And, finally, the absolute democracy, or downright low-life party among the spectators--represented for the time being by Mr. Blyth's gardener, and Mr. Blyth's cook's father--who, standing together modestly outside the door, agreed, in awe-struck whispers, that the "Golden Age" was a Tasty Thing, and "Columbus in sight of the New World," a Beautiful Piece.
All Valentine's restlessness before the Visitors arrived was as nothing compared with his rapturous activity, now that they were fairly assembled. Not once had he stood still, or ceased talking since the first spectator entered the room. And not once, probably, would he have permitted either his legs or his tongue to take the slightest repose until the last guest had departed from the Studio, but for Lady Brambledown, who accidentally hit on the only available means of fixing his attention to one thing, and keeping him comparatively quiet in one place.
"I say, Blyth," cried her ladyship (she never prefixed the word "Mister" to the names of any of her male friends)--"I say, Blyth, I can't for the life of me understand your picture of Columbus. You talked some time ago about explaining it in detail. When are you going to begin?"
"Directly, my dear madam, directly: I was only waiting till the room got well filled," answered Valentine, taking up the long wand which he used to steady his hand while he was painting, and producing the manuscript tied round with blue ribbon. "The fact is--I don't know whether you mind it?--I have just thrown together a few thoughts on art, as a sort of introduction to--to Columbus, in short. They are written down on this paper--the thoughts are. Would anybody be kind enough to read them, while I point out what they mean on the picture? I only ask, because it seems egotistical to be reading my opinions about my own works.--Will anybody be kind enough?" repeated Mr. Blyth, walking all along the semicircle of chairs, and politely offering his manuscript to anybody who would take it.
Not a hand was held out. Bashfulness is frequently infectious; and it proved to be so on this particular occasion.
"Nonsense, Blyth!" exclaimed Lady Brambledown. "Read it yourself. Egotistical? Stuff! Everybody's egotistical. I hate modest men; they're all rascals. Read it and assert your own importance. You have a better right to do so than most of your neighbors, for you belong to the aristocracy of talent--the only aristocracy, in my opinion, that is worth a straw." Here her ladyship took a pinch of snuff, and looked at the middle-class families, as much as to say:--"There! what do you think of that from a Member of your darling Peerage?"
Thus encouraged, Valentine took his station (wand in hand) beneath "Columbus," and unrolled the manuscript.
"What a very peculiar man Mr. Blyth is!" whispered one of the lady visitors to an acquaintance behind her.
"And what a very unusual mixture of people he seems to have asked!" rejoined the other, looking towards the doorway, where the democracy loomed diffident in Sunday clothes.
"The pictures which I have the honor to exhibit," began Valentine from the manuscript, "have been painted on a principle--"
"I beg your pardon, Blyth," interrupted Lady Brambledown, whose sharp ears had caught the remark made on Valentine and his "mixture of people," and whose liberal principles were thereby instantly stimulated into publicly asserting themselves. "I beg your pardon; but where's my old ally, the gardener, who was here last time?--Out at the door is he? What does he mean by not coming in? Here, gardener! come behind my chair."
The gardener approached, internally writhing under the honor of public notice, and covered with confusion in consequence of the noise his boots made on the floor.
"How do you do? and how are your family? What did you stop out at the door for? You're one of Mr. Blyth's guests, and have as much right inside as any of the rest of us. Stand there, and listen, and look about you, and inform your mind. This is an age of progress, gardener; your class is coming uppermost, and time it did too. Go on, Blyth." And again the Dowager Countess took a pinch of snuff, looking contemptuously at the lady who had spoken of the "mixture of people."
"I take the liberty," continued Valentine, resuming the manuscript, "of dividing all art into two great classes, the landscape subjects, and the figure subjects; and I venture to describe these classes, in their highest development, under the respective titles of Art Pastoral and Art Mystic. The 'Golden Age' is an attempt to exemplify Art Pastoral. 'Columbus in Sight of the New World' is an effort to express myself in Art Mystic. In 'The Golden Age' "--(everybody looked at Columbus immediately)--"In the 'Golden Age,'" continued Mr. Blyth, waving his wand persuasively towards the right picture, "you have, in the foreground-bushes, the middle-distance trees, the horizon mountains, and the superincumbent sky, what I would fain hope is a tolerably faithful transcript of mere nature. But in the group of buildings to the right" (here the wand touched the architectural city, with its acres of steps and forests of pillars), "in the dancing nymphs, and the musing philosopher" (Mr. Blyth rapped the philosopher familiarly on the head with the padded end of his wand), "you have the Ideal--the elevating poetical view of ordinary objects, like cities, happy female peasants, and thoughtful spectators. Thus nature is exalted; and thus Art Pastoral--no!--thus Art Pastoral exalts--no! I beg your pardon--thus Art Pastoral and Nature exalt each other, and--I beg your pardon again!--in short, exalt each other--"
Here Valentine broke down at the end of a paragraph; and the gardener made an abortive effort to get back to the doorway.
"Capital, Blyth!" cried Lady Brambledown. "Liberal, comprehensive, progressive, profound. Gardener, don't fidget!"
"The true philosophy of art--the true philosophy of art, my lady," added Mr. Gimble, the picture-dealer.
"Crude?" said Mr. Hemlock, the critic, appealing confidentially to Mr. Bullivant, the sculptor.
"What?" inquired that gentleman.
"Blyth's principles of criticism," answered Mr. Hemlock.
"Oh, yes! extremely so," said Mr. Bullivant.
"Having glanced at Art Pastoral, as attempted in the 'Golden Age,'" pursued Valentine, turning over a leaf, "I will now, with your permission, proceed to Art Mystic and 'Columbus.' Art Mystic, I would briefly endeavor to define, as aiming at the illustration of fact on the highest imaginative principles. It takes a scene, for instance, from history, and represents that scene as exactly and naturally as possible. And here the ordinary thinker might be apt to say, Art Mystic has done enough." ("So it has," muttered Mr. Hemlock.) "On the contrary, Art Mystic has only begun. Besides the representation of the scene itself, the spirit of the age"--("Ah! quite right," said Lady Brambledown; "yes, yes, the spirit of the age.")--"the spirit of the age which produced that scene, must also be indicated, mystically, by the introduction of those angelic or infernal winged forms--those cherubs and airy female geniuses--those demons and dragons of darkness--which so many illustrious painters have long since taught us to recognize as impersonating to the eye the good and evil influences, Virtue and Vice, Glory and Shame, Success and Failure, Past and Future, Heaven and Earth--all on the same canvas." Here Mr.