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[page 597:]
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FIFTY SUGGESTIONS.
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I.
IT is
observable that,
while
among all nations the omni-color, white, has been received as an emblem
of the Pure, the no-color, black, has by no means been generally
admitted
as sufficiently typical of impurity. There are blue devils as
well
as black; and when we think very ill of a woman, and wish to blacken
her
character, we merely call her "a blue-stocking," and advise her
to
read,
in Rabelais' "Gargantua," the chapter "de ce qui est
signifié
par les couleurs blanc et bleu." There is far more difference
between
these "couleurs," in fact, than that which exists between
simple black and white. Your "blue," when we come to talk
of
stockings,
is black in issimo — "nigrum nigrios nigro" — like the
matter
from which Raymond Lully first manufactured his alcohol.
II.
Mr. ——, I perceive, has been
appointed Librarian
to the new ——— Athenæum. To him, the appointment is advantageous
in
many
respects. Especially: — "Mon cousin, voici une belle occasion pour
apprendre
à lire!"
III.
As far as I can understand the
"loving our
enemies,"
it implies the hating our friends.
IV.
In commencing our dinners with gravy
soup, no
doubt
we have taken a hint from Horace —
——— Da, he says,
si grave
non est,
Quæ prima iratum ventrem placaverit isca. [page 598:] |
V.
Of much of our cottage architecture
we may safely
say, I think, (admitting the good intention,) that it would have
been Gothic if it had not felt it its duty to be Dutch.
VI.
James's multitudinous novels seem to
be written
upon
the plan of "the songs of the Bard of Schiraz," in which, we are
assured
by Fadladeen, "the same beautiful thought occurs again and again in
every
possible variety of phrase."
VII.
Some of our foreign lions resemble
the human
brain
in one very striking particular. They are without any sense themselves,
and yet are the centres of sensation.
VIII.
Mirabeau, I fancy, acquired his
wonderful tact at
foreseeing and meeting contingencies, during his residence in
the
stronghold of If.
IX.
Cottle's "Reminiscences of Coleridge"
is just
such
a book as damns its perpetrator forever in the opinion of every
gentleman
who reads it. More and more every day do we moderns povoneggiarsi about
our Christianity; yet, so far as the spirit of Christianity is
concerned,
we are immeasurably behind the ancients. Mottoes and proverbs are the
indices
of national character; and the Anglo-Saxons are disgraced in having no
proverbial equivalent to the "De mortuis nil nisi bonum."
Moreover
— where, in all statutary Christendom, shall we find a law so
Christian
as the "Defuncti injuriâ ne afficiantur" of the Twelve
Tables?
The
simple negative injunction of the Latin law and proverb — the
injunction not
to do ill to the dead — seems, at a first glance, scarcely
susceptible
of improvement in the delicate respect of its terms. I cannot help
thinking,
however, that the sentiment, if not the idea intended, is more forcibly
conveyed in an apothegm by one of the old English moralists, James
Puckle.
By an ingenious figure of speech he contrives to imbue the negation of
the Roman command with a spirit of active and positive beneficence.
"When
speaking of the dead," he says, in his "Gray Cap for a Green Head," "so
fold up your discourse that their virtues may be outwardly shown, while
their vices are wrapped up in silence." [page 599:]
X.
I have no doubt that the Fourierites
honestly
fancy
"a nasty poet fit for nothing" to be the true translation of "poeta
nascitur non fit."
XI.
There surely cannot be "more
things in
Heaven
and Earth than are dreamt of" (oh, Andrew Jackson Davis !) "in your
philosophy."
XII.
"It is only as the Bird of Paradise
quits us in
taking
wing," observes, or should observe, some poet, "that we obtain a full
view
of the beauty of its plumage;" and it is only as the politician is
about
being "turned out" that — like the snake of the Irish Chronicle when
touched
by St. Patrick — he "awakens to a sense of his situation."
XIII.
Newspaper editors seem to have
constitutions
closely
similar to those of the Deities in "Walhalla," who cut each other to
pieces
every day, and yet get up perfectly sound and fresh every morning.
XIV.
As far as I can comprehend the modern
cant in
favor
of "unadulterated Saxon," it is fast leading us to the language of that
region where, as Addison has it, "they sell the best fish and speak the
plainest English."
XV.
The frightfully long money-pouches —
"like the
Cucumber
called the Gigantic" — which have come in vogue among our belles — are not
of Parisian origin, as many suppose, but are
strictly indigenous
here.
The fact is, such a fashion would be quite out of place in Paris, where
it is money only that women keep in a purse. The purse of an
American
lady, however, must be large enough to carry both her money and the
soul
of its owner.
XVI.
I can see no objection to gentlemen
"standing for
Congress" — provided they stand on one side — nor to their "running for
Congress" — if they are in a very great hurry to get there — but it
would
be a blessing if some of them could be persuaded into sitting still,
for
Congress, after they arrive. [page 600:]
XVII.
If Envy, as Cyprian has it,
be "the moth
of
the soul," whether shall we regard Content as its Scotch snuff
or
its camphor ?
XVIII.
M———, having been "used up" in
the "—— Review,"
goes about town lauding his critic — as an epicure lauds the best
London
mustard — with the tears in his eyes.
XIX.
"Con tal que las costumbres de un
autor sean
puras
y castas," says the Catholic Don Tomas de las Torres, in the
preface
to his "Amatory Poems," "importa muy poco qui no sean igualmente
severas
sus obras:" meaning, in plain English, that, provided the personal
morals of an author are pure, it matters little what those of his books
are.
For so unprincipled an idea, Don Tomas, no doubt, is
still having a
hard time of it in Purgatory; and, by way of most pointedly manifesting
their disgust at his philosophy on the topic in question, many modern
theologians
and divines are now busily squaring their conduct by his proposition
exactly conversed.
XX.
Children are never too tender to be
whipped: —
like
tough beefsteaks, the more you beat them the more tender they become.
XXI.
Lucian, in describing the statue "
with its
surface
of Parian marble and its interior filled with rags," must have been
looking
with a prophetic eye at some of our great "moneyed institutions."
XXII.
That poets (using the word
comprehensively, as
including
artists in general) are a genus irritabile, is well understood;
but the why, seems not to be commonly seen. An artist is
an artist
only
by dint of his exquisite sense of Beauty — a sense affording him
rapturous
enjoyment, but at the same time implying, or involving, an equally
exquisite
sense of Deformity of disproportion. Thus a wrong — an injustice — done
a poet who is really a poet, excites him to a degree which, to ordinary
apprehension, appears disproportionate with the wrong. Poets see injustice
— never where it does not exist — but very often where the
unpoetical
see no injustice whatever. Thus the poetical irritability has no
reference [page
601:] to "temper" in the vulgar sense, but merely to a more
than usual clear-sightedness in respect to wrong: — this
clear-sightedness
being nothing more than a corollary from the vivid perception of right
— of justice — of proportion — in a word, of [[Greek text=]] το καλον
[[=Greek text]]. But
one
thing is clear — that the man who is not "irritable," (to the
ordinary
apprehension,) is no poet.
XXIII.
Let a man succeed ever so evidently —
ever so
demonstrably
— in many different displays of genius, the envy of criticism
will
agree with the popular voice in denying him more than talent in
any. Thus a poet who has achieved a great (by which I mean an
effective)
poem, should be cautious not to distinguish himself in any other walk
of
Letters. In especial — let him make no effort in Science — unless
anonymously,
or with the view of waiting patiently the judgment of posterity.
Because
universal or even versatile geniuses have rarely or never been known, therefore,
thinks
the world, none such can ever be. A "therefore" of this kind is, with
the world, conclusive. But what is the fact, as taught us by
analysis
of
mental power? Simply, that the highest genius — that the
genius
which
all men instantaneously acknowledge as such — which acts upon
individuals,
as well as upon the mass, by a species of magnetism incomprehensible
but
irresistible and never resisted — that this genius which
demonstrates
itself in the simplest gesture — or even by the absence of all — this
genius
which speaks without a voice and flashes from the unopened eye — is but
the result of generally large mental power existing in a state of absolute
proportion — so that no one faculty has undue predominance. That
factitious
"genius" — that "genius" in the popular sense — which is but the
manifestation
of the abnormal predominance of some one faculty over all the others —
and, of course, at the expense and to the detriment, of all the others
— is a result of mental disease or rather, of organic malformation of
mind:
— it is this and nothing more. Not only will such "genius" fail, if
turned
aside from the path indicated by its predominant faculty; but, even
when
pursuing this path — when producing those works in which, certainly, it
is best calculated to succeed — will give
unmistakeable
indications
of unsoundness, [page 602:] in respect to
general
intellect. Hence, indeed, arises the just idea that
| "Great wit to madness nearly is
allied." |
I say "just idea;" for by "great wit," in
this case, the
poet
intends precisely the pseudo-genius to which I refer. The true genius,
on the other hand, is necessarily, if not universal in its
manifestations,
at least capable of universality; and if, attempting all things, it
succeeds
in one rather better than in another, this is merely on account of a
certain
bias by which Taste leads it with more earnestness in the one
direction
than in the other. With equal zeal, it would succeed equally in all.
To sum up our results in respect to
this very
simple,
but much vexata questio: —
What the world calls "genius" is the
state of
mental
disease arising from the undue predominance of some one of the
faculties.
The works of such genius are never sound in themselves, and, in
especial,
always betray the general mental insanity.
The proportion of the mental
faculties,
in
a case where the general mental power is not inordinate, gives
that
result which we distinguish as talent: — and the talent is
greater
or less, first, as the general mental power is greater or less; and,
secondly,
as the proportion of the faculties is more or less absolute.
The proportion of the faculties, in a
case where
the mental power is inordinately great, gives that result which is
the
true genius (but which, on account of the proportion and
seeming
simplicity of its works, is seldom acknowledged to be so;) and
the genius is greater or less, first, as the
general mental power is more or less inordinately great; and, secondly,
as the proportion of the faculties is more or less absolute.
An objection will be made: — that the
greatest
excess
of mental power, however proportionate, does not seem to satisfy our
idea
of genius, unless we have, in addition, sensibility, passion, energy.
The
reply is, that the "absolute proportion" spoken of, when applied to
inordinate
mental power, gives, as a result, the appreciation of Beauty and horror
of Deformity which we call sensibility, together with that intense
vitality,
which is implied when we speak of "Energy" or "Passion." [page
603:]
XXIV.
"And Beauty draws us by a single
hair." —
Capillary
attraction, of course.
XXV.
It is by no means clear, as regards
the present
revolutionary
spirit of Europe, that it is a spirit which "moveth altogether if it
move
at all." In Great Britain it may be kept quiet for half a century yet,
by placing at the head of affairs an experienced medical man. He should
keep his forefinger constantly on the pulse of the patient, and exhibit
panem in gentle doses, with as much circenses as
the
stomach can
be
made to retain.
XXVI.
The taste manifested by our
Transcendental poets, is to be treated "reverentially," beyond
doubt, as
one of Mr. Emerson's
friends suggests — for the fact is, it is Taste on her death-bed —
Taste
kicking in articulo mortis.
XXVII.
I should not say, of Taglioni,
exactly that she
dances,
but that she laughs with her arms and legs, and that if she takes
vengeance
on her present oppressors, she will be amply justified by the lex
Talionis.
XXVIII.
The world is infested, just now, by a
new sect of
philosophers, who have not yet suspected themselves of forming a sect,
and who, consequently, have adopted no name. They are the Believers
in everything Old [[Odd]].Their High Priest in the East, is
Charles Fourier — in the West, Horace Greely [[Greeley]]; and high
priests they
are
to some purpose. The only common bond among the sect, is Credulity: —
let
us call it Insanity at once, and be done with it. Ask any one of them why
he believes this or that, and, if he be conscientious,
(ignorant
people
usually are,) he will make you very much such a reply as Talleyrand
made
when asked why he believed in the Bible. "I believe in it first," said
he, "because I am Bishop of Autun; and, secondly, because I know
nothing
about it at all." What these philosophers call "argument," is a
way
they have "de nier ce qui est et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas." * [page 604:]
XXIX.
K——, the publisher, trying to be
critical, talks
about books pretty much as a washerwoman would about Niagara falls or a
poulterer about a phœnix.
XXX.
The ingenuity of critical malice
would often be
laughable
but for the disgust which, even in the most perverted spirits,
injustice
never fails to excite. A common trick is that of decrying,
impliedly,
the higher, by insisting upon the lower, merits of an author. Macaulay,
for example, deeply feeling how much critical acumen is enforced by
cautious
attention to the mere "rhetoric" which is its vehicle, has at length
become the best of modern rhetoricians. His brother reviewers
—
anonymous, of course, and likely to remain so forever — extol "the
acumen
of Carlyle, the analysis of Schlegel, and the style of
Macaulay."
Bancroft is a philosophical historian; but no amount of philosophy has
yet taught him to despise a minute accuracy in point of fact. His brother
historians
talk of "the grace of Prescott, the erudition of Gibbon, and the
painstaking precision of Bancroft." Tennyson, perceiving how vividly an
imaginative effect is aided, now and then, by a certain quaintness
judiciously
introduced, brings this latter, at times, in support of his most
glorious
and most delicate imagination: — whereupon his brother poets
hasten
to laud the imagination of Mr. Somebody, whom nobody imagined to have
any,
"and the somewhat affected quaintness of Tennyson." — Let the
noblest
poet add to his other excellences — if he dares — that of faultless
versification
and scrupulous attention to grammar. He is damned at once. His rivals
have
it in their power to discourse of " A. the true poet, and B.
the
versifier and disciple of Lindley Murray."
XXXI.
The goddess Laverna, who is a head
without a
body,
could not do better, perhaps, than make advances to "La Jeune France,"
which, for some years to come at least, must otherwise remain a body
without
a head.
XXXII.
H—— calls his verse a "poem," very
much as
Francis
the First bestowed the title, mes déserts, upon his
snug
little
deer-park at Fontainebleau. [page 605:]
XXXIII.
Mr. A—— is frequently spoken of as
"one of our
most industrious writers;" and, in fact, when we consider how much he
has written, we perceive, at once, that he must have been
industrious,
or he could never (like an honest woman as he is) have so thoroughly
succeeded
in keeping himself from being "talked about."
XXXIV.
That a cause leads to an effect, is
scarcely more
certain than that, so far as Morals are concerned, a repetition of
effect
tends to the generation of cause. Herein lies the principle of what we
so vaguely term "Habit."
XXXV.
With the exception of Tennyson's
"Locksley Hall,"
I have never read a poem combining so much of the fiercest passion with
so much of the most delicate imagination, as the "Lady Geraldine's
Courtship"
of Miss Barrett. I am forced to admit, however, that the latter work is
a palpable imitation of the former, which it surpasses in thesis, as
much
as it falls below it in a certain calm energy, lustrous and indomitable
— such as we might imagine in a broad river of molten gold.
XXXVI.
What has become of the inferior
planet which
Decuppis,
about nine years ago, declared he saw traversing the disc of the sun ?
XXXVII.
"Ignorance is bliss" — but, that the
bliss be
real,
the ignorance must be so profound as not to suspect itself ignorant.
With
this understanding, Boileau's line may be read thus:
| [["]]Le plus fou toujours est
le plus
satisfait," |
— "toujours" in place of "souvent."
XXXVIII.
Bryant and Street are both,
essentially,
descriptive
poets; and descriptive poetry, even in its happiest manifestation, is not
of
the highest order. But the distinction between Bryant and Street is
very
broad. While the former, in reproducing the sensible images of Nature,
reproduces the sentiments with which he regards them, the latter gives
us the images and nothing beyond. He never forces us to feel what we
feel
he must have felt. [page 606:]
XXXIX.
In lauding Beauty, Genius merely
evinces a filial
affection. To Genius Beauty gives life — reaping often a reward in
Immortality.
XL.
And this is the "American Drama" of —— !
Well ! —
that
"Conscience which makes cowards of us all" will permit me to say, in
praise
of the performance, only that it is not quite so bad as I expected it
to
be. But then I always expect too much.
XLI.
What we feel to be Fancy will be
found fanciful
still,
whatever be the theme which engages it. No subject exalts it
into
Imagination. When Moore is termed "a fanciful poet," the epithet is
applied
with precision. He is. He is fanciful in "Lalla Rookh," and had
he
written
the "Inferno," in the "Inferno" he would have contrived to be still
fanciful and nothing beyond.
XLII.
When we speak of "a suspicious man,"
we may mean
either one who suspects, or one to be suspected. Our language needs
either
the adjective "suspectful," or the adjective "suspectable."
XLIII.
"To love," says Spenser, " is
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to
ride, to run,
To speed, to give, to want, to be undone. |
The philosophy, here, might be rendered more
profound, by the mere
omission of a comma. We all know the willing blindness — the voluntary
madness
of Love. We express this in thus punctuating the last line:
| To speed, to give — to want to
be undone. |
It is a case, in short, where we gain a point by
omitting it.
XLIV.
Miss Edgeworth seems to have had only
an
approximate
comprehension of "Fashion," for she says: "If it was the fashion to
burn
me, and I at the stake, I hardly know ten persons of my acquaintance
who
would refuse to throw on a fagot." There are many who, in such
a case, would "refuse to throw on
a fagot " — for fear of smothering out the fire.
XLV.
I am beginning to think with Horsely
— that "the
People have nothing to do with the laws but to obey them." [page
607:]
XLVI.
"It is not fair to review my book
without reading
it," says Mr. Mathews, talking at the critics, and, as usual, expecting
impossibilities. The man who is clever enough to write such a
work, is
clever enough to read it, no doubt; but we should not look for so much
talent in the world at large. Mr. Mathews will not imagine that I mean
to blame him. The book alone is in fault, after all. The fact
is
that, "er lasst sich nicht lesen" — it will not permit itself
to be read. Being a hobby of Mr. Mathew's, and brimful of spirit, it
will
let nobody mount it but Mr. Mathews.
XLVII.
It is only to teach his children
Geography, that
G—— wears a boot the picture of Italy upon the map.
XLVIII.
In his great Dictionary, Webster
seems to have
had
an idea of being more English than the English — "plus Arabe qu'en
Arabie." *
XLIX.
That there were once "seven wise men
" is by no
means,
strictly speaking, an historical fact; and I am rather inclined
to rank
the idea among the Kabbala.
L.
Painting their faces to look like
Macaulay, some
of our critics manage to resemble him, at length, as a Massaccian does
a Raffäellian Virgin; and, except that the former is feebler and
thinner
than the other — suggesting the idea of its being the ghost of the
other
— not one connoisseur in ten can perceive any difference. But then,
unhappily,
even the street lazzaroni can feel the distinction. |
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