Art; Literature, Modern -- History and criticism; Music -- History and criticism
That Puvis de Chavannes was not an unfeeling Bonze of art, but a man
of tender heart and warm affections was proved after the death of his
much-loved Princess Marie Cantacuzene. Two months later sorrow over
her loss killed him. He had painted the thousand and one expressive
moments in the life of our species as a hymn to humanity, and their
contours are eternal. Eternal? A vain phrase; but eternal till the
canvas fades and the walls decay, that is nearer the truth. Art is
long and appreciation sometimes a chilly consolation. Let us stick to
the eternal verities. As D'Annunzio has it: Quella musica silenziosa
delle linee immobili era cosi possente che creava il fantasma quasi
visibile di una vita piu ricca e piu bella.
XVIII
THREE DISAGREEABLE GIRLS
I
HEDDA
Hazlitt tells us in a delightful essay about the whimsical notion of
Charles Lamb that he would rather see Sir Thomas Browne than
Shakespeare. A pleasant recreation is this same picking out "of
persons one would wish to have seen." Causing great annoyance to
Ayrton at an evening party, Lamb rejected the names of Milton and
Shakespeare, selecting those of Browne and Fulke Greville--the friend
of Sir Philip Sidney. For the prince of essayists there was mystery
hovering about the personalities of this pair. I have often wondered
if the most resounding names in history are the best beloved. Or in
fiction. What is the name of your favourite heroine? Whom should you
like to meet in that long corridor of time leading to eternity, the
walls lined with the world's masterpieces of portraiture? I can answer
for myself that no Shakespearian lovely dame or Balzacian demon in
petticoats would ever be taken off the wall by me. They are either too
remote or too unreal, though a word might be said for Valerie
Marneffe. In the vasty nebula of the Henry James novel there are
alluringly strange women, but if you summon them they fade and resolve
themselves into everlasting phrases. In a word, they are not tangible
enough to endure the change of moral climate involved in such a game
as that played by Charles Lamb and his friends.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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