Rhythm and harmony in poetry and music, together with Music as a representative art; two essays in comparative æsthetics

Front matter

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Preface

" T-JIS tendency is to systematize that which is beyond the reach of systematic exposition," " to formulate ideas and quahties not reducible ... to formulae," " full of learning and suggestive as the book is . . . one is lost in its infinite wrinkles," " fills the mind . . . with a tremendous lot of fancies," — such are the comments with which some are now qualifying their acknowledgments — very late in many cases — of the essential differences between the thought presented in this series of essays, and in previous works upon the same subject. Were there proof that a single writer of such comments had made a sincere endeavor to follow the lines of thought which in these essays have been developed in accordance with the simplest principles of logic and common sense, the opinions thus expressed might be entitled to grave consideration. As it is, they are very apparent utterances of superficial impressions, such as naturally occur to any one who has not looked into a subject deeply enough to be fully aware of its complexities, or of the essential im-, portance and possibility of analyzing them.

As applied to the essay on " Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music," the pre-judgments of every one of these critics would agree with that of the first of two authors conversing, a year or more ago, in language somewhat as follows : " No one can explain the methods underlying iv PREFACE.

the subtle harmonies of Swinburne's lyrics." " Not the first who attempts it, perhaps ; but do you think it intrinsically impossible ? " " If he could explain the methods, he could produce the effects ; and we can't have two Swinburnes." " Are you sure of your inferences? I may be able to explain exactly what it is in the shading or coloring of a picture, in the pose or gesture of a figure, which represents the meaning that attracts and charms me. But, unless myself a painter, I can't make a figure like it." " What object would your explanation gain then ? " And this was the reply :

First, a philosophic object. The causes underlying the effects of art are in themselves as interesting as any underlying the effects of nature — like the rising and falling of the tides, the coming and going of the storms, the sprouting of the leaves in spring, and their falling in the autumn. And, second, a practical object. If a man be a painter, to let him know precisely what it is that charms us in a color or an outline may enable him by a few touches to change an unsuccessful product into one fitted to charm all those whose tastes agree with our own. And so with a poet. Those who have ever attempted

verses know the constant danger of having the forms

metre, alliteration, assonance, rhyme — to which their thought is harnessed, run away with it and ^reck it. Yet without the aid of these, what could carry the thought a single step in an artistic direction ? The poet must learn to get along, not without them but with them ; yet in such a way as to keep them in subjection, as exemplified * in what is done by the acknowledged masters.

And there is another practical object to be gained. This is to enable critics and through them, and in connection with them, people in general to understand and hence

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to appreciate and enjoy that in art which is excellent. At present, it has to be acknowledged that to attain this object seems wellnigh beyond hope. Owing to a lack of breadth and balance characterizing the practical limitations of American culture, a man here who tries to treat art philosophically finds his way blocked at the very threshold of his undertaking with two almost insurmountable obstacles. One is that few of our philosophers have had sufficient aesthetic training to be interested in that which concerns art ; and the other is that few of our artists — including our art-critics, though there are noteworthy exceptions — have had sufficient philosophical training to be interested in that which concerns philosophy. Accordingly, as a rule, the philosopher never looks at the art-book at all ; and the art-critic on whom the public relies for information concerning it, does so merely because he cannot dodge what is tossed directly at him as a reviewer ; but the little that he sees of it he usually misapprehends and very frequently misrepresents.

These statements are not uncharitable. They are essentially the opposite. Otherwise, if articles published in some of our foremost journals — journals that would be universally placed upon every list of the first half-score critical authorities in our country — could not be attributed to a lack of intelligence, one would be obliged to attribute them to a lack of integrity. For instance, it is a simple logical process, before defining the exact limitations of a subject, to show its relations to other subjects by separating it from its surroundings ; in other words, to advance from the generic to the specific ; and nothing, to a welltrained mind, could appear more unjust than to represent the beginning of this process as if it were the end of it. Yet a criticism upon " Art in Theory," published in " The vi PREFACE.

Independent '' of New York, opens with this sentence : " The definition of art that it is ' nature made human ' may do in a way for the literature of a certain broadly naturalistic school, but will hardly answer for art in its wider general relations." The reader would certainly infer from this — and nothing further is quoted as a text for the wholly unwarranted " enlargement " that follows — that the phrase taken from the book was the final result of an endeavor to distinguish carefully the characteristics of (Esthetic art ; and that the author who had formulated the definition was not aware that it was too broad for the purpose. The last thing that any one would conceive would be that what is really said of this definition on page 6 of " Art in Theory " is the following : "Nature made human, or nature remade by the human mind, is, of course, a very broad definition of art — one that scarcely begins to suggest all that is needed for a full understanding of the subject. But ... it will serve as a starting-point for what is to follow " ; or that in the very next sentence, at the opening of the next chapter, is begun a distinction between art as thus defined and aesthetic art.

Again, in the same book, the argument for the theory of beauty that is presented is reinforced by showing the substantial agreement with reference to the considerations upon which it is based between all the prominent writers on aesthetics, no matter how greatly they may differ in their conclusions. The concise yet comprehensive statement and classification of these views, for such a purpose, would, alone, to a thinker, justify the preparation of the entire volume. But a criticism in " The Nation ' not only fails to recognize the force of this concurrency of opinion ; but even why it should be supposed to have any force.

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■"The author's reading," the pubHc are told, "on everything even remotely connected with the subject, has been immense, and quotations from every one under the heavens are as plentiful as blackberries in his pages . . . they over-load them," etc. Of course, a comment like this could not be phrased in such language, except as an expression of inability to apprehend the object of the quotations, and not only this, but even the elementary fact that it is desirable for an author, before contributing to a subject, to take pains to inform himself with reference to what others have already contributed to it, and, if possible, to avail himself of their contributions even to the extent of beginning to develop his system where theirs have ended.

Once more, in " Art in Theory," an endeavor is made to find a simple and single conception of beauty fitted to meet the requirements of those who attribute it to essentially mental results like association, adaptability, and conformity to ideals, and also, at the same time, of those who attribute it to essentially physical results like quality or ■complement in tone or color. The general conclusion reached, which, if true, is of the utmost philosophic and •artistic importance, is summed up on page 162 in language which it certainly ought not to be difficult to understand, to wit : " The highest beauty, in all its different phases, results, as is the case in other departments of excellence, from harmony in effects. Analyzing the elements of these effects, carries with it the additional conclusion that, so far as beauty is physical, it results when sounds, shapes, or colors harmonize together and in such ways that their ■combinations harmonize with the natural requirements of the physical senses — the ears or eyes to which they appeal ; that, so far as beauty is psychical, it results vill PREFACE.

when the thoughts and feelings suggested or expressed through forms harmonize together, and also with the natural requirements of the minds that they address ; and that, so far as it is both physical and psychical, it results when all the elements entering into both physical and psychical effects harmonize together, and also with the combined requirements of both natures in the man subjected to their influence. In this latter sense, it will be observed that complete beauty necessitates something more than that which is either formal or expressional. It can be obtained in the degree only in which a form beautiful in itself fits a beautiful ideal conjured in the mind by the imagination as a result of a harmonious combination of thoughts and feelings." Immediately following these statements in the book, the ideas in them are abbreviated in a definition expressed in terms concise, and, perhaps, for those who have not read the preceding pages, unnecessarily technical. At least, this impression of it seems to have been conveyed to no less than four reviewers, who, ignoring the ample explanations of the preceding paragraph, have flung the briefer statement toward the public as a sort of specimen boulder to show what a hard road would have to be travelled by one attempting to drive his thoughts through the volume. Even this definition alone, however, might seem clear and acceptable enough if quoted accurately. But it has been quoted inaccurately. Here, with the italicized phrases omitted, is what it has been represented to be: "Beauty is a characteristic of any complex form of varied elements producing apprehensible unity (/. (•., harmony or likeness) of effects upon the motive organs of sensation in the ear or eye, or upon the emotive sources of imagination in the mind ; or upon both the one and the other." Moreover, from a text, thus prepared for his pur-

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pose by himself, through the omission of words necessary in order to render its meaning clear and exact, one critic goes on to argue against its vagueness and " inexactness." Besides this, too, he attempts to discredit the definition, upon the hypothesis that by a complex form's producing " apprehensible unity of effects" "in the ear and eye, or upon the emotive sources of imagination in the mind," is meant the same as if it had been said that beauty is owing to a mere intellectual apprehension of the fact that a form is not simple but complex in its structure.

Such criticisms as these that have been quoted are, of course, not worthy of attention in themselves. Nor would it be in place here to draw the natural lesson which they suggest with reference to the duty of a reviewer to study a book sufficiently to let the public know the facts about it, — what distinguishes its views from those of other books upon the same subject, what is the purpose of the quotations made in it, and what is the exact nature of its conclusions. But there are other reasons directly connected with our subject, why comments of the kind noticed need mention. One reason is that the attitude of mind toward the philosophic aspects of art, indeed toward all truth in general, which they indicate, suggests a lack of the kind of intelligence and insight which are essential in order to appreciate the practical results of art, whether in the past or present. The other reason is, that these particular reviews were published in periodicals supposed by many to represent high critical authority in our country. For both reasons, the question forces itself upon one — Where is art-thought, and art, and all that art is worth, likely to be led by such an attitude of mind ?

This is not an idle question. It is one of grave import-

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ance. In what sense it is so, may, perhaps, be best revealed to the reader by retracing for him the considerations which first revealed its import to the author. These were gradually brought to his attention while examining a series of criticisms concurrently made in different journals in an effort to discredit a fundamental proposition in " Art in Theory," namely, that, in all successful art, the proper balance must be preserved between the requirements of significance in the form and the requirements of form considered only in itself. The proposition, at first thought, seems almost too apparent to need even to be stated. But on second thought no one can fail to observe that, if accepted as true, it will necessarily put an end to the suppositions of those who consider art to be merely a matter of technique. And it is undoubtedly this threatened danger to their own conceptions that accounts for the way in which a certain class of critics have seen fit to deal with the views presented in " Art in Theory." For this reason it will be interesting, and possibly instructive, to notice just how much intelligence and insight have armed the weapons with which they have attacked these views. The examination of their criticisms will be in place, too, in this preface, because it will ultimately lead to a statement of the exact relations to the general subject of art of those technical phases of it which are treated in the present volume. The relevancy of the first criticism to be quoted lies in the fact that it is a comment on a brief historical review in " Art in Theory," intended to show that the acknowledged errors of extreme romanticism and classicism are traceable, respectively, to the undue emphasizing, in the one, of significance, by which, as repeatedly stated, is meant an " expression of thought and feeling" ; and in the other, of form. In

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approaching a refutation of this statement, a critic in "The Independent" first refers to the "astounding misapprehension " of this view, and then goes on to say :

" We cannot at all admit that . . . ' the production of something that imitates a previously existing form or subject is now one of the recognized meanings of the term classic' " Why can he not admit this? Can it be that he is unaware that, at the present day, which is what is meant by the word now, men, when they speak of a modern artist as producing a classic face, or temple, or drama, or allusion in a drama, invariably suggest a likeness in it either to a Greek face, or temple, or drama, or allusion containing Greek mythological references ? or else, if not, at least a likeness to some form which, as a form, is sufficiently old to have a recognized character? And does he not know that the reason for this suggestion is that " one of the recognized meanings " — not the only meaning mentioned in " Art in Theory," but one mentioned in its historic connections — " of the term classic is the production of something that imitates a previously existing form or subject ? " One would think that everybody ought to know this. " Les classique," says a French criticism lying before me now, " le classique c'est-a-dire ceux qui perp6tuent une maniire." But this reviewer does not know it.

However, he probably fancies himself in good company — for America. An earlier critic in "The Nation," quoting from " Art in Theory " the statement that " the germ of classicism .is the conception that art should chiefly emphasize the form," and of romanticism that." the ideas expressed in the form should be chiefly emphasized," had exclaimed : " Sound not sense was certainly never a motto of classical literature." And who had said that it was ? Does the ca'-- xii PREFACE.

fully worded phrase " chiefly emphasize " mean " exclusively emphasize?" Or does the term "sound " include all that is meant by " form " ? When we speak of dramatic " form " do we often even suggest the idea of " sound " ? What we mean then is the general method of unfolding the plot as a whole. This attempted refutation reveals, once more, that lack of philosophic discrimination to which reference has been made. But connected with it, there is a still greater lack of historic knowledge. Who has never heard of the famous theatrical contest between the classicists and romanticists in Paris, which once almost made a Bedlam of the whole city, because Victor Hugo, the idol of the latter, refused to model his dramas upon those of his predecessors, which, in turn, were modelled upon those of the Greeks? What was Hugo contending for? For the right to emphasize chiefly the ideas behind the form — to speak out naturally upon a modern subject, with a style to fit it, whether it assumed a conventional form, or one that nobody before had ever attempted. But no, says one of these critics : " Classicism and Romanticism are tempers of mind." " They owe their origin," says the other, " to a difference in mental constitutions." Of course, there is a truth in this. By nature men are inclined toward the one or the other. But one might say the same of almost any different phases of mental action. He might say it of the tendencies to intemperance or gambling. But would his saying this explain what either of these is? Certainly not ; for only when the tendencies come to the surface and reveal themselves in a form of action, do they exist in such a way that they can be differentiated. The same is true of classicism and romanticism. They cannot be differentiated till developed into a form of exo^ression. The questions before us are, what is this form,

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and what is there in it, as a form, that makes it what it is ? To speak of differences in " tempers of mind " or of " mental constitution," is to mention something influential in causing a difference to be. But it is no more influential than is the spirit of the age, or the conditions of taste, or environment, or education ; and it fails to suggest, as even some of these latter do, why it is that, at one period, all authors and artists incline to classicism, and at another all of them incline to romanticism ; while, at some periods, the same man seems almost equally inclined to both. Goethe's " Leiden des jungen Werther's," for instance, and his " Goetz von Berlichingen " are specimens of distinctively romantic literature ; whereas his " Iphigenie auf Tauris " is, perhaps, the most successful modern example of classic literature. At what period between writing the first two and the latter of these was his " temper of mind," his " mental constitution " changed ? Is it not a little more rational to say that what was changed was his artistic method ? — possibly, his theory of this ? — that in the first two he " chiefly emphasized " the " significance," and in the last, " the form," causing it to be — what he did not take pains to cause the others to be — "something imitating a previously existing" Greek "form " not only, but in this case, a Greek " subject " also ?

On the contrary, says one of these critics, elaborating his theory about " tempers of mind," " classicism is reasonable, logical, and constructive, while romanticism is emotional and sensuous " ; and the other echoes his sentiments with something about " the eternal distinction between the intellectual and the emotional." And so one is to believe that the distinguishing feature of classic Greek sculpture — like a" Venus," a " Faun," or a "Group of the Niobe," — or of a classic Greek drama, like the " Antigone,"

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is, that it is not sensuous or emotional ; and that the distinguishing feature of the plays of Shakespeare or Hugo, or of a Gothic cathedral, is that they are not reasonable or logical or constructive ! Of course, there is a cause underlying the distinctions that these critics are trying to make. It is suggested too in " Art in Theory." On page 25, the statement is made that one characteristic of romantic art is that in it the form is " determined solely by the exigencies of expression," and on page 17, at the beginning of the chapter in which this statement occurs, as well as in scores of other places in the book, it is explained that by the term expression is meant a communication of thought and feeling combined. Without this explanation indeed, this meaning would be a necessary inference from the fundamental conception of the book, which is that all art is emotional in its sources, and that art-ideas are the manifestations of emotion in consciousness (Chapters V., XVIII., and XIX.). It follows from all these facts together that emotion — but not without its accompanying thought, which, sometimes, as with Browning, throws the emotion entirely into the shade — has a more unrestricted expression in romantic art than in classic art. In the latter the form is " chiefly emphasized," and therefore there is a more conscious, as well as apparent exercise of rational intelligence engaged in constructing a form for it, and in confining the expression to the limits of this form. But we must not confound the effects of this difference with that which causes them. This is the method of the artist when producing his art-work, a method influenced by the relative attention which he gives, either consciously or unconsciously, to the requirements of significance or of form. It is important to recognize this fact, too, because, otherwise, we should not recognize that he is the master of

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his methods, and, if he choose, can produce in both styles, though, of course, not with equal pleasure, because he must have his preferences ; nor with equal facility, because it is a matter of a lifetime to produce successfully in either. To suppose that his methods master him, is to show a lack of insight, with reference to the practice of art, still greater than that just indicated with reference to the theory of it. Goethe could write " Iphigenie auf Tauris " or the " Leiden des jungen Werther's." So, too, the same painter can " chiefly emphasize " form in his figures by using the distinct " classic " line, as it is termed ; or, if he have been educated in another school, often merely if he choose, he can suggest the form with the vague outlines of the romantic impressionist ; and the same architect also can plan a classic Girard college, or a romantic seaside cottage. To imagine otherwise, is to parallel the notion of a schoolboy that the poet tears his hair, rolls his eyes, raves in the lines of a lyric rather than of a drama, and makes a general fool of himself by a complete lack of self-control whenever he is composing at all, simply because he is " born and not made."

That this inference with reference to the error as to artistic methods is justified, is proved by the inability of critics of this class to recognize the necessity of making any distinction whatever between significance in form — not outside of form — and form as developed for its own sake, concerning which the reader may notice what is said in the Introduction to " Music as a Representative Art," on page 235.

It might be supposed that the definition of art there quoted, to the effect that it is " the application to anything, in the spirit of pleasure and for play only, of the principle of proportion," would be welcomed as a desiraxvi PREFACE.

ble reinforcement of the truth presented in two hundred pages of an essay devoted entirely to the subject of " Rhythm and Harmony." But, as shown in that Introduction, there are reasons connected with the requirements of significance, that may be urged against this view. Let us notice here certain other reasons of the same tenor which are connected with the requirements of form.

Go to critics of literature who believe that art is "the application to anything " of the laws of art-form — which, for reasons given on page 235, is a strictly just way of shortening what is meant by the exceedingly loose use of the term proportion in the above definition — and ask them who is the first English poet of the age. They will probably answer — and few would differ from them — Swinburne. Now ask them what is the influence upon life of the thought presented in his poetry, what is the particular phase of inspiration to be derived from it ; and they will probably answer that to them as critics this is immaterial ; that not the thoughts of the poet, not his subjects give him his rank, but his manner of presenting them, his style, the rhythm of his verse, and its harmony as produced by alliteration, assonance, or rhyme. Again, ask a critic of painting of the same school to show you the best picture in a gallery. He is as likely as not to point you to the figure of a woman, too lightly clothed, posing not too unconsciously near some water ; or, too heavily clothed, sitting in front of a mirror. You ask him what is the peculiar phase of thought expressed in this picture, the particular inspiration for life to be derived from it ; and he will look at you and laugh. Nothing to-day, in our country, is supposed to show more ignorance about art, than the conception that interest in a picture has any-

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thing to do with a subject, or with its suggesting a story, whether inspiring or otherwise. We must judge of it, we are told, entirely by the form, the style, the use in it of light and shade and color.

But, you say, there certainly was a time when theories of art were different. Dante, Milton, Wordsworth, yes, and Shakespeare, Goethe, and Schiller too, — all these had style or form, yet what one thinks of chiefly, when he reads them, is not this, but the thought that is behind it. Then there is Raphael. On a Sunday, one could sit for an hour before the Sistine Madonna, and feel more benefited than in most of the churches. But Raphael's is not a name, you find, with which to charm the modern critic. You are told that you are behind the age. This statement gives you a new suggestion, and you proceed to apply it. You ask yourself if the same may be true with reference to your views of literary art. You take up the nearest periodical and read the poetry in it, and its criticisms upon poetry. What are the new poets doing ? What is it in their work that excites praise ? The thought }■ — its breadth of conception ? its completeness of development ? its power of expressing truth fitted to uplift spiritually ? How often do we see, in an American criticism, anything like an analysis of a new American poem ? How often do we see an effort to bring to light the subtle character of the philosophy of which it is the expression ? And there is the kindliest of reasons why these are not seen. A suggestion of logical arrangement, as in Dante or Milton, a hint of ethical maxims, though set as brilliantly as in Shakespeare or Schiller, would give a poet of our own day, were he commended for these particularly, a hard tramp up the road to recognition. What our people want is style, form. " Yes,"

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say the critics, " but imaginative form. You can't object to that." Certainly one can — to imagination used for mere form's sake. Imaginative form has value only when it images a truth ; and this is that which our modern critics have forgotten. Any comparison, however odious, will do for them, if it be only a comparison, and almost any style if it only ring, even if as hollow as some of the French forms of verse that our magazines admire so much. Not, of course, that the style must always be as dainty as in these. Some of us prefer to take it — as the English do their cheese — strong, with plenty of light and shade, and if the former be leprous and the latter smutty, so long as the effects are anything but weak, our critics, especially of our religious journals, are apt to like it all the better. The truth is that the moment that, through an overbalancing regard for form, people come to think that it alone has value, and that the subject in art is immaterial, they are in a fair way to become realists in that very worst sense in which it means believers in the portrayal in art of any amount of ugliness or nastiness so long as it be only that which they term " true to nature." This is the belief which, at present, is uppermost in France, brought about in that country by the predominating influence, through more than one century, of a materialistic art-philosophy. It is the reason why, in deference to the supposed interests of art, the thousands there who dislike the practical results no less than we, do not protest against unsavory plays or novels, like some of those of Sardou or Zola, and can actually swallow their dinners without turning to the wall some of the pictures that confront them. It is the reason too — and this is usually overlooked — why people foreign to France, while willing to acknowledge that its artists in every department