was recovered. But for these things a heavy price was paid. For, not satisfied with condemning those forms and appurtenances of classic and Renaissance art which might be alien to the ideas and life of England, the pre-Raphaelites struck at the principle which underlay that art. That this principle was in itself as applicable to modern as to ancient times, to England as to Italy, was a thought they did not entertain. Truth to nature was their cry, but by truth to nature they meant no correcting nature by nature,' no seeking by careful comparison after that 'central form from which any deviation is deformity'; they meant the literal copying of nature's individual experiments.

·

In a word, what the pre-Raphaelites did was to abolish at a blow the principle of selection from English art by inverting the traditional process. They proceeded to select the accidental traits, or those belonging to the individual, and to discard the essential traits, or those belonging to the species. And, as was bound to happen, with the going of this principle went everything that had gone to make art permanently acceptable and significant. We have already seen how this principle operated in Italian art. We have seen it singling out of all conceivable subjects and situations the few that had durable interest. We have seen it building up its composition into unity and simplicity by the rigid exclusion of irrelevant detail. And in the portrayal of emotions, the evolution of types, the representation of scenery, we have seen it consistently at work discriminating between the essential and accidental traits. Through all these processes the same principle operates, and an injury to it in any one direction is felt in all. The pre-Raphaelites began by dealing with methods of representation. Nature was to be copied exactly; figures and faces, dresses and furniture, all were to be accurately rendered. Thus in representation the principle of selection was abolished, and in its stead was introduced the rival principle of individual imitation. But the new principle did not stop there. It proceeded to invade each department of the art. In a very short time the sense for what was great and permanently interesting in subject and for what was vital in composition entirely died out, and the tradition which had inspired the greatest creative epoch of Christian Europe was laid finally in ruins.

If the reader is inclined to think we overstate the case, a simple test can be applied. All he has to do is to compare the National Gallery, the fruit of traditional art, with the Royal Academy, the fruit of experimental or personal art as instituted by the pre-Raphaelites. He will feel, in the first place, at once that there is a difference between the two, a broad and general difference, not explicable by any equivalent difference in

individual talent or genius. To what, then, is this difference due? In the National Gallery we have round us the fruits of the great creative epochs of European painting. A certain general similarity in manner and style, felt through all differences, pervades room after room. English, French, Flemish, Spanish, Italian, they are all intimately allied to each other; far more intimately allied to each other, at least, than any of them are to the Royal Academy. We have said that one and the same tradition is at the root of every great creative epoch in art, and here in the National Gallery we stand in the presence of this tradition. It is this which explains the uniformity in spirit and point of view here universally prevalent. And we have but to question this spirit a little to perceive in what its singular influence consists, and on what doctrine the prevailing tradition is based. It is based on the doctrine of the selection of the essential. From picture after picture and room after room the same doctrine is echoed back to us. In subject, in composition, in faces, figures, landscapes we see nothing around us save that which has importance and permanent significance. From all that is trivial, accidental and complicated we are for the time being wholly delivered. Here is calmness and serenity. It is as though we were raised for the moment to the level of a simpler and more pregnant existence. But if from such a scene we turn to one of the annual exhibitions at Burlington House, how instantly the mood changes! Back like a flood comes the commonplace and the trivial; chaos replaces order, and insignificance of subject-matter, inarticulate composition, and a literal representation of a thousand particular scenes and figures and incidents bears witness to the fact that the principle of selection has ceased to operate.

That this sudden right about face in artistic methods and ideals was the logical result of the pre-Raphaelites' revolt no one conversant with their practice and preaching will deny. At the same time we must add, too, that this admission does not by any means imply an unqualified condemnation of that revolt. It would seem that there are times when a vital principle has become so clogged and involved with the formulas of its own creation that it is practically impossible to clear the ground of the formulas without for the time being discrediting the principle also; and, however great a pity this may be, however much it may throw back and retard the progress of art, it may, if there is no other way of getting rid of the formulas, be a necessity, and on the whole beneficial. To say that the pre-Raphaelites paid a heavy price for sincerity is not to say that that price was excessive. After all there is one conaition in regard to art more funda

mental even than selection. It is that it shall be the expression of the life of its age. By setting it free from the thraldom it was in to the classic and the antique the pre-Raphaelites restored to art the possibility of becoming this. And of this enfranchisement art has availed itself. Whatever modern painting is or is not, no one can question its entire and untrammelled freedom. This, without a doubt, is the primary condition which must precede all healthy developement. Still, there is nothing constructive in this. It is merely a clearing of the ground. Modern painting has entered as yet on no creative epoch of its own. All that has happened is that we have been set free to choose those thoughts, emotions and subjects generally which are fit to inspire art from the life of our own age.

This we are free to do. But the methods to be pursued in doing this remain what they always were. The principles of art do not change. If it is true that the function of art, as manifested in its great days, has always been to separate the essential and permanently significant from all that is accidental and of merely transitory interest, then we may be quite certain that we, too, if we are to achieve anything great, must enter on the same way; that we, too, must learn to apply the same patient, laborious, thoughtful process of selection, teaching ourselves to divine those elements in nature and life which are vital and of genuine importance, and so building up by degrees a tradition, at once durable and rational, which shall direct and control the art of the future.

A criticism

We cannot therefore agree with Mr. Sturge Moore that the appreciation of the individual genius and point of view is all that matters in the criticism of art. We hold with Sir Joshua, that everything which is wrought with certainty is wrought upon some principle,' and that this principle admits of definition and a rational analysis. To carry out this task of defining and analysing the principle on which creative art is based is the function of an enlightened criticism, and in an age like the present this function becomes of the first consequence. that can distinguish between the character of experimental and creative art, that can formulate the theory on which creative art is invariably based, that can, moreover, vindicate the philosophical truth of that theory and keep it steadily in the view of thoughtful people, must, one would think, be of service in saving art from the random impulses that at present beset it, and in directing it to more steadfast and assured ideals. It is for the light it casts on this side of the subject, and the chance it affords criticism of fulfilling this function, that the art of a great creative epoch like the Renaissance seems to us chiefly valuable.

ART. VI.-THE ENGLISH INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

1. La Révolution Industrielle au XVIII. Siècle: Essai sur les Commencements de la Grande Industrie Moderne en Angleterre. Par PAUL MANTOUX, Ancien Elève de l'École Normale Supérieure, Docteur-ès-lettres. Paris: Société Nouvelle de Librairie et d'Édition. 1906.

2. Lectures on the Industrial Revolution of the Eighteenth Century in England. By the late ARNOLD TOYNBEE. 5th edition. London: Longmans & Co. 1896.

IN

N a small volume which contains the fragmentary and incomplete results of a too short career are to be found some brief lectures on the momentous national movement which the author terms the Industrial Revolution of the Eighteenth Century. They were delivered by Arnold Toynbee in the hall of Balliol College, Oxford, between October 1881 and Midsummer 1882, and form the basis for an exhaustive work on this great subject, one which Toynbee's eager and creative mind had already outlined. But this fragment, in itself of no small value, has borne important fruit; it has stimulated other minds. It contains the germ, as the author freely states, of Monsieur Mantoux's able and striking book, in which he lays before the reader, with abundant and well-verified details, the history of an event more profoundly important than many purely political changes. These details are often obscure and in themselves insignificant, and they group themselves, as the author well says, into confused masses. It is the task of the historian of this far-reaching event to arrange this material, and to place the broad outlines to be obtained from a study of these innumerable facts before the student of great national and economical movements.

One could have wished that the task undertaken and so well performed by Monsieur Mantoux had fallen to the lot of an Englishman; and yet it may be that in that case the survey would have been less impartial; it could not, at any rate, have been more thorough. The classified bibliography with which the work closes would in itself be a valuable asset for the student of the eighteenth century, but we must at the same time express regret that this enduring work is-as is not unusual with our neighbours-without that most necessary adjunct, a wellarranged index. Perhaps it may be added to some future edition, or at any rate to an English translation, which no doubt will presently be published.

At the beginning of his book the author devotes some pages to his search for a definition of the phrase which appears as his sub-title- La Grande Industrie.' No words can express its meaning to English readers, nor, indeed, for them is it required. The phrase the Industrial Revolution of the Eighteenth Century' sufficiently defines an extremely complex event, one which had its origin in economical, social, and political facts, as it had economical, social, and political results. The same words equally limit the epoch, for by the end of the century modern industrial conditions were established.* Machinery, no doubt, played a great part in the movement, but, while it was one element, it cannot be regarded as the single distinguishing feature of it. It is, in fact, at once more accurate and more suggestive to regard this revolution, just as we regard the French Revolution of the same period, as a national event, marked by well-defined features, one which, though it was of the first importance in its effect on the economical condition of England, is no less noteworthy for the political and social consequences which flowed from it.

The eighteenth century is generally regarded as a period of political lethargy in England. It was inevitable that it should be so, for political excitement is only the outward and visible sign of political activity springing from political discontent. The accession of George I. was the most striking mark which it was possible to find of the completion of the fundamental political changes of the previous century. 1688,' says Monsieur Mantoux (p. 77), is the end of a long crisis, during which the English people had been struggling for sixty years: a fortunate crisis, since its end gave to England what none

*Nous avons pris le parti, pour des raisons à nos yeux décisives, de nous arrêter aux premières années du xixe siècle; à ce moment les grandes inventions techniques, y compris celle qui les domine toutes, la machine à vapeur, sont entrées dans le domaine de la pratique; il existe des usines déjà nombreuses, et toutes semblables, le détail de l'outillage mis à part, à celles d'aujourd'hui ; les grandes agglomérations industrielles commencent à se former, le prolétariat de fabrique apparaît, les anciennes réglementations de métier, plus qu'à moitié détruites, font place au régime du laissez-faire, destiné lui-même à succomber sous le poids de nécessités que déjà l'on entrevoit la loi qui a inauguré la législation de fabrique date de 1802. Toutes les données sont dès lors posées; il ne reste plus qu'à en suivre le développement. D'ailleurs, à l'époque suivante, les phénomènes économiques subissent des perturbations qui en compliquent singulièrement la marche la période du blocus continental et celle des lois sur les grains méritent une étude spéciale.'Mantoux, pp. 20–21.