial bearings, 235.\n\n  Du Cange, on St. Etheldreda, 235.\n    \"  \"    on the orle quoted, 235.\n\n  D\u00fcrer, 217.\n    \"    anatomy in pictures of, 155; influence of anatomy on,\n           _pref._ viii.\n    \"    animals introduced by, 151.\n    \"    beautiful faces rare in, _pref._ viii.\n    \"    engraving of, _pref._ vii.\n    \"    his \"Sir, it cannot be better done,\" 52.\n    \"    love of grotesque in, 151.\n         works of:--\n    \"      Knight and Death, _pref._ viii.\n    \"      Melancholia,          \"\n    \"      St. Hubert,           \"\n    \"      St. Jerome,           \"\n\n  D\u00fcsseldorf, art at, 88.\n\n\n  Eagle, the, 184.\n    \"    characteristics of, 156-7.\n    \"    sight and scent of, 111.\n\n  _Eagles Nest, The._ See s. _Author_. (3) _Books_.\n\n  Ease of great work, 85.\n\n  Eastern dress, 225.\n\n  Eccelin of Padua, 35.\n\n  Ecu, derivation of, 230.\n\n  Edify, meaning of word in \"Charity edifieth,\" 30.\n\n  Education, aim of, morality not knowledge, 212.\n    \"   a matter of feeling, not of knowledge, 179.\n    \"   competition in, 212.\n    \"   conception of chivalry as an influence in, 239.\n    \"   means power of true sight, animals, man, God, 175-6.\n    \"   modern architecture and, 202.\n    \"   modern, 120.\n    \"    \"  its error and toilsomeness, _ib._\n    \"   national, 94.\n    \"   science as an instrument of, 65.\n    \"   sympathy essential to learning, 236.\n    \"   true, brings delight in seeing things, 177.\n    \"   \" summed in enjoyment, _ib._\n\n  Effort in study, how far necessary, 2.\n\n  Egeri, lakes of, 199.\n\n  Egret, the leper, 174.\n\n  Egyptian leopard, of what typical, 125.\n    \"  plagues, 118.\n\n  Elgin marbles, as models for students, 162.\n\n  Elis, coins of, 157.\n\n  Elizabeth, Queen, arms given to Sir F. Drake by, 235.\n\n  Embassy, heraldic sign of, 235, 2.\n\n  Emerson, on distinctive class dress, 221, _n._\n\n  Emulation in art, 90.\n\n  England, and America, relations of, 79.\n      \"    chivalry of, led by Richard C\u0153ur de Lion, 240.\n      \"    Church of, 73.\n      \"    colonisation by, 94.\n      \"    glory and power of old, 203.\n      \"    misery of modern, its fallen temper, 203.\n      \"    power of help in, 36.\n      \"    prudence of the English as a nation, 24.\n      \"    schools of, the, 6.\n\n  Engraving, lines in, representative of colour, 152.\n\n  Enjoyment and Achievement, 85.\n\n  \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03ae\u03bc\u03b7, 8.\n\n  Erie, Lake, 70.\n\n  Ermine, the, 225.\n\n  Etheldreda's, St., \"bend\" (heraldic), 235.\n\n  Ethics and art, 18.\n    See s. _Actions_, _Aims_, _Amusement_, _Behaviour_, _Character_,\n    _Chivalry_, _Dancing_, _Education_, _Evil_, _Imagination_,\n    _Intemperance_, _Passions_.\n\n  Etruscan helmet derived from horse's head, 227.\n\n  Euclid quoted, 124.\n\n  Evil correlative with good, 17.\n\n  Examinations, frequent, an error of modern education, 177.\n\n  Experiments in art, 123.\n\n  Eye, \"if thine eye be evil,\" 106.\n\n  Eyes, different kinds of, 107.\n    \"   noble and ignoble, 122.\n    \"   not telescopes, 99.\n\n\n  Faculties of art, science and literature, in extreme, 10.\n\n  Failure, effect of, on author, 31.\n\n  Faith, heraldic sign of, 235, 2.\n\n  Famine, in Persia, 36.\n\n  Fascia, origin of fesse, 235.\n\n  Fesse, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  \"Fiat lux, fiat anima,\" 97-8.\n\n  Fields, in London, 72.\n\n  Film, nature of, a difficult study, 134.\n\n  Flasque, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Fleet Street, 61.\n\n  Florence, the Duomo of, 138.\n      \"     schools of, 159.\n\n  Flowers, loss of rare, nowadays, 34.\n\n  Fog, in England, 130.\n\n  Folly, in art, Lect. i., and ii.\n    \"    in science, 20, _seq._\n    \"    vanity of, 40.\n\n  Forgiveness, the sin for which there is no, 169.\n\n  Fortification, heraldic sign of, 235, 9.\n\n  Fortitude, her shield, 230.\n\n  France, chivalry of, led by Roland, 240.\n    \"     Germany and, their relations, 79.\n\n  French art, dexterity in, effect of, 89.\n   \"   use of colour, in art schools, deadly, 96, 114.\n\n  French plays. See s. _Frou-frou_.\n\n  Fresco-painting, 226.\n\n  Frogs at Iffley, 118.\n\n  _Frou-frou_, play of, its effect on author, 72.\n   \"  statement as to, by a French lady, 72.\n\n  Furres, heraldic meaning of, 225.\n\n\n  Gaiety Theatre, dancing at, 14.\n\n  Game and carrion, choice of, 11, 36.\n\n  Gaslight, work done by, 104.\n\n  Gentiles, meaning of the word, 170.\n\n  Gentleness and kindness, alike in derivation, 170.\n\n  Geology, Silurian and Permian systems of, 160.\n\n  Geometry and art, 96.\n      \"    meaning of the word, _ibid._\n\n  George III., portrait of daughter of, by Reynolds, 151.\n\n  German erudition, effect on art of, 89.\n\n  Germany and France, relations of, 79.\n\n  Ghent, workmen at, 93.\n\n  Ghirlandajo, read in his frescoes, 226.\n\n  Giesbach, author at the, (1870), 101.\n\n  Giotto, \"paint me my arms\" anecdote, 209.\n    \"  simplicity of, _pref._ vii.\n\n  Gladstone (W. E.), at Nat. Assoc. for Soc. Science, 63.\n\n  Glass, painting on, a lost art, 33.\n    \"     \"  orange _v._ purple in, 226.\n    \"     \"  at Iffley, 118.\n\n  God, birds' praise of, 61.\n    \"  man's honouring of, 55.\n    \"   \"  relation to, 30.\n    \"  universal idea of, as Light, 116.\n\n  Goethe, Faust quoted, 62.\n\n  Good and evil, in art, 17.\n\n  Gothic art, modern imitations of, purposely wrong to nature, 145.\n    \"    \"    its scientific side and basis, 137.\n    \"    \"    its sense of strength, 137.\n    \"    shield, 230.\n\n  Gould, Mr., the ornithologist, 48.\n    \"    \"    his account of the lesser egret, 174.\n\n  Grallatores, birds called, 187.\n\n  Great men, their greatness in their aim, not their actions, 214.\n\n  Greece, sources and nature of her power, 167-8.\n\n   \"  Switzerland and, a district of each compared, 109.\n\n  Greek armour, 231.\n    \"     \"     helmet = horse's head, 227.\n    \"     \"     shield, 230.\n    \"  classification of birds, 189.\n    \"  idea of God as Light, 116.\n    \"  mythology, 95.\n    \"  patronymics, meaning of, 168.\n    \"  vase, dog painting on a, 151.\n    \"  vases, Sir Wm. Hamilton on, 139.\n\n  Gremium, the, of Christ and the Madonna in art, 235.\n\n  \"Greta and Tees,\" Turner's, 69, 70.\n\n  Guillim's \"Heraldry\" quoted, 234, n.\n\n  Guillotine and mitrailleuse, 34.\n\n  Gules, 226.\n\n  Gull, the \"swimmer\" of birds, 188.\n\n  Gun-cotton, 33.\n\n  Gyron, the heraldic, 235.\n\n\n  Halcyon days, meaning of, 192.\n\n  ---- the, its feathers, 185.\n    \"   \"   Greek notices of, 190 seq.\n    \"   \"   myth of, and death, 199.\n    \"   \"   Scholiasts' description of, 197.\n    \"   \"   story of, 172 seq.\n\n  Hamilton, Sir W., on Greek verses, 139.\n\n  Happiness, in Aristotle, 19.\n\n  Hawk, the \"snatcher\" of birds, 188.\n\n  Health, \"mens sana, &c.,\" 68.\n    \"     of heart, _ibid._\n\n  Heat, a mode of motion, 100.\n\n  Helen, in the \"Iliad,\" 168.\n\n  Helmet, earliest idea of the, 224.\n    \"     Greek and Etruscan, derived from horse's head, 227.\n\n  Helps, Sir A., his \"War and Culture\" quoted, 208.\n\n  Helps, Sir A., his \"War and Culture,\" dedicated to author, _ib._\n\n  Hera, 190.\n\n  Heraldry, a despised science, 173.\n     \"      aim of, 207.\n     \"      author's drawings of, 112.\n     \"      distinct meaning of crest and arms, 228.\n     \"      dress and, 225.\n     \"      function of, 210.\n     \"      Greek and Gothic, 230 _seq._\n     \"      importance to art of, 173.\n     \"      natural types in, 229.\n     \"      power of, 47.\n     \"      teaching of, 171.\n     \"      the heraldic ordinaries, Lect. x., 235.\n     \"      their symbolism, 236.\n     \"      use in teaching colour, 114.\n    See s. _Armorial bearings_, _Bend_, _Chevron_, _Chief_, _Crest_,\n      _Cross_, _Drummond_, _Embassy_, _Fesse_, _Furres_, _Guillim_,\n      _Gules_, _Gyron_, _Helmet_, _Ordinaries_, _Orle_, _Quartering_,\n      _Red_, _Varie_, _Verrey_.\n\n  Hercules, 75.\n     \"      his death, 199.\n     \"      lion's skin, and, 229.\n     \"      the, of Switzerland, 199.\n     \"      type of what, 224.\n\n  Hereditary skill to be cherished, 94.\n\n  Heron, the stilt-walker of birds, 188.\n\n  Hincksey, author walking back from, 217.\n\n  History, art as an end to, 47.\n      \"    art and, 207 seq.\n      \"    how to read, 214.\n      \"    probable view of the Nineteenth Century in, 35.\n      \"    should separate the ideal and the real, 215, 216.\n      \"    true, defined, 214.\n      \"    what it has been and should be, 207.\n\n  Historical painting, its function, 210.\n\n  Holbein, 217.\n      \"    as an engraver, _pref._ vii.\n      \"    study of face and limb by, _pref._ viii.\n\n  Holy Ghost, the sin against the, 169.\n\n  Home, the true, for which to seek, 206.\n\n  Homer, Odyssey vi., quoted, 74, 75, 78.\n    \"    passage on the Sirens, quoted, 100.  See s. _Iliad_,\n           _Odyssey_.\n\n  Honour, power of, 212.\n\n  Horse's head, gives rise to helmet-form, 227.\n\n  H\u00f4tel de Ville, architecture of an, 201.\n\n  Hubert, D\u00fcrer's St., _pref._ viii.\n\n  Hughes, Tom, 63.\n\n  Human form and art. See s. _Anatomy_, _Nude_.\n\n  Humanity, Animalism, Divinity, 30.\n\n  Hunt, Alfred, his rainbow, 129 _n._\n\n  Hunt, Holman, his \"Light of the World,\" 115.\n\n  Hyginus, quoted on the Halcyon, 190.\n\n\n  Idealism, 95.\n\n  Ideal, the, and real in history to be distinguished, 215-216.\n\n  Iffley church, author at, 118.\n\n  Ignorance, how far essential to art, 88.\n\n  Iliad, moral of the, 168.\n\n  Imagination, 95.\n       \"       condition of modern, 69.\n       \"       history of the, best part of man's history, 214.\n       \"       implied in consideration for others, 27.\n       \"       its precious value, 215.\n       \"       self-command and, 26.\n\n  Independence, in pursuit of art and science, 76, 77.\n\n  Indolence in art, 81.\n\n  Insanity, author's use of the word, 69 _n._\n\n  Inscription on house in Alsace, 86.\n\n  Insessores, birds, 187.\n\n  Intemperance, distinct from passion, 72.\n\n  Invention, artistic, excels science, 140.\n\n  Inventions of the age, 33.\n       \"     vanity of pride in, 34.\n\n  Isis, the, 179.\n\n  Isle of Dogs, starvation at, 63.\n\n\n  Jerome, D\u00fcrer's St., _pref._ viii.\n\n  Judgment, a Latin word, 7.\n\n  \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03af\u03b1 in art, how evidenced, 40.\n\n  \u03ba\u03ac\u03bd\u03b8\u03b1\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, Greek, 139.\n\n  \u03ba\u03b1\u03bd\u03b8\u03ccs, use of, by Aristotle, 235.\n\n  Kennington, 208.\n\n  Kensington, art schools of, 6.\n       \"      education at, 202.\n       \"      museum, statue of dog in, 88.\n       \"        \"     studies of the nude in, 166.\n\n  Kindness, derivation of the word, 170.\n\n  King-fisher, power of sight of, 112.\n       \"       See s. _Halcyon_.\n\n  Knight, armour of, 231-2.\n    \"     and Death, D\u00fcrer's, _pref._ viii.\n\n  Knowing, doing, talking, 2-4.\n\n  Knowledge, art the shadow of, 68.\n      \"      charity and, 29.\n      \"      limits of human, 80.\n      \"      perception, and their places in art, 126.\n      \"      Pope on, quoted, 20.\n      \"      \"science\" and, 37.\n      \"      taught by science, 8.\n      \"      tenderness the basis of high, 77.\n      \"      various kinds for various creatures, 21-2.\n      \"      venomous, quoted by Bacon, 29.\n      \"      what, good for an artist, 123-4.\n\n  \"Know thyself,\" a law to man, 22-3.\n\n\n  Lago di Garda, sunset at, 125.\n\n  Lake Erie, 70.\n    \"  Ontario, 70.\n\n  Landlord, duty of a, not to build cottages, 201.\n      \"     speech of an English, to author, 200.\n      \"     the good they can do, in keeping the land lovely, 179.\n\n  Landscape, author's lectures on, Oxford, 1871, 62.\n    \"  choice of subject in, 69.\n\n  Laros, the bird, 192.\n\n  Law, evidence of, in nature, 183.\n    \"  the laws of life, the true object of science, 206.\n\n  Leake's travels, 199.\n\n  Lectures. See s. _Landscape_.\n\n  Leonardo, Luini's master, 46.\n      \"     subtle delineation of, 87.\n\n  Liberty, modern desire for, 204.\n\n  Life, duty of, to give praise and deserve it, 213.\n    \"   its laws, the true object of science, 206.\n    \"   its source is love, 168.\n    \"   temperance of the artistic, 90.\n\n  Light, definition of, 97.\n    \"  universal prayer for, 115.\n    \"   \"  ideas of God as, 116.\n\n  Lindsay, Lord, his Christian Mythology, author's early guide, 46.\n     \"       \"   the first to see the theology of art, _ib._\n\n  Linn\u00e6us, his classification of birds, 188.\n\n  Lion, Charlemagne's treaty and the Scottish, 235.\n    \"   the, 184.\n\n  Lippi, Filippo, his St. John Baptist, 229.\n\n  Literature, eagle-eyed, 36.\n      \"       expresses theology less perfectly than does art, 46.\n      \"       right aim of, \"to exalt the fancy,\" 3, 206.\n      \"       sphere and meaning of, 3, 4.\n\n  Livy, Book iii. 26, quoted, 215, 222.\n\n  Local associations, to be cherished, 94.\n\n  Logic, a method, not a power, 5.\n\n  London, Academy of, 93.\n     \"    art in, 82.\n     \"    as a \"man's nest,\" 61.\n     \"    building over, 72.\n     \"    traffic, its aspect and meaning, 59-60.\n     \"    water-supply, 154.\n    See s. _Academy_, _Author_, _British Museum_, _Fields_, _Fog_, _Isle\n    of Dogs_, _Ludgate Hill_, _Noise_, _Paradise Row_, _Parliament_.\n\n  Lord's Prayer, the, quoted, 75.\n\n  Love, all things founded on, 169.\n    \"  derived from \"laus,\" its meaning, 213.\n    \"  domestic, its place and influence, 199.\n    \"  power of, 212.\n    \"  the source of honour, 219.\n    \"   \"  life, 168.\n\n  Lucerne, Lake of, 199.\n\n  Lucian, on the Halcyon, 194.\n\n  Ludgate Hill, scene of traffic at, 59.\n\n  Luini, his position vindicated by author, 1861, 46.\n    \"    use of red in his frescoes, 226.\n\n\n  Madonna, The, her power in Christian chivalry, 219.\n     \"      \"   picture of, bought by author, its derivative beauty,\n                    218.\n\n  Magpie, the, 188.\n\n  Man, his honour of God, 55.\n    \"  his relation to things above and below him, 30.\n    \"  not a beast of prey, 63.\n    \"   \"know thyself,\" a law to, 22-3.\n    \" strength of mutual dependence amongst men, 77.\n    \" what kind of, occupied by art, science, and literature, 3.\n\n  Mantegna, 155.\n      \"     as an engraver, _pref._ vii.\n      \"     evil influences of anatomy on, _pref._ viii.\n      \"     his \"Angels,\" 62.\n      \"     his \"Vices,\" _pref._ viii.\n\n  Marble, veins in, unexplained, 132.\n\n  Margaret, Queen, and the Drummond arms, 235.\n\n  Maskelyne, Prof., of Oxford, 160.\n\n  Mathematics, of little use to art, 96.\n\n  Matterhorn, 70.\n\n  Max M\u00fcller, Professor, 3.\n\n  Mechanism, modern, 34.\n\n  Melancholia, D\u00fcrer's, _pref._ viii.\n\n  Memling's grace and severity, 218.\n\n  Mephistopheles, 62.\n\n  Michael Angelo, 155.\n    \"       \"     dome of Florence, and, 138.\n    \"       \"     effect of anatomy on, 159.\n    \"       \"     puts orange for red, 226.\n\n  Middle Ages, history of the, real and ideal in, 216.\n\n  Milton, \"Comus,\" l. 706, referred to, 75.\n    \"     Ode to the Nativity, quoted, 198.\n\n  Mind, effect of various tempers of, on art, 96.\n    \"   its choice of subject more important than its methods, 11.\n    \"   safe conditions of, 68-9.\n    \"   various states of the, described in the Bible, 69.\n\n  Mineralogy, author's early, 3.\n\n  Mitrailleuse, the age of the, 34.\n\n  Models, may be too good, 90.\n\n  Modern advance, probable view of, by future generations, 34-5.\n    \"    greed for money, 204.\n    \"    knowledge, its pride and folly, 79.\n    \"    life, what ideas obsolete in, 120.\n           See s. _Age_, _Atheism_, _Education_, _Liberty_.\n\n  Modesty purifies art, 81.\n     \"    true, in man, 30.\n\n  Moli\u00e8re quoted, 100.\n\n  Money, modern greed for, 204.\n\n  Monte Rosa, 70.\n\n  Moral temper, essential to appreciate art, 161.\n\n  Morgarten, the Thermopyl\u00e6 of Switzerland, 199.\n\n  \u03bc\u03c9\u03c1\u03af\u03b1 in art, how evidenced, 40.\n      \"          of the faculties, 9 _seq._\n\n  Motives, human, 212.\n\n  Mountains, blueness of, at Verona, 125.\n\n  Mulready's studies of the nude, 166.\n\n  Myths of Apollo and St. George, 117.\n    \"   of Autolycus and Philammon, 189.\n    \"   physical causes as affecting, 199.\n\n  Mythology, 95.\n     \"       of importance to art, 172.\n     \"       why a despised science, 173.\n\n    See s. _Autolycus_, _Briareus_, _Ceyx_, _Hercules_, _Orpheus_,\n      _Pelides_, _Philammon_, _Pleiades_, _Polygnotus_, _Poseidon_,\n      _Tydides_.\n\n\n  Napoleon, Louis, 208.\n\n  Natatores, (Birds), 187.\n\n  National History, scientific view of, 49, 57.\n     \"     Life, sources of its power, 171.\n     \"     symbols, more cruel than gentle types chosen for, 229.\n\n  Nativity, Raphael's, offered to the English, 24.\n\n  Nature, art less beautiful than, 172.\n     \"    chance and design in, 152 _seq._\n     \"    effect of, on local art, 91.\n     \"    love of art involves greater love of, 41.\n     \"    teaching of the power of the Holy Spirit in, 169.\n\n  Natural History, its true scope and triple division, 180-1.\n    \"       \"     what it should amount to, 207.\n    \"    Philosophy, modern study of, 2.\n\n  Nest, bullfinch's, 48.\n    \"   halcyon's, 193.\n    \"   true man's true, 206.\n\n  Niagara, \"Carlyle's\" Shooting, 70.\n\n  Nightingale, the Greek singing-bird, 189.\n\n  Nineteenth century, history's probable view of the, 35.\n\n  Nitro-glycerine, 33.\n\n  Noble and notable, 39.\n\n  Noise of London traffic, 60-61.\n\n  Nomenclature, scientific, 186.\n\n  Norman design, 92.\n\n  Northern minds and Southern art, 163.\n\n  Notable and noble, 39.\n\n  \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2, 8 _seq._, 25.\n\n  Novelty of wisdom, its danger, 74.\n\n  Nude, the, degrades art, 149.\n    \"       its limit, _ib._\n    \"       its study:--\n                places where Impracticable, 164.\n                how far desirable in England, 164.\n                result of, in Greece, 167.\n\n  Nuremberg carving, 88.\n\n\n  Oarsmanship, art of, 12.\n\n  Ochiltree, Edie. See _Scott_.\n\n  \u0152ta, Mt., the country round, 199.\n\n  Ontario, Lake, 70.\n\n  Optics and art, 96.\n\n  Orange and purple, use of in art, 226.\n\n  Ordinaries, the heraldic, Lect. x.; 234 _n._, 235.\n\n  Organic form and art, 149 _seq._\n\n  Orion, 28.\n\n  Orissa, 35-6.\n\n  Orle, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Originality in art, its value, 32.\n      \"       how estimated in the great and base schools, _ib._\n      \"       modern demand for it in art and science, 33.\n\n  Ornithology, 47, 48.\n       \"       further discoveries impossible in, 66.\n       \"       modern work in, 156-7.\n       \"       modern classification criticised, 187-8.\n\n  Orpheus, 151.\n\n  Oxford, approach to, 119.\n     \"    Brasenose Lane, filth of, 119.\n     \"    charm and power of its buildings, Lect. v., end.\n     \"    colleges, style of their buildings, 239.\n     \"    disuse of academicals at, its meaning, 221.\n     \"    education, 177, 237.\n     \"    idea of its possible beauty, 179.\n     \"    improvements at, 118. Lect. v., end.\n     \"    new church at, 63.\n     \"    \"motto\" of, 120.\n     \"    printsellers' windows at, art in the, 217.\n     \"    object of study at, 95.\n     \"    its teaching, ancient idea of, 121.\n     \"    undergraduates and author's lectures, 1.\n\n\n  Padua, Eccelin of, 35.\n\n  Painting on glass, a lost art, 33.\n     \"     perfection of, reached only in Venice, 82. See s. _Art_,\n             _Drawing_.\n\n  \"Pale,\" the heraldic, 235.\n\n  _Pall Mall Gazette_, (Jan. 29, 1869), quoted, 63.\n\n  Paradise Row, 206.\n\n  Paris, art in, 82.\n\n  Parliament, its work done by night, 104.\n      \"       the little good done by, 179.\n\n  ---- Houses of, their affected architecture, 201.\n\n  Parrot, the \"climber,\" 188.\n\n  Passion, not full of intemperance, 72.\n\n  Passions, the, controlled in dancing, 13.\n     \"       \"   ruled by Sophia (\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa), 19.\n\n  Patronymics, meaning of Greek, 168.\n\n  Pausanias quoted, 199.\n\n  Peace, man's search for, 204.\n    \"    how to be found, 205.\n\n  Peacocks and pheasants, Darwinian connection of, 185.\n\n  Pelides, 168.\n\n  Perception, knowledge interferes with artistic, 126.\n\n  Permian system of geology, 160.\n\n  Persia, famine in, 36.\n\n  Persian idea of God as Light, 116.\n\n  Peru, 83.\n\n  Pheasant, the \"scratcher\" of birds, 188.\n    \"      and peacock, Darwinian connection of, 185.\n\n  Phidias' Theseus, 39.\n\n  Philammon, 151.\n      \"      myth of Philammon and Autolycus, 189.\n\n  Phillips, Prof., of Oxford, 160.\n\n  Philophronesia, 8.\n\n  Philosophia, 8.\n\n  Photography, value of, 147.\n\n  \u03c6\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2, 8, 25.\n      \"     different kinds of, 23.\n\n  Physical circumstances, effect of, on myths, 199.\n\n  Physiology and art, 207.\n       \"     its true meaning, 207.\n\n  Physiologist, on sight, 99.\n\n  Plagues of Egypt, 118, 170.\n\n  Plants, instinct of, 97.\n\n  Plato, his definition of sight, quoted, 97.\n\n  Pleasure, in great and small, rude and fine art, 82.\n      \"     the greatest, given by inferior art, 82.\n      \"     decrease of, with increase of years, 82.\n\n  Pleiades, 28.\n\n  Plutarch, on the Halcyon, quoted, 193.\n\n  Plymouth, Turner's drawing of, 125.\n\n  Piacenza, the orle of, 235.\n\n  Pictures, the reality must be better than the semblance, 165.\n\n  Pietra dura ornament, 88.\n\n  Pile, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Pindar's \"Coronis\" (Pyth. iii. 14, 48), 189.\n\n  Pines, Scotch and stone, confused by Turner, 133.\n\n  Pisa, coin of, 157.\n    \"   cruelty of, and Dante, 35.\n\n  P\u00e6stum, plain of, 7, 25.\n\n  Poetry, its essence, 100.\n\n  \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03bb\u03af\u03b1, 73.\n\n  Polygnotus, porch of, 119.\n\n  Pool of water at Iffley, 118.\n\n  Pope, quoted:--\n    Essay on Criticism, \"A little knowledge,\" &c., 20.\n    Homer, \"Oh stay, oh pride of Greece, Ulysses, stay,\" 74.\n\n  Poseidon, 25.\n\n  Possibility, ancient recognition of human and divine, 195.\n\n  Pottery, not made by rule, 139.\n\n  Power, constructive and negative, 20.\n\n  Praise, life's duty is to give and deserve it, 213.\n     \"    love of, in man, 212.\n     \"    what kind of, to compete for, 212.\n\n  Prayer, efficacy of, 67.\n\n  Prey, use of sight to beasts of, 110.\n\n  Prodicus (of Xenophon), 40.\n\n  Proprietor, speech of English landed, to author, 200.\n\n  Protection, heraldic sign of, 235 (10).\n\n  Prout, growth of his power, 86, 87.\n\n  Provincial art, 91, 92.\n\n  Prudence, a lower virtue, 23.\n      \"     contrasted with \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa, 26.\n\n  Purification, the most sacred art, 118.\n\n  Purity, physical, 117.\n\n  Purple _v._ orange, use of, in art, 226.\n\n\n  Quartering, heraldic, 236.\n\n  Quoits, disk and orle, 235.\n\n\n  Radclyffe, the, at Oxford, 119.\n\n  Railway, power of sight on the, 111.\n\n  Rainbows, drawings of, 129 _n_.\n\n  Raphael, 218.\n     \"     substitutes orange for red, 226.\n     \"     works of:--\n             Nativity of, offered to the English, 24.\n             Theologia, or Dispute of the Sacrament, 46.\n\n  Raptores, Birds, 187.\n\n  Rasores, Birds, 187.\n\n  Rattlesnake, eyes of the, 109.\n\n  Real and ideal in history to be distinguished, 215-216.\n\n  Reason and conceptions, 11.\n\n  Red, or \"gules,\" its history and universal use, 226.\n\n  Reed, Mr., of Doncaster, bird-stuffer, 174.\n\n  Refinement, loss of pleasure with increase of, 82 seq.\n\n  Regillus, battle of Lake, 215.\n\n  Religionists, errors of, 79.\n\n  Renaissance, Italian, 86.\n        \"      the so-called, 236.\n\n  Reu, chapel of, 92.\n\n  Reynolds (Sir J.), 218.\n      \"    anatomy and, 154.\n      \"    child and dog, by, 151-4.\n      \"    speed of, 139.\n\n  Richard C\u0153ur de Lion, 240.\n\n  Ridiculous, the, 16.\n\n  Ritualism, 73.\n\n  Rivalry, modern, and Venetian art, 82.\n\n  Robson, 41.\n\n  Roland, 240.\n\n  Roman history, its lessons, 215.\n\n  Rome, fresco painting of, 226.\n    \"   power of domestic life in, 170.\n\n  Rouen Cathedral, 92.\n\n  Rowing, art of, 12.\n\n  Royal Academy, failure of power at exhibition 1871, 89.\n    \"      \"     vulgar sending of portraits to the, 151.\n\n  Royal Society, 6.\n\n  Rubens' Rainbow, 129 _n._\n\n  Rubric, 226.\n\n\n  Sacrament, dispute of the, by Raphael, 46.\n\n  Saint Andrew's Cross, 235.\n    \"   George and the Dragon, 117.\n    \"   Hilaire and natural history, 158.\n    \"   Mark's, Venice, doves at, 62.\n    \"   Michael (coin stamped with), 117.\n    \"   Paul's Cathedral, worship in, 61.\n\n  Saltire, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  \"Sanitas,\" 68.\n\n  Scaligers, arms of the, 235.\n\n  Scansores (Birds), 187.\n\n  Scholarship, the aim of true, 7.\n\n  Schools of art, should encourage constructive power, 20.\n\n  Science\n    aim of right, 3.\n    ancient and modern men of, 100.\n    aspects of modern, 65.\n    art and:--\n      artistic invention unaided by, 140.\n      together give complete truth, 58. See s. _Art_, _Artist_.\n    conduct, the science of, the one s. essential to art, 161.\n    defined, 37, 38, 65.\n    discovery and, their relations, 66.\n    eagle-eyed, 36.\n    function of, to explain the laws of life, 206.\n    man in relation to, 22.\n    modesty of, in wise appreciation, Lect. IV., 72, 172.\n    nomenclature and, 96, 186.\n    originality in, demanded, 33.\n    power of, deadly, 20.\n    progress in, its vanity, 33. See below s. _Vanity_.\n    pursuit of:--\n      selfish and unselfish, 33.\n      tone of right, 76.\n    rank and classification of different, 67, 186-87.\n    theology and, 67.\n    vanity in, its effect, 33, 74.\n    wisdom and folly in, 20 _seq._\n      \"    in unselfishness, 76, 172.\n      See s. _Anatomy_, _Astronomy_, _Chemistry_, _Clouds_,\n      _Cuvier_, _Discovery_, _Folly_, _Heat_, _Invention_,\n      _Natural History_.\n\n  Scotland, the Scottish Lion, 235.\n      \"     treaty with Charlemagne, _ib._\n\n  Scott, Sir W., Antiquary (Edie Ochiltree), referred to, 222.\n\n  Sculpture at Abbeville, 91.\n      \"     perfection in, reached only in Athens and Etruria, 82.\n\n  \"Scutum,\" derivatives of, 230.\n\n  Sea-mew, the, Greek myth of, 190.\n\n  Self-command and imagination, 26.\n\n  Self-interest, as a motive-power in revolution, 208-9.\n\n  Selfishness, how far unconquerable, 31-2.\n\n  Self-satisfaction in one's own work, right and wrong, 81.\n\n  Semmes, Captain, and the _Alabama_, 24.\n\n  Sense, faculty of, 8.\n\n  Serpent, characteristics of a, 102; its wisdom, _ib._\n     \"     anecdote of, and author, 101.\n\n  Servius, quoted on the Halcyon, 191.\n\n  Shadow, \"folly looks at her own,\" 40.\n\n  Shakespeare, on mimetic art, 39.\n        \"      his chemical, anatomical, substantial, and ideal\n                  aspects, 44.\n        \"      as a subject of science and art, _ib._\n    _Quoted_:--\n      Hamlet iii. 1. \"Arms against a sea of troubles,\" 204.\n        \"    v. 1. \"Here hung those lips that I have kissed,\" &c., 157.\n      Macbeth i. 3. \"The earth hath bubbles, &c.,\" 137.\n      Mids. Night's Dream v. i.  \"The best in this kind are but\n        shadows,\" 39, 148.\n\n  Shell, meaning of the word, 230.\n\n  Shepherd boy, carving dog, 88.\n\n  Shield, forms and use of a, 224.\n     \"    Greek and Gothic, 230.\n     \"    meaning of, in heraldry and etymology, 230.\n\n  Sight, accurate, to be acquired, 112.\n     \"   author's controversy with physiologist on, 99.\n     \"   author's sight tired, 112.\n     \"   clear, so far as kind, _ib._\n     \"   growth of educated, 176.\n     \"   index to nobility of nature, 110.\n     \"   kinds of, physical and moral, 108.\n     \"   mathematical power of, 111.\n     \"   not mechanical, but spiritual, 99.\n     \"   noble and ignoble, 122.\n     \"   Plato's definition of, 97.\n     \"   power of metric, 112.\n     \"   source of all knowledge in art, 172.\n     \"   spiritual, 111.\n     \"   weariness, effect of, on metric power of, 112.\n\n  Silurian system of geology, 160.\n\n  Simonides quoted on the Halcyon, 192.\n    \"        \"   the \"wisdom of calm,\" 199.\n\n  Simplicity in estimate of one's own work, 53.\n      \"      quoted also, 199.\n\n  Sin, the unforgiveable, 169.\n\n  Sirens, knowledge of the, 100, 108, 168.\n    \"    song of, 74, 75, 78.\n\n  Skiddaw, 199.\n\n  Skill, tenderness, the basis of high, 77.\n\n  Skull, man's, and an eagle's, 155 seq.\n\n  Skye-terrier painted by Reynolds, 151.\n\n  Sky-lark, the, 56.\n\n  Social Science meeting (1869-70), 63.\n\n  Socrates in Lucian's dialogue on the Halcyon, 194.\n\n  Solar force, 100.\n\n  Sophia, or \u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03afa, Lect. I.\n    \"    Aristotle's definition of, 9 seq., 90.\n    \"    eternal and universal, 23.\n    \"    faculty of recognition and choice, 30.\n    \"    higher forms of, 27-28.\n    \"    modesty of true, 30-31.\n    \"    prudence, and contrasted, 26.\n    \"    ruling spirit, 20.\n    \"    sway over wise art and science, 37.\n    \"    unselfishness of true, 29, 31.\n\n  Sophocles' Trachini\u00e6, 199.\n\n  \u03c3\u03c9\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03cd\u03bd\u03b7, 68, 90.\n\n  Sovereign, English (coin) and St. George, 117.\n    \"      heraldry of art (1870-1880), 235.\n\n  Spain, chivalry of, led by the Cid, 240.\n\n  Sparrow, the \"percher\" of birds, 188.\n\n  Spear, proper form of a, 224.\n\n  Species, modern theories on, 34.\n\n  Sport, English ideas of, 178.\n\n  Sport, _continued_:--\n    \"    love of killing birds, its meaning, 175.\n\n  Squire, derivation of word, 230.\n\n  Stars, their value to artist and scientist, 124.\n\n  Star-gazing, probable conditions of, by two girls, 26.\n\n  \"Stones of Venice,\" statement as to anatomy in, withdrawn, 159.\n\n  Strasburg, architecture of, 202.\n      \"      art in, 82.\n      \"      drawing of house in, by Prout, 86.\n\n  Street, E., 50.\n\n  Strozzi, child and dog, Titian's, 151.\n\n  Subjects in art, natural subjects of national art, 95.\n\n  Success, one's own, and others', 31.\n     \"     effect of, on author, 31.\n\n  Sun, power of the, 100.\n   \"   modern efforts to dispense with, 104.\n   \"   should \"rule the day,\" 104.\n\n  Swine, symbol of the herd of, 69.\n\n  Swiss ch\u00e2let, education needed to build, 202.\n\n  Switzerland and Greece, two districts of, compared, 199.\n       \"      the Heracles of, 199.\n       \"      the history of, its lessons, 21.\n\n  Sympathy, essential to learning, 236.\n\n\n  Tabernacle, Jewish, 226.\n\n  Talking, doing, and knowing, 2, 3, 4.\n\n  \u03c4\u03b5\u03c7\u03bd\u1f74, 8.\n\n  Tees,\" Turner's \"Greta and, 70.\n\n  Telescopes and eyes, 99.\n\n  Tell, William, legendary, 215.\n\n  Temper, trials of, 69.\n     \"    success, influence on, 31.\n\n  Temperance, true, in recognition of work, 81.\n\n  Temptations of knowledge, 79.\n       \"      Ulysses, their meanings, 74-5.\n\n  Tenderness the basis of skill and knowledge, 77.\n\n  Thales, 23.\n\n  \"Theologia,\" Raphael's, 46.\n\n  Theology, more perfectly expressed by art than by literature, 46.\n\n  Theology, of art, only recently recognised, 46.\n     \"     of more value than anatomy to art, 168.\n     \"     science and, 67.\n\n  Thermopyl\u00e6, blue waters of, 199.\n\n  Theseus, Phidias', 39.\n\n  Thirst, man's best, for what, 212.\n\n  Thought, the peace of beautiful, 205.\n     \"     right, the end of literature, 3, 206.\n\n  Throne, a Greek word, 7.\n\n  Titian, use of red by, 226.\n\n  Titian's Strozzi Princess and dog, 151.\n\n  Titmouse, a new specimen of the, 66.\n\n  Tintoret, use of red by, 226.\n     \"      speed of, 139.\n\n  Toy, useless, at Crystal Palace, 93.\n\n  Trachini\u00e6, Sophocles', 190.\n\n  Trachis, king of, 190.\n\n  Tressure, the heraldic, 235.\n\n  Truth, completely given by science and art together, 58.\n\n  Turner, J. W. M., drawing of seen and known facts by, 125.\n          \"         early patronage of, 199.\n          \"         pines, drawing of Scotch and stone, confused, 133.\n          \"         truth of, proved by author, 128.\n          \"         works of--\n          \"           engraving of a cloud (Educ. Series, 8 E.), 7.\n          \"           Greta and Tees, its quietude, 69-70.\n          \"           Val. Plymouth, drawing of (anecdote), 125.\n          \"           Valley of Chamouni, 147.\n\n  Tydides, 168.\n\n  Tyndall, Prof., \"Pal\u00e6ontology,\" quoted, 100.\n\n\n  Ulysses of Dante and of Homer, 74-5.\n\n  Unity of feeling in great art, 93.\n\n  University, aim of _its teaching_, 4, 5, 6, 18.\n      \"       definition of a, 5.\n      \"       its function only to examine! 120.\n      \"       See s. _Cambridge_, _Oxford_.\n\n  Unselfishness in art, 31.\n        \"       of high forms of faculties, 29.\n\n  Unwise, man meant to be, 31.\n\n\n  Van Eyck's grace and severity, 218.\n\n  Vases, Greek, 139.\n\n  Vatican, frescoes, 226.\n\n  Varie, meaning of (heraldic), 225.\n\n  Venetian glass, 139.\n\n  Venice, Londoners' regret at its quietude, 60.\n     \"    perfect art in, 82.\n     \"    sunset at, 125.\n\n  Veronese, P., animals introduced by, 151.\n      \"     his \"Solomon and the Queen of Sheba,\" 151.\n\n  Verrey, meaning of, 225.\n\n  Villas, London, 72.\n\n  Virgil, Servius quoted on, 191.\n     \"    Georgics, i. 399.\n\n  Virgin, pictures of the, bought as furniture by Oxford undergraduates,\n              240.\n\n  Votes, modern desire for, 204.\n\n\n  Wallingford, incident at, seen by author, 240.\n\n  Water-colour exhibition, author at, 41.\n\n  Wealth, results of modern, 63.\n\n  Westminster, Victoria Tower at, 130.\n\n  Windgelle, 199.\n\n  Winds, Halcyone, daughter of the, 198.\n\n  Wisdom, 8.\n     \"    art and, Lect. I.\n     \"    folly and, in science, 20 seq.\n     \"    its view of modern life, 64.\n     \"    novelty of, its danger, 74.\n\n  Wit, 8.\n\n  Wood-carving and architecture, 86.\n       \"       of dog, by shepherd boy, 88.\n\n  Wordsworth, (Poems of sentiment and reflection, \"Daisy,\" 40);\n    quoted, 51.\n\n  Work, the morning, the best time for, 104.\n\n  Workmen, feeling of, in great art, 93.\n\n  Wrangler, value of art to a senior, 96.\n\n  Wyatt, printseller at Oxford, 217.\n\n\n  Xenophon's \"Memorabilia,\" II. i. 22, quoted, 40.\n\n\n  York, 93.\n    \"    Minster, 82.\n\n  Zeus, 25, 190.\n\n  Zoroaster, 150.\n\n\n            Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n                  Edinburgh & London\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n\n   The punctuation in the index was inconsistent. Usage of ',' and '.' has\n   been regularized, with final stops after each entry supplied where\n   missing.\n\n   The index also has several errors of alphabetizing, with \"pi\" entries\n   and \"P\u00e6stum\" following \"pl\" entries.  The printed order has\n   been retained.\n\n   As noted by Ruskin in the text, the references in the index refer to the\n   numbered paragraphs, not page numbers.\n\n   Obvious printer's errors and omissions have been silently corrected.\n\n   Any variants of spelling and use of hyphenation are preserved except\n   as noted below.\n\n   Corrections:\n\n    p. 78   h[ie/ei]ght                    Corrected.\n\n    p. 269 \"Bee, wisdom of\" 193[-]196\".    Added, as the Bee is the\n                                           subject across those\n                                           paragraphs.\n\n    p. 287 \"Oxford ... its teaching,       Added, based on the text.\n\n    In the Index, any references to the Preface are incorrect, being\n    misnumbered, generally, by two pages (e.g. p. viii = p. vi). The\n    index is retained as printed.","title":"The Eagle's Nest: Ten Lectures on the Relation of Natural Science to Art, Given Before the University of Oxford, in Lent Term, 1872","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":60847}