by the intellect in art has its limits, and that in the delight of the connoisseur, no less truly than in that of the unreflective tyro, there blend innumerable elements which cannot be referred to definite objective sources. vague and indefinite emotional effects of enjoyment. It will be the object of this described just now. One might even urge paper to show that art does produce imthat it is impossible for an æsthetically pressions of this kind, and that, however trained mind ever to suspend the intel-highly developed the intellectual apprecialectual functions in order to taste of the tion of beauty, there remains a wide margin mysterious delights of the unthinking of emotional effect which intellectual redreamer. flection cannot render definite. In other There is a measure of truth in these words, we shall try to establish this proporemarks; yet they do not accurately rep-sition, that the control of the emotions resent the facts. Esthetic culture does, no doubt, tend to make our enjoyment of art more intelligent; on the other hand, it no less certainly tends to deepen and widen our emotional capacity itself. Now the peculiar delight experienced in yielding oneself entirely to an indefinite emotional In the first place, then, it is worth reimpression may be viewed as one mode of marking that, even within the region of æsthetic pleasure in which culture enables art-impression which intellectual reflection us to share. Indeed, one might reason is able to render clear and precise, there that the full measure of such vague emo- is room for the realization of a certain tional satisfaction has for its condition a vague emotional effect. This looks at first certain degree of intellectual culture. For sight paradoxical, no doubt, but it can be in its highest degrees this delight takes easily made intelligible. It is to be rethe form of a sense of the undefined and membered that the process of reducing an the mysterious, and this presupposes habits impression received from a work of art to of reflection. A rude peasant is pleasur- definite elements cannot be completely perably moved by nature's works; but he formed in a single moment: it takes time. does not reflect on the nature of the feel- Our powers of attention are greatly limited, ings thus awakened. It is only the reflec- and we are unable to reflect distinctly in tive mind which consciously enjoys the one act on more than a small area of immysterious aspects of things. As a matter pression. As a consequence of this, at of observation, too, minds of the highest any single moment our consciousness is artistic training frequently manifest a made up of regions having very unequal marked disposition to this mode of enjoy- degrees of illumination. One impression ment. Contemporary English art, includ- or feeling is reflected on, and so appears ing painting and poetry, illustrates an im-clear and distinct; but outside there are pulse among some of the most cultivated circles of consciousness, feelings, and lovers of art to make prominent this ingre- thoughts, which are vague and undefined. dient of the vague and undefined. Further, observation tells us that a susceptibility to these effects of art is not incompatible with a quick and vigorous intellectual appreciation. To name a single example, Robert Schumann, in the interesting papers reprinted from the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, and recently translated into English, shows us in a striking manner a happy combination of a love of intellectual light with a feeling for the obscure and the undefined in art. It will be admitted, we think, that it is well to cultivate this capacity of vague emotional enjoyment, if it can be shown that intellectual comprehension in art has its limits, and that there is always a larger region of art-effect in which the pleasure must be of an undefined and unexplained nature. If art can be shown to yield modes of delight which are unsusceptible of being connected with definite ideas by reflection, a person will clearly be the loser if his desire for intellectual light is so supreme as to unfit him for those modes Thus at any given moment the impression we receive from a work of art consists of clear and obscure feelings, which latter can only be made luminous in their turn at the expense of the former. Let us illustrate this in the case of pictorial art, and let us take a picture which has attracted a good deal of notice of latethe "Venus' Mirror" of Mr. Burne Jones. When, for example, we are passing the eye over the several details the gracefully set figures, the water with its soft reflections, the quiet landscape behind — we are at each successive moment elevating one impression or group of impressions after another into clear consciousness, while the rest fall back into the dim regions of the sub-conscious. Each ingredient - the illuminated and the unilluminated — is alike essential. When, for instance, we are deriving an intellectual satisfaction from some particular virgin-shape or gen. tle face, the many other pleasing elements of the picture contribute each a little rillet of undiscriminated emotion; and these obscure or "sub-conscious" currents of altogether excluded from certain modes of feeling serve to swell the impression of art-enjoyment: that is to say, the element any single instant, making it full and deep. of the strange and mysterious does not It is the same when we try to bring a num- disappear even when attention is turned to ber of details under some aspect of unity this particular quarter. After all, it is only or harmony. If, for instance, in the pic- a portion of our delight, which we are able ture alluded to, we attend to the delicious to separate into distinct ingredients, and to modulation of color, or if, with certain ad- refer to definite objects, relations, or ideas. miring critics, we are able to derive an In all our fuller and mingled enjoyments ineffable enjoyment from the dominant there seem to blend strange elements, sentiment of the scene, in each case there which escape all our attempts to seize and coexists in our mind with the clear percep- to subject them to intellectual control. tion of this relation or phase an obscure When, for example, we watch from some undiscriminating sense of the many de- Alpine eminence the splendid miracle of a tails which all help, according to their rank sunset, we are conscious of thrills of emoin the artist's scheme, to make the paint- tion which by no skill of reflection can we ing an embodiment of the beautiful and attach to definite perceptions or their at the fountain of a rich and varied delight. tendant suggestions. It will be seen, then, that vague emotion is inseparable from every complex work of art. At no single moment is the whole of its charm clear and intelligible to us. We must be content at each instant to enjoy one portion, through the play of intellectual attention and comparison, while accepting the rest on trust, so to speak, knowing we are able in turn to bring it under the same illuminating influence. In this mode of enjoyment, intellect is fully occupied and amply gratified; on the other hand, the peculiar delight which belongs to the vague and mysterious is never wholly expelled from consciousness. It is to be observed, further, that the development of art, so far from lessening this ingredient in art-pleasure, would rather seem to increase it. Higher works of art are distinguished from lower and elementary ones by being more complex, by having more numerous elements, also a larger number of uniting relations; in other words, a more intricate unity, dominating a wider diversity. Now, though it is true that art-culture expands our capabilities of attention and comparison, so that we are able to embrace a larger number of details under a single aspect of unity, it is no less certain that the more complex a work of art, the larger must be the region of the obscure and undiscriminated at any single moment. If we contrast the state of mind of a child admiring a new doll, and that of an artist contemplating the Laocoon, we shall see that, while there is vastly more of intellectual activity in the former case than in the latter, there is also, in any given moment, a wider area of undetermined pleasure. We may now turn to a second main ground of the vague in æsthetic impression. Not only is the intellectual reduction of the æsthetic material necessarily partial at each successive moment; it is The truth is, that however keen and inquisitive our minds, however well disciplined our intellects, our power of taking apart the contents of our consciousness is always limited. We think, perhaps, that we resolve a feeling called forth by a beautiful picture or a pathetic poem into its ultimate elements; yet, on further reflection, we shall find that we never really effect such an exhaustive analysis. Yet, if we In the first place, then, every beautiful object, whether of nature or of art, calls up a large number of pleasurable feelings. We roughly mark off portions of this effect, setting down one to sensuous impressions, another to relations of harmony and proportion, another to particular emotions, as wonder, love, and so on. carefully consider the matter, we must be aware that this process is never other than inexact. In the whole impression of a peaceful landscape, for example, we cannot be sure that we make an accurate and exhaustive analysis when we enumerate a few prominent features of the scene with their imaginative suggestions. On the contrary, we are always confident that we leave many sources of gratification undetected. The whole effect, further, seems to be something more than the sum of the separate elements, even supposing these to be ascertained. In the scene before us the pleasures of light, color, and form, and of poetic suggestion partially blend and lose their distinct characters. In other words, the intermingling of these elements affects us differently from the elements experienced apart. Thus a complex object of art always contains an unresolved factor, and so presents a mysterious side to our perceptions. Let us now go a step further. We will suppose that the total impression of a work of art has been broken up by reflec tion into groups of elements emotional and sensuous. Yet even this division | is in reality compounded of simple sensudoes not get rid of the element of mystery. ous elements. The pleasure of a rich full Thus the emotional effects of art are by note from a reed instrument, or still betno means perfectly intelligible. Any one ter from a human voice, arises, according who has accustomed himself to reflect on to Helmholtz, from a fusion of many parthe feelings called forth by the beautiful, tial tones, which the unpractised ear is the sublime, the comic, and so on, must unable to separate. To this circumstance have learnt how impossible it is to make Helmholtz refers a part of the mystery of clear and definite all the separate sources music. In tones there dimly reveal themof the pleasure. How strangely and in- selves to our consciousness a plurality of extricably, for example, do numerous pul- simpler sensations which blend with and sations of feeling mingle in the effects of disguise one another. The same authorhumor! Who can define all the elements ity tells us that our seemingly simple senwhich co-operate to produce the peculiar sations of color are never strictly elementcharm of a figure like Don Quixote, or Mr. ary. It is true that we do not ordinarily Carlyle's Teufelsdroeck? We can only feel anything mysterious in a pure "prilay the finger on a few points here and mary" color, as scarlet or blue. Yet if there which call forth merry laughter, gen- the reader will carefully observe the effect tle pity, and nascent admiration: we can- produced by a rotating disc, with segments not say whence comes all the peculiar de- variously colored, when its motion is not light which such objects minister to our too rapid, he will probably find that a minds. It is the same with the effects of vague sense of a number of hues, blending the sublime. When gazing on a chain of in one result and color, lends a peculiar Alpine peaks motionless and charmed in charm to the impression. Hence it is not the magical air, we feel ourselves strangely impossible certain intermediate colors, as moved, being now lifted up with a sympa-orange and warm violet, owe a part of their thetic sense of large power and perfect freedom, now partially subdued by a recognition of the possible relations of this power to our own feeble forces. Yet in vain do we seek to refer to definite impressions and associated ideas all the thrills of emotion which combine in this effect. Finally, we do not eliminate all mystery, even when we reach that part of æsthetic effect which best lends itself to a minutely discriminative attention, namely, sensuous impression. When listening to a complex orchestral movement with which we are pretty familiar, we seem to ourselves to be able to separate one mass of tones from another, and to refer the whole of the ear's delight to a number of simple impressions. In point of fact, however, this separation is always very rough and incomplete. The whole pleasure of an orchestral chord, with its richly varied "tone color," does not easily break up into a number of single sensations; the very combination of the elements seems to disguise and transform to some extent the characteristic effects of the single constituents. In other words, the value of the tone elements apart and in combination is not the same, and consequently discriminative reflection fails to define the whole effect. It is much the same with colors in combination. This however is not all. Even when we have reached what we call the elements of sensation, our analysis is only a rough and proximate one. Recent science tells us that what appears to our consciousness an elementary sensation of tone or of color æsthetic value to a faint consciousness of the elementary impressions which compose these tints. We have hitherto been speaking of the feelings called forth by art only so far as they depend on impressions and ideas supposed to be now present to the mind. Regarded in this way, they involve an element of the mysterious, just because our power of analytic reflection is limited. That is to say, the elements of pleasure are too numerous, and mix too freely, for our minds to effect a complete separation of them. But there is a further obstacle to this process of separating and detecting the separate ingredients of art-pleasure. The impressions which objects produce on our minds are a growth of many past experiences. A quiet valley does not affect a young lad as it affects a middle-aged man. To the latter it presents ideal aspects and offers emotional suggestions which do not exist for the former. It faintly reminds him, among other things, of long days of toil, of renewed visions of repose from the fatiguing excitements of the world. Yet the thoughts thus called up are of the vaguest; and much of the emotional power of the associations which gather about objects with growing experi ence is wholly undefinable. A feeling is produced, but the mental image which would explain this feeling is irrecoverable. We are strangely moved by the first sight of a foreign city, reposing amidst sheltering hills, or by some passing effect of light and color in our habitual surround ings, or by the tones of a strange voice; yet no distinct recollection accompanies the impression, and we are at a loss to explain this effect. In the case of all the more familiar classes of objects, there grow up innumerable associations which all serve to add to the emotional effect, though they do not rise into consciousness as definite ideas. The sky above us, the cool glade, the rounded hill, the murmur ing shore- - these and other objects acquire for the mature man a meaning which is too deep to be sounded by the intellectual line. Not only do objects and groups of objects thus collect about them mysterious forces in relation to our emotions, but the various elementary qualities of objects acquire a deeper emotional significance with growing experience; and this is very frequently quite untranslatable into terms of definite ideas. To the cultivated adult visual forms and colors, also tones of various pitch and of special timbre, become invested with a full, deep charm, yet a charm which cannot be clearly understood, since the innumerable associations which sustain it are lost to view. Recent scientific speculation opens up a yet deeper ground for this element of the mysterious in the impressions produced by works of nature and art. According to the evolutionist's view of mental growth, our emotions are built up not only of our own individual experiences, but also of those of many generations of ancestors. Here all distinct recollection is plainly excluded. We cannot recall the experiences of our remote forefathers. If, as is said, the charm of landscape is in part to be referred to feelings which have been handed down from our savage ancestors delighting in the chase, this charm must, it is evident, present itself to us as something mysterious. Hence, perhaps, much of that unaccountable emotional effect which is produced in our minds by certain aspects of nature. In the fascination of the restless sea, of wild mountain and of dim wood, of rushing stream and of whispering tree, may there not lie concealed traces of countless experiences of countless generations of uncivilized man? This line of reflection serves, as our evolutionist teachers have pointed out, to account for the deeper unfathomable effects of music; since musical tones may be regarded as the urns, so to speak, which conserve the remains of myriads of utterances of sad and joyous human experience. So, too, the special effects of peculiar colors - the energy of red, the coolness of green, and the deep repose of blue- may rest in part on longfixed associations. Thus, throughout the scale of æsthetic sensation and emotion, the influences of ancestral experience and of hereditary transmission may be at work, imparting elements of feeling for which the intellectual consciousness vainly tries to find definite objective sources. Thus far we have been regarding the element of the mysterious in art as dependent on the limits of distinct attention and of analytic reflection. In these cases we feel the presence of something vague and undefined just because we are unable to refer the feelings of the moment to some well-defined objective impression or suggested idea. There is, however, another way in which this element enters into art. Certain modes of æsthetic pleasure directly depend on vague mental representation as their essential condition, and disappear as soon as reflection seeks to give exactness and definiteness to the ideas. This effect is abundantly illustrated in what is often marked off as the imaginative side of art. Let us just glance at one or two of its principal varieties. In the first place, then, art affords us enjoyment by presenting to our minds subtle threads of similarity binding together things widely diverse in most of their attributes. The gratification in these cases reposes on a momentary apprehension of the point of analogy, and is at once disturbed and destroyed when we begin to reflect closely on the objects or events thus linked together. The most striking example of this effect is given us in poetic similes, including all epithets which are not, strictly speaking, appropriate to the objects to which they are applied, but which bring them for an instant into affinity to other and heterogeneous objects, as "the moaning sea." In all such cases we look at the object through the veil which a transforming imagination throws over it, and the very essence of this imaginative pleasure is involved in keeping the mental representation obscure and undefined. It may be observed that the sense of the mysterious is fuller and intenser when the figurative expression is a new one, and connects things which we are not accustomed to view together. To speak of dawn as a rosy maiden does not strike us as strange, for we have long grown accustomed to the figure. On the other hand, a new and bold simile which brings unlike things together for the first time, as when Milton likens evening to a Sad votarist in palmer's weeds, impresses us as something mysterious. It is further to be noticed that the sense of | yond them our imagination frames wholly mystery is much livelier when the poetic invisible tracts. So, too, when we try figure is not too carefully elaborated. to apprehend the events of the remoter Homer's minutely worked-out similes call up ideas with so much distinctness, that we lose the delicious sense of vagueness which belongs to the more fugitive comparisons of modern poetry. This remark naturally leads to the reflection that poetry cannot supply this effect of vague suggestion in its deepest and intensest form. Words are always definite, and the images called up by them, even though shadowy and incomplete as wholes, have the particular aspect indicated by the term sharply defined. The suggestions of musical tones, on the other hand, are necessarily obscure, since these tones do not exactly answer to any natural impressions, and only suggest ideas through very rough resemblances. This circumstance helps to lend to music its peculiar depth of mystery. When listening to a quaint picturesque movement of Schumann, our mind's eye dimly recognizes numerous affinities to natural sounds, as murmuring breeze, gurgling waterfall, children's laughter, and so on; yet no distinct images are called up, and our delight remains shrouded in a mist of obscure fancy. periods of history, we do not distinctly seize the reality, but only reach a vague and fragmentary conception of the whole order of events. Thus the remote in space and in time always wears to our imagination a certain air of mystery. Not only so, all that is vast in its dimensions loses in definiteness. The huge mountain has a mystery which the tiny hillock wants, just because it presents a greater object to our perceptive faculties, and one which they cannot easily grasp in a single intuition. Still deeper is the mystery when the limits of the object are wholly undefined. Here we have a presentation of the infinite, which our imagination forever seeks to compass, yet never succeeds in rendering definite. An opening in the evening clouds, discovering unfathomable depths of transparent air, makes such an appeal to our imagination. The long flux of years which the page of history, and still more that of geology, presents to us, affects us similarly. We vainly try to reduce all these magnitudes to terms of our definite and reproducible experiences. Now art is able, in a number of ways, to The second main region of undefinable represent these uncompassable magnisuggestion, and so of the sense of the mys- tudes to our fancy. The painter loves to terious in art, is that of imagination in its crown his picture with some opening into narrow sense. We refer to those effects unmeasured space. Milton delights to of art which depend on a full play of fancy unfold in dim outline the vast spaces in the recipient of the impression. The which enfold the earth, including the towartist, whether painter or poet, is said in [ering heights of heaven and the deep many cases to leave something to the abysses of hell. And the same poet imagination; that is to say, he does not knows how to stir our imaginations to seek to make all parts of his artistic repre- lofty effort by passing in review vast and sentation clear and definite, but leaves a incalculable ages of time. Poetry is speterritory of the undefined in which the cially favored in this respect, since it spectator's or hearer's imagination may knows how to magnify every object and construct for itself. The novelist thus ap- every quality by the use of a vague and peals to our imagination when he draws emphatic vocabulary. By a single expresthe veil over some scene of exquisite sion the poet can excite our imagination to pathos or of preternatural delight. The energetic action. Whether it be distance painter does this too when he just sug-in space or in time, or the magnitude of a gests regions lying beyond that of his picture, into which our fancy may wander in dreamy mood. And, generally in so far as art presents its object incompletely, defining a portion only, and simply pointing to what lies beyond, it illustrates this mode of the mysterious. This undefined region, left veiled for the imagination to penetrate, includes more than might at first be supposed. It must be remembered that the objects which nature presents to us are themselves not always clearly definable. When we look away over a wide landscape, the remoter regions are but dimly perceived, and be physical or moral force, or the degree of a It would be interesting to compare the different arts in respect of their capability of supplying the peculiar modes of vague delight here described. So far as this depends on the limits of simultaneous attention, and on the co-operation of secondary |