Chapter III: Part 3

An English painter who, were we to accept the Encyclopædia’s valuation, combines the qualities of several great painters is Charles Holroyd. “In all his work,” we learn, “Holroyd displays an impressive sincerity, with a fine sense of composition, and of style, allied to independent and modern thinking.” Truly a giant! It would be difficult to recall any other painter in history “all” of whose work displayed a “fine sense of composition.” Not even could this be said of Michelangelo. But when it comes to composition, Arthur Melville apparently soars above his fellows. Besides, “several striking portraits in oil,” he did a picture called _The Return From the Crucifixion_, which, so we are told, is a “powerful, colossal composition.” To have achieved only a “powerful” composition should have been a sufficiently remarkable feat for a painter of Mr. Melville’s standing; for only of a very few masters in the world’s history can it be said that their compositions were both powerful and colossal. El Greco, Giotto, Giorgione, Veronese, Titian, Michelangelo and Rubens rarely soared to such heights.

But Melville, it appears, had a contemporary who, if anything, was greater than he—to-wit: W. Q. Orchardson, to whose glories nearly a page is devoted. “By the time he was twenty,” says his biographer, “Orchardson had mastered the essentials of his art.” In short, at twenty he had accomplished what few painters accomplished in a lifetime. A truly staggering feat! We are not therefore surprised to learn that “as a portrait painter Orchardson must be placed in the first class.” Does this not imply that he ranked with Titian, Velazquez, Rubens and Rembrandt? What sort of an idea of the relative values in art will the uninformed person get from such loose and ill-considered rhetoric, especially when the critic goes on to say that _Master Baby_ is “a masterpiece of design, color and broad execution”? There is much more eulogy of a similar careless variety, but enough has been quoted here to show that the world must entirely revise its opinions of art if the _Encyclopædia Britannica’s_ statements are to be accepted.

Even the pictures of Paul Wilson Steer are criticised favorably: “His figure subjects and landscapes show great originality and technical skill.” And John Pettie was “in his best days a colorist of a high order and a brilliant executant.” George Reid, the Scottish artist, is accorded over half a column with detailed criticism and praise. Frederick Walker is given no less than an entire column which ends with a paragraph of fulsome eulogy. Even E. A. Waterlow painted landscapes which were “admirable” and “handled with grace and distinction”—more gaudy generalizations. When the Encyclopædia’s critics can find no specific point to praise in the work of their countrymen, grace, distinction, elegance and sentiment are turned into æsthetic virtues.

Turning to Hogarth, we find no less than three and one-half pages devoted to him, more space than is given to Rubens’s biography, and three times the space accorded Veronese! It was once thought that Hogarth was only an “ingenious humorist,” but “time has reversed that unjust sentence.” We then read that Hogarth’s composition leaves “little or nothing to be desired.” If such were the case, he would unquestionably rank with Rubens, Michelangelo and Titian; for, if indeed his composition leaves little or nothing to be desired, he is as great as, or even greater than, the masters of all time. But even with this eulogy the Encyclopædia’s critic does not rest content. As a humorist and a satirist upon canvas, “he has never been equalled.” If we regard Hogarth as an “author” rather than artist, “his place is with the great masters of literature—with the Thackerays and Fieldings, the Cervantes and Molières.” (Note that of these four “great masters” two are English.)

Mastery in one form or another, if the _Britannica_ is to be believed, was common among English painters. The pictures of Richard Wilson are “skilled and learned compositions ... the work of a painter who was thoroughly master of his materials.” In this latter respect Mr. Wilson perhaps stands alone among the painters of the world; and yet, through some conspiracy of silence no doubt, the leading critics of other nations rarely mention him when speaking of those artists who thoroughly mastered their materials. In regard to Raeburn, the Encyclopædia is less fulsome, despite the fact that over a page is allotted him. We are distinctly given to understand that he had his faults. Velazquez, however, constantly reminded Wilkie of Raeburn; yet, after all, Raeburn was not quite so great as Velazquez. This is frankly admitted.

It was left to Reynolds to equal if not to surpass Velazquez as well as Rubens and Rembrandt. In a two-page glorification of this English painter we come upon the following panegyric: “There can be no question of placing him by the side of the greatest Venetians or of the triumvirate of the seventeenth century, Rubens, Rembrandt, Velazquez.” If by placing him beside these giants is meant that he in any wise approached their stature, there can be, and has been, outside of England, a very great question of putting him in such company. In fact, his right to such a place has been very definitely denied him. But the unprejudiced opinion of the world matters not to the patriots who edited the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. That “supreme” English reference work goes on to say that in portraits, such as _Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse_, Reynolds “holds the field.... No portrait painter has been more happy in his poses for single figures.” Then, as if such enthusiasm were not enough, we are told that “nature had singled out Sir Joshua to endow him with certain gifts in which he has hardly an equal.”

Nature, it seems, in her singling out process, was particularly partial to Englishmen, for among those other painters who just barely equalled Reynolds’s transcendent genius was Gainsborough. Says the _Britannica_: “Gainsborough and Reynolds rank side by side.... It is difficult to say which stands the higher of the two.” Consequently hereafter we must place Gainsborough, too, along with Michelangelo, Rubens, Rembrandt and Velazquez! Such a complete revision of æsthetic judgment will, no doubt, be difficult at first, but, by living with the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ and absorbing its British culture, we may in time be able to bracket Michelangelo, Reynolds, Rubens, Gainsborough, Rembrandt, Hogarth and Velazquez without the slightest hesitation.

It is difficult to conceive how, in an encyclopædia with lofty educational pretences, extravagance of statement could attain so high a point as that reached in the biographies of Reynolds and Gainsborough. So obviously indefensible are these valuations that I would hesitate to accuse the _Britannica’s_ editors of deliberate falsification—that is, of purposely distorting æsthetic values for the benefit of English artists. Their total lack of discretion indicates an honest, if blind, belief in British æsthetic supremacy. But this fact does not lessen the danger of such judgments to the American public. As a nation we are ignorant of painting and therefore are apt to accept statements of this kind which have the impact of seeming authority behind them.

The same insular and extravagant point of view is discoverable in the article on Turner. To this painter nearly five pages are devoted—a space out of all proportion to the biographies of the other painters of the world. Titian has only three and one-half pages; Rubens has only a little over three pages; and El Greco has less than two-thirds of a page! Of course, it is not altogether fair to base a judgment on space alone; but such startling discrepancies are the rule and not the exception.

In the case of Turner the discrepancy is not only of space, however. In diction, as well, all relative values are thrown to the winds. In the criticism of Turner we find English patriotism at its high-water mark. We read that “the range of his powers was so vast that he covered the whole field of nature and united in his own person the classical and naturalistic schools.” Even this palpable overstatement could be forgiven, since it has a basis of truth, if a little further we did not discover that Turner’s _Crossing the Brook_ in the London National Academy is “probably the most perfect landscape in the world.” In this final and irrevocable judgment is manifest the supreme insular egotism which characterizes nearly all the art articles in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. This criticism, to take merely one example, means that _Crossing the Brook_ is more perfect than Rubens’s _Landscape with Château de Stein_! But the Encyclopædia’s summary of Turner’s genius surpasses in flamboyant chauvinism anything which I have yet seen in print. It is said that, despite any exception we may take to his pictures, “there will still remain a body of work which for extent, variety, truth and artistic taste is like the British fleet among the navies of the world.” Here patriotic fervor has entirely swallowed all restraint.

Over a page is devoted to Constable, in which we are informed that his “vivid tones and fresh color are grafted upon the formulæ of Claude and Rubens.” This type of criticism is not rare. One frequently finds second-rate English artists compared not unfavorably with the great artists of other nations; and it would seem that the English painters add a little touch of their own, the imputation being that they not seldom improve upon their models. Thus Constable adds “vivid tones and fresh colors” to Rubens’s formula. Another instance of this kind is to be found in the case of Alfred Stevens, the British sculptor, not the Belgian painter. (The latter, by the way, though more important and better-known, receives less space than the Englishman.) The vigorous strength of his groups “recalls the style of Michelangelo, but Stevens’s work throughout is original and has a character of its own.” I do not deny that Stevens imitated Michelangelo, but, where English artists are concerned, these relationships are indicated in deceptive phraseology. In the case of French artists, whose biographies are sometimes written by unbiased critics, the truth is not hidden in dictional suavities. Imitation is not made a virtue.

Let us now turn to Watts. Over two pages are accorded him, one page being devoted largely to eulogy, a passage of which reads: “It was the rare combination of supreme handicraft with a great imaginative intellect which secured to Watts his undisputed place in the public estimation of his day.” Furthermore, we hear of “the grandeur and dignity of his style, the ease and purposefulness of his brushwork, the richness and harmoniousness of his coloring.” But those “to whom his exceptional artistic attainment is a sealed book have gathered courage or consolation from the grave moral purpose and deep human sympathy of his teaching.” Here we have a perfect example of the parochial moral uplift which permeates the _Britannica’s_ art criticism. The great Presbyterian complex is found constantly in the judgments of this encyclopædia.

So important a consideration to the _Britannica’s_ critico-moralists is this puritan motif that the fact is actually set down that Millais was devoted to his family! One wonders how much influence this domestic devotion had on the critic who spends a page and a half to tell us of Millais, for not only is this space far in excess of Millais’ importance, but the statement is made that he was “one of the greatest painters of his time,” and that “he could paint what he saw with a force which has seldom been excelled.” Unfortunately the few who excelled him are not mentioned. Perhaps he stood second only to Turner, that super-dreadnought. Surely he was not excelled by Renoir, or Courbet, or Pissarro, or Monet, or Manet, or Cézanne; for these latter are given very little space (the greatest of them having no biography whatever in the Encyclopædia!); and there is no evidence to show that they are considered of more than minor importance.

Perhaps it was Rossetti, a fellow Pre-Raphaelite, who excelled Millais in painting what he saw. Rossetti’s _The Song of Solomon_, as regards brilliance, finish and the splendor of its lighting, “occupies a great place in the highest grade of modern art of all the world.” Even Holman Hunt, one of the lesser Pre-Raphaelites, is given over a full page, and is spoken of in glowing terms. “Perhaps no painter of the nineteenth century,” we read, “produced so great an impression by a few pictures” as did Hunt; and during the course of the eulogy the critic speaks of Hunt’s “greatness.” Can it be that the naïf gentleman who wrote Hunt’s biography has never heard of Courbet, or Manet, or of the Impressionists, or Cézanne? After so sweeping and unreasoned a statement as the one concerning the great impression made by Hunt’s pictures, such an extreme conclusion is almost inevitable. Or is this critic’s patriotic vanity such that he considers an impression made in England as representative of the world? Even to intimate that the impression made by Hunt’s pictures was comparable to that made by _L’Enterrement à Ornans_ or _Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe_, or that the Pre-Raphaelites possessed even half the importance of Courbet and Manet, is to carry undeserved laudation to preposterous lengths.

Here as elsewhere, superlatives are used in such a way in describing unimportant English painters that no adequate adjectives are left for the truly great men of other nationality. It would be difficult to find a better example of undeserving eulogy as applied to an inconsequent British painter than that furnished by Brangwyn, whose compositions, we are astonished to learn, have “a nobly impressive and universal character.” Such a statement might justly sum up the greatness of a Michelangelo statue; but here it is attached to the works of a man who at best is no more than a capable and clever illustrator.

The foregoing examples by no means include all the instances of how English painters, as a result of the liberal space allotted them and the lavish encomiums heaped upon them by the _Encyclopædia Britannica’s_ editors, are unduly expanded into great and important figures. A score of other names could be mentioned. From beginning to end, English art is emphasized and lauded until it is out of all proportion to the rest of the world.

Turn to the article on _Painting_ and look at the sub-title, “Recent Schools.” Under “British” you will find twelve columns, with inset headings. Under “French” you will find only seven columns, without insets. Practically all the advances made in modern art have come out of France; and practically all important modern painters have been Frenchmen. England has contributed little or nothing to modern painting. And yet, recent British schools are given nearly twice the space that is devoted to recent French schools! Again regard the article, _Sculpture_. Even a greater and more astonishing disproportionment exists here. Modern British sculpture is given no less than thirteen and a half columns, while modern French sculpture, of vastly greater æsthetic importance, is given only seven and a half columns!

VI

NON-BRITISH PAINTING

If the same kind of panegyrics which characterize the biographies of the British painters in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ were used in dealing with the painters of all nationalities, there could be made no charge of either unconscious or deliberate injustice. But once we leave Great Britain’s shores, prodigal laudation ceases. As if worn out by the effort of proving that Englishmen are pre-eminent among the world’s painters, the editors devote comparatively little space to those non-British artists who, we have always believed and been taught, were the truly significant men in painting. Therefore, if the _Britannica’s_ implications are to be believed, England alone, among all modern countries, is the home of genius. And it would be difficult for one not well informed to escape the impression that not only Turner, but English painting in general, is “like the British fleet among the navies of the world.”

A comparison, for instance, between English and French painters, as they are presented in this encyclopædia, would leave the neophyte with the conviction that France was considerably inferior in regard to graphic ability, as inferior, in fact—if we may read the minds of the _Britannica’s_ editors—as the French fleet is to the British fleet. In its ignorant and un-English way the world for years has been laboring under the superstition that the glories of modern painting had been largely the property of France. But such a notion is now corrected.

For instance, we had always believed that Chardin was one of the greatest of still-life painters. We had thought him to be of exceeding importance, a man with tremendous influence, deserving of no little consideration. But when we turn to his biography in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ we are, to say the least, astonished at the extent of our over-valuation. He is dismissed with six lines! And the only critical comment concerning him is: “He became famous for his still-life pictures and domestic interiors.” And yet Thomas Stothard, an English painter who for twenty-five years was Chardin’s contemporary, is given over a column; James Northcote, another English contemporary of Chardin’s, is given half a column; and many other British painters, whose names are little known outside of England, have long biographies and favorable criticisms.

Watteau, one of the greatest of French painters, has a biography of only a page and a quarter; Largillière, half a column; Rigaud, less than half a column; Lancret, a third of a column; and Boucher has only fifteen lines—a mere note with no criticism. (Jonathan Boucher, an English divine, whose name follows that of Boucher, is accorded three times the space!) La Tour and Nattier have half a column each. Greuze, another one of France’s great eighteenth-century painters, is given only a column and a half with unfavorable comment. Greuze’s brilliant reputation seemed to have been due, “not to his requirements as a painter” but to the subjects of his pictures; and he is then adversely accused of possessing that very quality which in an English painter, as we have seen, is a mark of supreme glory—namely, “_bourgeois_ morality.” Half a column only is required to comment on Horace Vernet and to tell us that his most representative picture “begins and ends nowhere, and the composition is all to pieces; but it has good qualities of faithful and exact representation.”

Fragonard, another French painter whom we had always thought possessed of at least a minor greatness, is accorded no more than a column, less than half the space given to B. R. Haydon, the eighteenth-century English historical painter, and only one-third of the space devoted to David Wilkie, the Scotch painter. Fragonard’s “scenes of love and voluptuousness,” comments that art critic of the London _Daily Mail_, who has been chosen to represent this French painter in the Encyclopædia, “are only made acceptable by the tender beauty of his color and the virtuosity of his facile brushwork.” Alas! that Fragonard did not possess the “grave moral purpose” of Watts! Had his work been less voluptuous he might have been given more than a fourth of the space devoted to that moral Englishman, for surely Fragonard was the greater painter.

Géricault, one of the very important innovators of French realism, is given half a column, about an equal amount of space with such English painters as W. E. Frost, T. S. Cooper, Thomas Creswick, Francis Danby and David Scott; only about half the amount of space given to John Gilbert, C. L. Eastlake, and William Mulready; and only one-third of the space given to David Cox. One or two such disparities in space might be overlooked, but when to almost any kind of an English painter is imputed an importance equal to, if not greater than, truly significant painters from France, bias, whether conscious or unconscious, has been established.

Again regard Poussin. This artist, the most representative painter of his epoch and a man who marked a distinct step in the evolution of graphic art, is given less than half a page, about equal to the space devoted to W. P. Frith, J. W. Gordon, Samuel Cousins, John Crome, William Strang, and Thornhill; and only half the space given to Holman Hunt, and only one-third the space given to Millais! There is almost no criticism of Poussin’s art; merely a statement of the type of work he did; and of Géricault there is no criticism whatever. Herein lies another means by which, through implication, a greater relative significance is conferred on English art. Generally British painters—even minor ones—are criticised favorably, from one standpoint or another; but only now and then is a Frenchman given specific complimentary criticism. And often a Frenchman is condemned for the very quality which is lauded in a British artist.

Of David it is written: “His style is severely academic, his color lacking in richness and warmth, his execution hard and uninteresting in its very perfection,” and more in the same derogatory strain. Although this criticism may be strictly accurate, the same qualities in certain English painters of far less importance than David are made the basis for praise. The severely academic style in the case of Harding, for instance, becomes an “elegant, highly-trained” characteristic. And perfection of execution makes Birket Foster’s work “memorable for its delicacy and minute finish,” and becomes, in Paul Wilson Steer’s pictures, “great technical skill.”

Ingres, truly one of the giants of his day, is given little or no criticism and his biography draws only a little over half the space which is given to Watts (with his “grave, moral purpose”), and only a trifle more space than is given Millais, the Pre-Raphaelite who was “devoted to his family.” In Guerin’s short biography we read of his “strained and pompous dignity.” Girodet’s biography contains very adverse criticism: his style “harmonized ill” with his subjects, and his work was full of “incongruity” even to the point sometimes of being “ludicrous.” Gros, exasperated by criticism, “sought refuge in the grosser pleasures of life.” Flandrin also is tagged with a moral criticism.

Coming down to the more modern painters we find even less consideration given them by the _Britannica’s_ editors. Delacroix, who ushered in a new age of painting and brought composition back to art after a period of stagnation and quiescence, is nailed to France as follows: “As a colorist and a romantic painter he now ranks among the greatest of French artists.” Certainly not among the greatest English painters, for Constable is given more space than Delacroix; and Turner, the other precursor of the new era, is “like the British fleet among the navies of the world.”

Courbet, the father of modern painting and the artist who revolutionized æsthetics, is given half a column, equal space with those contemporaries of his from across the Channel, Francis Grant, Thomas Creswick and George Harvey. Perhaps this neglect of the great Frenchman is explained by the following early-Victorian complaint: “Sometimes, it must be owned, his realism is rather coarse and brutal.” And we learn that “he died of a disease of the liver aggravated by intemperance.” Courbet, unable to benefit by the pious and elegant _esthétique_ of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, was never deeply impressed by the artistic value of “daintiness and pleasantness of sentiment,” and as a result, perhaps, he is not held in as high esteem as is Birket Foster, who possessed those delicate and pleasing qualities.

The palpable, insular injustice dealt Courbet in point of space finds another victim in Daumier whose biography is almost as brief as that of Courbet. Most of it, however, is devoted to Daumier’s caricature. Although this type of work was but a phase of his development, the article says that, despite his caricatures, “he found time for flight in the higher sphere of painting.” Not only does this create a false impression of Daumier’s tremendous importance to modern painting, but it gives the erroneous idea that his principal _métier_ was caricature. The entire criticism of his truly great work is summed up in the sentence: “As a painter, Daumier, one of the pioneers of naturalism, was before his time.” Likewise, the half-page biography of Manet is, from the standpoint of space, inadequate, and from the critical standpoint, incompetent. To say that he is “regarded as the most important master of Impressionism” is a false statement. Manet, strictly speaking, was not an Impressionist at all; and the high place that he holds in modern art is not even touched upon.

Such biographies as the foregoing are sufficiently inept to disqualify the Encyclopædia as a source for accurate æsthetic information; but when Renoir, who is indeed recognized as the great master of Impressionism, is dismissed with one-fifth of a page, the height of injustice has been reached. Renoir, even in academic circles, is admittedly one of the great painters of all time. Not only did he sum up the Impressionists, close up an experimental cycle, and introduce compositional form into the realistic painting of his day, but by his colossal vision and technical mastery he placed himself in the very front rank of all modern painters, if not of ancient painters as well. Yet he is accorded just twenty-seven lines and dismissed with this remark: “Though he is perhaps the most unequal of the great Impressionists, his finest works rank among the masterpieces of the modern French school.” Critical incompetency could scarcely go further. We can only excuse such inadequacy and ignorance on the ground that the Encyclopædia’s English critic has seen none of Renoir’s greatest work; and color is lent this theory when we note that in the given list of his paintings no mention is made of his truly masterful canvases.

Turning to the other lesser moderns in French painting but those who surpass the contemporaneous British painters who are given liberal biographies, we find them very decidedly neglected as to both space and comment. Such painters as Cazin, Harpignies, Ziem, Cormon, Bésnard, Cottet and Bonnot are dismissed with brief mention, whereas sometimes twice and three times the attention is paid to English painters like Alfred East, Harry Furniss (a caricaturist and illustrator), Francis Lathrop, E. J. Poynter, and W. B. Richmond. Even Meissonier and Puvis de Chavannes draw only three-fourths of a page. Pissarro and Monet, surely important painters in the modern evolution, are given short shrift. A few brief facts concerning Pissarro extend to twenty lines; and Monet gets a quarter of a page without any criticism save that “he became a _plein air_ painter.” Examples of this kind of incompetent and insufficient comment could be multiplied.

The most astonishing omission, however, in the entire art division of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ is that of Cézanne. Here is a painter who, whether one appreciates his work or not, has admittedly had more influence than any man of modern times. Not only in France has his tremendous power been felt, but in practically every other civilized country. Yet the name of this great Frenchman is not even given biographical mention in the great English Encyclopædia with its twenty-nine volumes, its 30,000 pages, its 500,000 references, and its 44,000,000 words. Deliberately to omit Cézanne’s biography, in view of his importance and (in the opinion of many) his genuine greatness, is an act of almost unbelievable narrow-mindedness. To omit his biography unconsciously is an act of almost unbelievable ignorance. Especially is this true when we find biographies of such British contemporaries of Cézanne as Edward John Gregory, James Guthrie, Luke Fildes, H. W. B. Davis, John Buxton Knight, George Reid, and J. W. Waterhouse. Nor can the editors offer the excuse that Cézanne was not known when the Encyclopædia was compiled. Not only was he known, but books and criticisms had appeared on him in more than one language, and his greatness had been recognized. True, he had not reached England; but is it not the duty of the editor of an “international” encyclopædia to be aware of what is going on outside of his own narrow province?

Any encyclopædia, no matter what the nationality, prejudices or tastes of its editors, which omits Cézanne has forfeited its claim to universal educational value. But when in addition there is no biographical mention of such conspicuous French painters as Maurice Denis, Vollatton, Lucien Simon, Vuillard, Louis Le Grand, Toulouse-Lautrec, Steinlen, Jean Paul Laurens, Redon, René Ménard, Gauguin, and Carrière, although a score of lesser painters of British birth are included, petty national prejudice, whether through conscious intent or lack of information, has been carried to an extreme; and the editors of such a biased work have something to answer for to those readers who are not English, and who do not therefore believe that British middle-class culture should be exaggerated and glorified at the expense of the genuine intellectual culture of other nations.

Modern German painting fares even worse than French painting in the pages of the _Britannica_; and while it does not hold the high place that French painting does, it is certainly deserving of far more liberal treatment than that which is accorded it. The comparatively few biographies of German artists are inadequate; but it is not in them that we find the greatest neglect of German achievements in this branch of æsthetics: it is in the long list of conspicuous painters who are omitted entirely. The _Britannica’s_ meagre information on German art is particularly regrettable from the standpoint of American readers; for the subject is little known in this country, and as a nation we are woefully ignorant of the wealth of nineteenth-century German painting. The causes for this ignorance need not be gone into here. Suffice it to say that the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, far from fulfilling its function as a truly educational work, is calculated to perpetuate and cement our lack of knowledge in this field. It would appear that England also is unacquainted with the merits of German graphic expression; for the lapses in the _Britannica_ would seem even too great to be accounted for on the grounds of British chauvinism. And they are too obvious to have been deliberate.

Among the important German painters of modern times who have failed to be given biographies are Wilhelm Leibl, the greatest German painter since Holbein; Charles Schuch, one of Germany’s foremost still-life artists; Trübner, who ranks directly in line with Leibl; Karl Spitzweg, the forerunner and classic exponent of German _genre_ painting as well as the leading artist in that field; Heinrich von Zügel, one of the foremost animal painters of modern times; and Ludwig Knaus who, though inferior, is a painter of world-wide fame. Furthermore, there are no biographies of Franz Krüger, Müller, Von Marées, Habermann, and Louis Corinth. When we recall the extensive list of inferior British painters who are not only given biographies but praised, we wonder on just what grounds the _Britannica_ was advertised and sold as an “_international_ dictionary of biography.”

It might be well to note here that Van Gogh, the great Hollander, does not appear once in the entire Encyclopædia: there is not so much as a passing reference to him! Nor has Zorn or Hodler a biography. And Sorolla draws just twenty lines in his biography, and Zuloaga less than half a column.

Despite, however, the curtailed and inferior consideration given Continental art, it does not suffer from prejudicial neglect nearly so much as does American art. This is not wholly surprising in view of the contempt in which England holds the cultural achievements of this country—a contempt which is constantly being encountered in British critical journals. But in the case of an encyclopædia whose stated aim is to review impartially the world’s activities, this contempt should be suppressed temporarily at least, especially as it is from America that the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ is reaping its monetary harvest. There is, though, no indication that England’s contemptuous attitude toward our art has even been diminished. Our artists are either disposed of with cursory mention or ignored completely; and whenever it is possible for England to claim any credit for the accomplishments of our artists, the opportunity is immediately grasped.

It is true, of course, that the United States does not rank æsthetically with certain of the older nations of Europe, but, considering America’s youth, she has contributed many important names to the history of painting, and among her artists there are many who greatly surpass the inconsequent English academicians who are accorded generous treatment.

The editors of the Encyclopædia may contend that the work was compiled for England and that therefore they were justified in placing emphasis on a horde of obscure English painters and in neglecting significant French and German artists. But they can offer no such excuse in regard to America. The recent Eleventh Edition of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ was printed with the very definite purpose of selling in the United States; and the fact that they have sold many thousand copies of it here precludes any reason why American artists should be neglected or disposed of in a brief and perfunctory fashion. An American desiring adequate information concerning the painters or sculptors of his own country will seek through the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ in vain. If he is entirely ignorant of æsthetic conditions in America and depends on the Encyclopædia for his knowledge, he will be led to inaccurate conclusions. The ideas of relative values established in his mind will be the reverse of the truth, for he cannot fail but be affected by the meagre and indifferent biographies of his native painters, as compared with the lengthy and meticulous concern with which British painters are regarded.

And yet this is the encyclopædia which has been foisted upon the American people by means of a P. T. Barnum advertising campaign almost unprecedented in book history. And this also is the encyclopædia which, in that campaign, called itself “a history of all nations, an international dictionary of biography, an exhaustive gazetteer of the world, a hand-book to all the arts”; and which announced that “every artist or sculptor of note of any period, and of any land is the subject of an interesting biography.” This last statement is true only in the case of Great Britain. It is, as we have seen, not true of France or Germany; and especially is it not true of America. Not only are many American artists and sculptors of note omitted entirely, but many of those who have been awarded mention are the victims of English insular prejudice.

Looking up Benjamin West, who, by historians and critics has always been regarded as an American artist, we find him designated as an “English” painter. The designation is indeed astonishing, since not only does the world know him as an American, but West himself thought that he was an American. Perhaps the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, by some obscure process of logic, considers nationality from the standpoint of one’s sentimental adoption. This being the case, Richard Le Gallienne would be an “American” poet. But when we turn to Le Gallienne’s biography we discover that, after all, he is “English.” Apparently the rule does not work with Englishmen. It is true that West went to London and lived there; but he was born in the United States, gained a reputation for painting here, and did not go to England until he was twenty-five. It is noteworthy that West, the “English” painter, is accorded considerable space.

Whistler, who also chose England in preference to America, is given nearly a page and a half with not unfavorable criticism. We cannot refrain from wondering what would have been Whistler’s fate at the hands of the Encyclopædia’s editors had he remained in his native country. Sargent, surely a painter of considerable importance and one who is regarded in many enlightened quarters as a great artist, is dismissed with less than half a column! Even this comparatively long biography for an American painter may be accounted for by the following comment: “Though of the French school, and American by birth, it is as a British artist that he won fame.” Again, Abbey receives high praise and quite a long biography, comparatively speaking. Once more we wonder if this painter’s adoption of England as his home does not account for his liberal treatment. Albert F. Bellows, too, gets fourteen lines, in which it is noted that “he painted much in England.”

Compare the following record with the amounts of space accorded British second-rate painters: William Chase, sixteen lines; Vedder, a third of a column; de Forest Brush, fifteen lines; T. W. Dewing, twelve lines; A. H. Wyant, ten lines; A. P. Ryder, eight lines; Tryon, fifteen lines; John W. Alexander, sixteen lines; Gari Melchers, eighteen lines; Childe Hassam, fifteen lines; Blashfield, ten lines; J. Francis Murphy, fifteen lines; Blakelock, eight lines. Among these names are painters of a high and important order—painters who stand in the foremost rank of American art, and who unquestionably are greater than a score of English painters who receive very special critical biographies, some of which extend over columns. And yet—apparently for no other discernible reason than that they are Americans—they are given the briefest mention with no specific criticism. Only the barest biographical details are set down.

But if many of the American painters who have made our art history are dismissed peremptorily in biographies which, I assure you, are not “interesting,” and which obviously are far from adequate or even fair when compared with the consideration given lesser English painters, what answer have the editors of the _Britannica_ to offer their American customers when many of our noteworthy and important artists are omitted altogether? On what grounds is a biography of J. Alden Weir omitted entirely? For what reason does the name of Robert Henri not appear? Henri is one of the very important figures in modern American painting.

Furthermore, inspection reveals the fact that among those American “painters of note” who, so far as biographical mention in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ is concerned, do not exist, are Mary Cassatt, George Bellows, Twachtman, C. W. Hawthorne, Glackens, Jerome Meyers, George Luks, Sergeant Kendall, Paul Dougherty, Allen Talcott, Thomas Doughty, Richard Miller and Charles L. Elliott.

I could add more American painters to the list of those who are omitted and who are of equal importance with certain British painters who are included; but enough have been mentioned to prove the gross inadequacy of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ as an educational record of American art.

Outside of certain glaring omissions, what we read in the Encyclopædia concerning the painters of France and Germany may be fair, from a purely impartial standard, if taken alone: in some instances, I believe, judicial critics of these other nations have performed the service. But when these unprejudiced accounts are interspersed with the patriotic and enthusiastic glorifications of British art, the only conclusion which the uninformed man can draw from the combination is that the chief beauties of modern painting have sprung from England—a conclusion which illy accords both with the facts and with the judgment of the world’s impartial critics. But in the case of American art, not even the strictly impartial treatment occasionally accorded French and German painters is to be found, with the result that, for the most part, our art suffers more than that of any other nation when compared, in the pages of the _Britannica_, with British art.

VII

MUSIC

There is one field of culture—namely, music—in which Great Britain has played so small and negligible a part that it would seem impossible, even for the passionately patriotic editors of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, to find any basis on which an impressive monument to England could be erected. Great Britain, admittedly, possesses but slight musical significance when compared with other nations. The organisms of her environment, the temper of her intellect, her very intellectual fibre, are opposed to the creation of musical composition.

This art in England, save during the Elizabethan era, has been largely a by-product. No great musical genius has come out of Great Britain; and in modern times she has not produced even a great second-rate composer. So evident is England’s deficiency in this field, that any one insisting upon it runs the risk of being set down a platitudinarian. Even British critics of the better class have not been backward in admitting the musical poverty of their nation; and many good histories of music have come out of England: indeed, one of the very best encyclopædias on this subject was written by Sir George Grove.

To attempt to place England on an equal footing with other nations in the realm of music is to alter obvious facts. Name all the truly great composers since 1700, and not one of them will be an Englishman. In fact, it is possible to write an extensive history of music from that date to the present time without once referring to Great Britain. England, as the world knows, is not a musical nation. Her temperament is not suited to subtle complexities of plastic harmonic expression. Her modern composers are without importance; and for every one of her foremost musical creators there can be named a dozen from other nations who are equally inspired, and yet who hold no place in the world’s musical evolution because of contemporary fellow-countrymen who overshadow them.

As I have said, it would seem impossible, even for so narrowly provincial and chauvinistic a work as the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, to find any plausible basis for the glorification of English musical genius. But where others fail to achieve the impossible, the _Britannica_ succeeds. In the present instance, however, the task has been difficult, for there is a certain limit to the undeserved praise which even a blatant partisan can confer on English composers; and there is such a paucity of conspicuous names in the British musical field that an encyclopædia editor finds it difficult to gather enough of them together to make an extensive patriotic showing. He can, however, omit or neglect truly significant names of other nations while giving undue prominence to second- and third-rate English composers.

And this is exactly the method followed by the editors of the _Britannica_. But the disproportionments are so obvious, the omissions so glaring, and the biographies and articles so distorted, both as to space and comment, that almost any one with a knowledge of music will be immediately struck by their absurdity and injustice. Modern musical culture, as set forth in this encyclopædia, is more biased than any other branch of culture. In this field the limits of the _Britannica’s_ insularity would seem to have been reached.

I have yet to see even a short history of modern music which is not more informative and complete, and from which a far better idea of musical evolution could not be gained. And I know of no recent book of composers, no matter how brief, which does not give more comprehensive information concerning musical writers than does that “supreme book of knowledge,” the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. So deficient is it in its data, and so many great and significant modern composers are denied biographical mention in it, that one is led to the conclusion that little or no effort was made to bring it up-to-date.

It would be impossible in this short chapter to set down anywhere near all the inadequacies, omissions and disproportions which inform the _Britannica’s_ treatment of music. Therefore I shall confine myself largely to modern music, since this subject is of foremost, vital concern at present; and I shall merely indicate the more glaring instances of incompleteness and neglect. Furthermore, I shall make only enough comparisons between the way in which British music is treated and the way in which the music of other nations is treated, to indicate the partisanship which underlies the outlook of this self-styled “international” and “universal” reference work.

Let us first regard the general article _Music_. In that division of the article entitled, _Recent Music_—that is, music during the last sixty or seventy-five years—we find the following astonishing division of space: recent German music receives just eleven lines; recent French music, thirty-eight lines, or less than half a column; recent Italian music, nineteen lines; recent Russian music, thirteen lines; and recent British music, _nearly four columns, or two full pages_!

Regard these figures a moment. That period of German musical composition which embraced such men as Humperdinck, Richard Strauss, Karl Goldmark, Hugo Wolf, Gustav Mahler, Bruch, Reinecke, and von Bülow, is allotted only eleven lines, and only two of the above names are even mentioned! And yet modern British music, which is of vastly lesser importance, is given _thirty-five times_ as much space as modern German music, and _ten times_ as much space as modern French music! In these figures we have an example of prejudice and discrimination which it would be hard to match in any other book or music in existence. It is unnecessary to criticise such bias: the figures themselves are more eloquently condemning than any comment could possibly be. And it is to this article on recent music, with its almost unbelievable distortions of relative importance, that thousands of Americans will apply for information. Furthermore, in the article _Opera_ there is no discussion of modern realistic developments, and the names of Puccini and Charpentier are not even included!

In the biographies of English composers is to be encountered the same sort of prejudice and exaggeration. Sterndale Bennett, the inferior British Mendelssohn, is given nearly a column, and in the criticism of him we read: “The principal charm of Bennett’s compositions (not to mention his absolute mastery of the musical form) consists in the tenderness of their conception, rising occasionally to sweetest musical intensity.” Turning from Bennett, the absolute master of form, to William Thomas Best, the English organist, we find nearly a half-column biography of fulsome praise, in which Best is written down as an “all-round musician.” Henry Bishop receives two-thirds of a column. “His melodies are clear, flowing, appropriate and often charming; and his harmony is always pure, simple and sweet.”

Alfred Cellier is accorded nearly half a column, in which we are told that his music was “invariably distinguished by elegance and refinement.” Frederick Cowen also wrote music which was “refined”; and in his three-fourths-of-a-column biography it is stated that “he succeeds wonderfully in finding graceful expression for the poetical idea.” John Field infused “elegance” into his music. His biography is over half a column in length, and we learn that his nocturnes “remain all but unrivaled for their tenderness and dreaminess of conception, combined with a continuous flow of beautiful melody.”

Edward Elgar receives no less than two-thirds of a column, in which are such phrases as “fine work,” “important compositions,” and “stirring melody.” Furthermore, his first orchestral symphony was “a work of marked power and beauty, developing the symphonic form with the originality of a real master of his art.” The world outside of England will be somewhat astonished to know that Elgar took part in the development of the symphonic form and that he was a real master of music. John Hatton, in a two-thirds-of-a-column biography, is praised, but not without reservation. He might, says the article, have gained a place of higher distinction among English composers “had it not been for his irresistible animal spirits and a want of artistic reverence.” He was, no doubt, without the “elegance” and “refinement” which seem to characterize so many English composers.

But Charles Parry evidently had no shortcomings to detract from his colossal and heaven-kissing genius. He is given a biography of nearly a column, and it is packed with praise. In some of his compositions to sacred words “are revealed the highest qualities of music.” He has “skill in piling up climax after climax, and command of every choral resource.” But this is not all. In some of his works “he shows himself master of the orchestra”; and his “exquisite” chamber music and part-songs “maintain the high standard of his greater works.” Not even here does his genius expire. _Agamemnon_ “is among the most impressive compositions of the kind.” Furthermore, _The Frogs_ is a “striking example of humor in music.” All this would seem to be enough glory for any man, but Parry has not only piled Pelion on Ossa but has scaled Olympus. Outside his creative music, “his work for music was of the greatest importance”; his _Art of Music_ is a “splendid monument of musical literature.” ... There is even more of this kind of eulogy—too much of it to quote here; but, once you read it, you cannot help feeling that the famous triumvirate, Brahms, Bach and Beethoven, has now become the quartet, Brahms, Bach, Beethoven, and Parry.

The vein of William Shield’s melody “was conceived in the purest and most delicate taste”; and his biography is half a column in length. Goring Thomas is accorded two-thirds of a column; and it is stated that not only does his music reveal “a great talent for dramatic composition and a real gift of refined and beautiful melody,” but that he was “personally the most admirable of men.” Michael Costa, on the other hand, was evidently not personally admirable, for in his half-column biography we read: “He was the great conductor of his day, but both his musical and his human sympathies were somewhat limited.” (Costa was a Spaniard by birth.) Samuel Wesley, Jr.’s, anthems are “masterly in design, fine in inspiration and expression, and noble in character.” His biography runs to half a column. Even Wesley, Sr., has a third of a column biography.

The most amazing biography from the standpoint of length, however, is that of Sir Arthur Sullivan. It runs to three and a third columns (being much longer than Haydn’s!) and is full of high praise of a narrowly provincial character. Thomas Attwood receives a half-column biography; Balfe, the composer of _The Bohemian Girl_, receives nearly a column; Julius Benedict, two-thirds of a column; William Jackson, nearly two-thirds of a column; Mackenzie, over three-fourths of a column; John Stainer, two-thirds of a column; Charles Stanford, nearly a column; Macfarren, over half a column; Henry Hugo Pierson, half a column; John Hullah, considerably over half a column; William Crotch, over half a column; Joseph Barnby, nearly half a column; John Braham, two-thirds of a column. And many others of no greater importance receive liberal biographies—for instance, Frederic Clay, John Barnett, George Elvey, John Goss, MacCunn, James Turle, and William Vincent Wallace.

Bearing all this in mind, we will now glance at the biographies of modern German composers in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. Johann Strauss, perhaps the greatest of all waltz writers, is given only half a column, less space than that given to John Field or William Crotch; and the only criticism of his music is contained in the sentence: “In Paris he associated himself with Musard, whose quadrilles became not much less popular than his own waltzes; but his greatest successes were achieved in London.” Hummel, the most brilliant virtuoso of his day, whose concertos and masses are still popular, receives less space than John Hatton.

But what of Brahms, one of the three great composers of the world? Incredible as it may seem, he is given a biography even shorter than that of Sir Arthur Sullivan! And Robert Franz, perhaps the greatest lyrical writer since Schubert, receives considerably less space than William Jackson. Richard Strauss is allotted only a column and two-thirds, about equal space with Charles Burney, the musical historian, and William Byrd; and in it we are given little idea of his greatness. In fact, the critic definitely says that it remains to be seen for what Strauss’s name will live! When one thinks of the tremendous influence which Strauss has had, and of the way in which he has altered the musical conceptions of the world, one can only wonder, astounded, why, in an encyclopædia as lengthy as the _Britannica_, he should be dismissed with so inadequate and inept a biography.

After such injustice in the case of Strauss, it does not astonish one to find that Max Bruch, one of the most noteworthy figures in modern German music, and Reinecke, an important composer and long a professor at the Leipsic Conservatory, should receive only thirty lines each. But the neglect of Strauss hardly prepared us for the brief and incomplete record which passes for Humperdinck’s biography—a biography shorter than that of Cramer, William Hawes, Henry Lazarus, the English clarinettist, and Henry Smart!

Mendelssohn, the great English idol, receives a biography out of all proportion to his importance—a biography twice as long as that of Brahms, and considerably longer than either Schumann’s or Schubert’s! And it is full of effulgent praise and more than intimates that Mendelssohn’s counterpoint was like Bach’s, that his sonata-form resembled Beethoven’s, and that he invented a new style no less original than Schubert’s! Remembering the parochial criterion by which the Encyclopædia’s editors judge art, we may perhaps account for this amazing partiality to Mendelssohn by the following ludicrous quotation from his biography: “His earnestness as a Christian needs no stronger testimony than that afforded by his own delineation of the character of St. Paul; but it is not too much to say that his heart and life were pure as those of a little child.”

Although Hugo Wolf’s biography is a column and a half in length, Konradin Kreutzer gets only eighteen lines; Nicolai, who wrote _The Merry Wives of Windsor_, only ten lines; Suppé, only fifteen; Nessler, only twelve; Franz Abt, only ten; Henselt, only twenty-six; Heller, only twenty-two; Lortzing, only twenty; and Thalberg, only twenty-eight. In order to realize how much prejudice, either conscious or unconscious, entered into these biographies, compare the amounts of space with those given to the English composers above mentioned. Even Raff receives a shorter biography than Mackenzie; and von Bülow’s and Goldmark’s biographies are briefer than Cowen’s.