LECTURE X.

To take any general survey of the effect of art on society is a task of extreme difficulty. The subject is complicated by its connection with so many of the questions which remain a puzzle even to those who inquire most deeply into the workings of our social system, that I may well be excused from attempting any full treatment of it within the limits of this address. Seeing however that I have been requested to preside over the art section of a congress which has for its aim the discussion of all kinds of social difficulties with a view to improvement or reform, I find myself under the necessity of attempting, if no! the solution of the main problem, yet at any rate the elucidation of those conditions under which alone art can produce that influence for good which I believe it can, and ought, to produce upon society.

With this in view I would venture to suggest the following questions: — In the first place, would the universal extension of a spirit and love of art — such a public spirit as should exact of our artists, manufacturers, and workmen, that all their productions should be characterised by, the highest workmanship, skill, and taste — contribute to the general welfare and progress of the nation? In the second, to what extent can the cultivation and practice of art be made to take such a hold on our national life, and so to permeate all classes of society, that such an end may be brought about, and that the national sentiment may not permit the making or exhibition of anything false in principle or offensive to taste? And in the third, how can such a state of things, which certainly does not now exist, be created amongst us?

The mere propounding of these questions will show that a host of collateral difficulties, connected with various matters which agitate the minds of men, arise to perplex us; and that to answer them thoroughly we must carry speculation much further than an inquiry into the refining influence of the higher forms of decorative art. From those who hold with me that the very essence of good art is to be found, above all tilings, in honest and good workmanship; that, — while we may almost allow that the humblest object of manufacture may become a work of art by being well done, it is quite certain that the finest and smartest object of "virtù'' can have no pretensions to be a work of art unless it is of good workmanship and genuine manufacture, — the answer to the first of these questions would doubtless be, that a general diffusion of a sound artistic spirit would be an unmixed good. We know however that opinions are strongly and sharplydivided on this point; since the ideas of material progress and welfare in vogue with a large section of the community are in direct opposition to the very existence of an art the principles of which seem to us so obvious; to calculate therefore on any general artistic sentiment becoming a part of our national life would seem more hopeless now than it ever has been. Before this can happen, it is not too much to say that not only must our national characteristics be other than they are, but our beliefs in the efficacy of much that is thought essential to the progress, enlightenment, and happiness of mankind must be eradicated. To philosophise on this point, however, is not very profitable, and will lead us to no very valuable conclusions. I have merely hinted at the difficulties which surround a question, which, if insisted on, is perhaps incapable of solution, and which is at all events out of my province as an artist, and had better be left for the political and social economists to settle.

I find myself obliged therefore to take for granted at the outset, what most persons indeed will readily agree to, that the influence of a genuine art must necessarily be an influence for good. This being admitted, we still have before us the difficult question of how such an influence may be best diffused. And first it will be necessary to inquire to what extent such a diffusion of art-influence may be practicable, and how far there is any possibility of a genuine love of art taking hold on people generally, so that it shall seriously affect the whole community. Is it possible, for instance, ever to recover amongst us the feeling, which is now extinct, but of which a faint tradition lingered perhaps as late as the Great Exhibition of 185 1, that it was not worth while to make furniture that would come to pieces, or to build a house which would not need repair for at least a reasonable time? I do not mean to say that the class of contractors and manufacturers did not at all times contain individuals who scamped their work; but in former times the bad work was the exception, now it is the rule, openly the rule, and a piece of well-made furniture, or a well-built house, is an article of luxury, and must be made or built by specially-trained hands. I have no intention however of taking into consideration in this address any of the moral causes, such as the ardour to make money at any cost to the public, or trade jealousies, or other causes of the kind, that tend, especially in these days, to the degeneracy of art or manufacture; but rather the inevitable social changes, which are the result of material progress and civilisation. If we ask, then, is the return to such a state of things possible, or, to put it more fairly, is the return to the time when every workman was also an artist possible, I answer that under existing social conditions it is impossible.

That feeling of love of good work for its own sake and of pleasure in bringing it to perfection, which is perhaps the most certain evidence of a genuine artistic spirit, was not in former times the property of a few individuals of superior gifts and education; it was the common property of all handicraftsmen, whether possessed of original talent or not. I do not for a moment pretend that such a spirit as this has ever risen in this country to the dignity of a national sentiment, and at no time do I imagine that a cheap or easy mechanical substitute for labour would have been refused on artistic grounds. That such a state of national sentiment has existed in the world is, however, indubitable. We have the evidence of everything that the Greeks (ftn. 2) have handed down to us from the best times of their art, that, amongst them at least, nothing short of perfection was tolerated; nay more, that they were possessed of a critical faculty which would seem to have surpassed our own, so that their trained and cultivated perceptions were satisfied with nothing less than a subtlety of form and proportion, the advantages of which to our coarser senses seem inappreciable. Nor is it only in their more important works that this perfection is to be found, or in the decoration of such things as our modern cant calls art-objects; the evidence of their instinctive love of beauty and perfection of workmanship is equally to be seen in their more trifling productions. The Greeks in their art did not aim merely at adornment; they aimed above everything at completeness and consistency, while their natural instincts, heightened by cultivation, supplied them with ever-varying forms of that beauty which can be appreciated by the eye, but of which description can convey no idea. We may safely say that everything they produced was a work of art, because they never tolerated anything short of perfection in workmanship; and we cannot but believe that the noblest spirit of rivalry in art animated the whole people from the highest to the lowest.

It is melancholy to turn from such a state of things to our own times and surroundings, and it is only too clear that we must be content in our own social life with aiming at something very far short of the Greek ideal, and even then we must be satisfied if we get a tithe of what we desire.

This is not the occasion to inquire into the causes of the high standard maintained at this glorious epoch of Greek art; but, whatever they were, it must be pointed out that there is no possibility of their ever again coming into operation. The very perfection to which mechanical methods of production have been brought, raising as it does works of mechanical skill almost to the level of works of art in their wonderful precision and finish, has given the death-blow to true artistic workmanship, the charm of which lies as much in the individual character given through the skill of the workman as in the invention displayed in the design. What is now required of the skilled mechanic is not so much that he should understand how to make any particular object, as that he should know how to manage the machine by which it is made. It is useless however to deplore and rail against this invasion of machinery; the best thing that can be done under the circumstances is to devote ourselves to the consideration of how far it will be possible to make it, under existing conditions, subservient to the principles of sound art.

The first instance I take shall be from the subject of engineering. There can be no question that for the worst of the eyesores which the progress of civilisation has inflicted on our unhappy cities the responsibility rests with the engineers. That whole districts should be given up to desolation in our large towns, through the invasion of railways and their appurtenances, is probably unavoidable, at least under the hap-hazard arrangements which have governed the growth of the railway system; but that the few spots favoured by picturesqueness of grouping, or real architectural beauty, should have their charm destroyed at one blow by the intrusion of some hideous railway bridge or station, shows an amount of heartlessness on the part of the constructors, and I may add of the public, which permits such things to be done, at which we might well be surprised, did we not know that a large section of the community admires at heart what is supposed to be a fine practical preference for utility over sentiment.

Perhaps the most obtrusive results of this feeling are to be found in London. The views along the Thames, from Westminster to London Bridge, were extremely picturesque, and embraced many beautiful architectural features; they were only marred to the public eye by the meanness of the buildings and wharves along the banks, and it was wisely determined to add an embankment, which, if it destroyed inevitably some of the picturesqueness, dear to artists, that is always to be found among barges and waterside sheds, has undoubtedly added an architectural dignity which is worthy of a great city. Strange to say, what was given with one hand was more than taken away with the other; monster railway stations of hideous and apparently useless proportions were erected, which overshadowed and dwarfed by contrast our one beautiful waterside building, Somerset House, and eclipsed by comparison the groups of spires, and the beautiful Dome which rises above the banks. Blackfriars Bridge, another of our finest architectural works, is flanked by two railway bridges, (ftn. 3) which would appear to have been made ugly on purpose, and we are also at this moment threatened with the disfigurement of another noble structure; it is not at all certain that London Bridge will not be eventually ruined by the addition of iron footways on each side; and the public is supposed to believe that these additions will not be objectionable, because they are to be covered with some trumpery Gothic ornament. A bridge at Florence, of no great architectural pretensions, perhaps, but a most interesting and picturesque memorial of the past, has just been wantonly ruined in this very way. But the cruel treatment which that beautiful city has suffered of late years is too painful a subject to dwell on.

Now, it is doubtless inevitable that such constructions should be made of iron. If iron is more suitable and cheaper for such purposes than either stone or brick, it is absurd to imagine that it will not be used. It seems to me, however, neither necessary that iron railway bridges and stations should be as ugly as they are; nor that the only alternative should be to make them an imitation of unsuitable architecture; nor again that they should be adorned with inappropriate ornament by way of beautifying them. A notable instance of this misconception, which seems to prevail so widely, is afforded by the bridge that was built over Ludgate Hill. It is probable that the specially offensive form of construction that is placed there was the cheapest form of bridge that could be made; of that I am no judge; but it is quite certain that an engineer, who had but a little ingenuity beyond what is required for the calculation of strain and cost, might have invented something which in its original form should have been less offensive to the eye. The view of St. Paul's up Ludgate Hill, with the small spire in the mid-distance making a composition of the kind that delights an artist, and at the same time giving dignity by its slender proportions to the imposing mass behind, was heightened in effect by the framing of a busy and picturesque street, and seemed to unite every point that is characteristic and interesting in a great city. The public in this case resented the offence to taste, and the company was obliged to spend a large sum of money in covering the bridge with ornament which it was impossible could be otherwise than both unsuitable and useless. A very moderate quota of the national sentiment, which I have referred to as the property of the Greek nation, would have prevented the possibility of the erection of this bridge in such a spot.

I have said that the use of iron is a necessity in modern engineering works; but I have no hesitation in adding that where these are obliged to intrude themselves on places already made beautiful by fine architectural features, the public, and the authorities responsible' to it, ought to insist that whatever is put up should be in harmony with the surroundings. In the case just referred to, an iron structure should not have been permitted at all. If the bridge was a necessity, and it must be supposed that it was, (ftn. 4) the engineer should have been obliged, by the same authority that enforced the addition of the expensive ornamental brackets, to build it of stone. An arch in the style of old Blackfriars Bridge would at least have been a handsome feature in itself.

But there are many situations where the use of iron structures is not only a necessity, but need be in no way objectionable. There is here in Liverpool a construction of which the inhabitants are justly proud. I refer to the Landing-stage, which in the ingenuity of its design, its admirable fitness for its purpose, and the excellence of its workmanship, combined with the picturesque accompaniments of river-life, may be rightly considered in the light of a work of art. The effect of it is, however, to a great extent marred by the ugliness of the iron bridges which connect it with the mainland. It seems to me not too much to say that there is not the least need for their ugliness; surely a little more ingenuity spent on their construction might have made them not only inoffensive to the eye, but positively agreeable. There are here no architectural features in the immediate neighbourhood; the surroundings are the wharves and docks and warehouses, which are the glory of a great commercial city, and which have a character of their own; any attempt then to have made these bridges architecturally beautiful would have been wasted in such a spot. Nevertheless I cannot but conceive that there must be a method of carrying out such works which should combine strength and lightness with elegance, without going beyond the necessary conditions of iron-structure. Hut it gives of course less trouble to an engineer to make a square iron-box which shall be strong enough to bear the traffic, than to go out of his way to devise something less open to objection; if anything of a more ornamental nature appears necessary, he is saved any further consideration by handing his work over to an architect or artist to plaster with decoration.

Without dwelling any further on this subject, I may be able to draw a conclusion more or less satisfactory from the remarks I have made. Seeing then that engineering is distinctly an art of the present and future, and that both its materials, and the principles and conditions of their employment, are different to any which have hitherto been known; if it is ever to have any beauty of its own, or, to put it more hopefully, if its results are ever to be less objectionable than they are now, it must be by seeking for such results within the necessary conditions of its existence, and not by the addition or superposition of an utterly unsuitable style of ornament, drawn from past ages and a different order of things. In short, the exercise of ingenuity in works of pure utility must be made to occupy the place filled by decoration in ornamental design.

Passing on now to works of art properly so called, and to those works of manufacture in which decorative art plays a mora or less important part, we find that here the conditions are different. In these, as has been already noticed, part of the charm will be derived from the beauty of the workmanship, and from the individuality given by the mind and touch of the workman, a phase of artistic beauty to which mechanical reproduction is death. What is it that we admire in Japanese art? No doubt the marvellous and inexhaustible fertility of invention, and the perfect rendering of natural forms; but still more, if possible, the exquisite workmanship, which surpasses anything that European hands are capable of. Or to confine ourselves to European art; wherein lies the beauty of those old Venetian glass goblets, which have the elegance and fragility of a harebell on its stem, and almost its fairy-like lightness? Doubtless, in the first place, in loveliness of design and delicacy of material; but equally also in the taste of the handicraftsman, whose skill has triumphed over the extreme difficulty of producing a perfectly beautiful form in a material requiring such rapid and dexterous treatment as molten glass. It must be remembered that to gain this triumph he must do the work well; the more exact and true he makes it, the more artistic is the result. This is so obvious a truism that it might be thought superfluous, were it not that there are many persons, manufacturers and others, who consider that the more crooked and irregular such objects are, the more artistic they ought to be considered; forgetting that the imperfections are due to the stubbornness of the material, and that the greatest artist is he who overcomes them best. I make a digression in order to dwell on this point, because I think it one on which the public wants enlightening. There is no doubt that owing to the illadvised expressions of customers, and perhaps also of some artists, the firm which now reproduces the old Venetian glass has fallen short of what it might have done, through the idea that it is an advantage that the bowls of wineglasses should be stuck on one side and the necks of decanters twisted awry, and that the results are in this way more artistic than they would be with neater workmanship. This is an error, however, which has grown out of what was originally a truth, — that the imperfections of hand-work are preferable to the cold and lifeless accuracy of mechanical productions.

It is not with the intention of discrediting the efforts of another firm, which has done wonders in rendering a coarser kind of pottery really artistic, that I refer to a mistake which was committed of the same kind. These gentlemen are apparently under the impression that an additional artistic value is given to their work when the coloured glazes they apply run into confusion or half-disappear in the process of firing, as when a blue glaze applied to a flower at the top of a jar runs into a blotch at the bottom edge. There is no doubt an agreeable variety produced in pottery, where it is not intended to be of the finer kind, through the accidents of glazing and firing; and some most splendid results in colour have been gained in ancient Chinese porcelain through the studied use of glazes which partially melt into each other in the fire; but in an ordinary way, and especially where there is a pattern to be picked out in colour, to make a point of such accidents is a misapprehension of the rule which is applicable to all works of art — that the intention should always be to make the work as good as the material and other conditions will permit. (ftn. 5)

To return, however. How much of this skill of hand and eye is required by the modern glass-maker or potter ? His business is not to use his discretion or his natural taste in giving elegance to the form of the glass or pot he is making, but to manage the mould out of which thousands of exactly similar objects are produced; for there is no doubt that the manufacturer believes that forms are much better produced by the mould than by hand-work. In a small work on glass-making by Apsley Pellatt this opinion is distinctly expressed. After describing the skilful and ingenious way in which the old Venetians made their diamond mouldings, he says that "equally good effects are produced by modern glass-makers in a more direct manner by making brass open-and-shut, or dip-moulds, so as to give at one operation the entire diamond impression, thus saving the tedium of forming each diamond separately."

It is true that to an uncultivated eye the effect may be equally good, and that to save labour and produce in great quantities may be a necessity; but in the process the original charm has disappeared, and the delicate fabric has become a mechanical production without life, made probably at a tenth of the cost, and with a tenth of the labour, but one which, so far as the artistic value of its "diamond moulding" goes, it was superfluous to make at all. It would be very foolish to suppose that mechanical reproduction can be done away with: it is part of the necessity of the times; it is certainly a result of our material progress which we cannot go back from, and, as I have already said, the conditions, under which everything made before the introduction of machinery was in one sense a work of art, can never be restored. All I should wish to be generally understood is, that we must not delude ourselves into the belief that we can produce works of art by the substitution of machinery for hand labour, or that the decoration of objects of common utility by a mechanical process can ever have any artistic value. We should indeed have made an immense step in advance if the public could be persuaded that it is better to have no decoration at all than such as is purely mechanical. (ftn. 6)

There are cases, however, where a system of mechanical reproduction interferes seriously with such designedly decorative works as might otherwise have a high artistic value; I mean where skill and taste are applied to the decoration of objects originally produced by mechanical means. The beauty of a Greek vase or of a Majolica jar is twofold: it resides first in the form, which besides being beautiful in itself, has the charm of handicraft to which I have referred; and, secondly, in the decoration. Now. I would ask, what is the use of a manufacturer spending large sums of money on the decoration of a vase which is disfigured, not only by the monotony of surface and form which is the inevitable result of moulding used instead of throwing from the wheel, but by the obtrusive rib which the mould leaves down each side, and which nobody is at the pains to remove before it goes into the artist's hands? I have had under my notice vases ornamented with unquestionable taste and the most delicate manipulative skill, on which much time and labour had been spent by the artist and no small sum of money by the manufacturer, the effect of which was entirely marred by this obtrusive blemish, and by the fact that the pots were moulded instead of turned. If complaint were made to the artist, he would probably complain in his turn that he is obliged to take what the manufacturer gives him, and has no means of getting anything better, for all the manufacturers are alike. If to the manufacturer, he would say that it makes no difference to him; that it pays him as well as if he took more pains, because people who buy do not notice a fault of this kind, but only look to the decoration. From his point of view he is no doubt right, and although there are happily not wanting among our manufacturers men of spirit and taste who will go to expense, and incur risk, in the production of articles of what is called art-manufacture, none will hazard any loss on the regular profits of their business. The fault lies in the original method of making, which has sunk from a fine art to a mechanical process; and if the manufacturer were so far a man of taste as to wish to alter it, he would find himself in the difficulty of having to set up new machinery, and engage a different class of workmen, which he would probably not be able to get unless he trained them for the purpose. We thus find ourselves in a vicious circle: the artist cannot help himself; the manufacturer will not help him, for he makes for a public which has not the discrimination to perceive what offends the artist and man of taste; and he is also hampered by the workman, who naturally works in the groove to which he is accustomed, and in accordance with the exigencies of trade, which demand the use of mechanical processes to supersede labour.

To trace the evil in this way to its source does not, however, supply us with a remedy. I proceed now briefly to consider in what directions we are to look for an improvement on the state of things I have been describing.

And first I should hope for the most beneficial results from the personal supervision of artists of cultivated tastes over the manufacture of the objects of our daily life. A strong feeling for the higher forms of art has never existed in this country, or, I should say rather, the artistic faculty has never in our race risen of its own accord towards the higher forms of art. Except in architecture we have never produced any works of higher art ; we have never had of indigenous growth anything in the shape of those schools of painting, sculpture, and metal-work which sprang out of the native soil in Flanders, to say nothing of Italy. All the higher forms of art have been imported into England either by foreign artists coming to work for our native princes, or by men of taste and culture. Until within the last hundred years there was no such thing as a school of painting in England at all. But there did exist in England till lately, what indeed was common to all the world, the sentiment and tradition of excellence in such more homely forms of art as are applied to household furniture and fittings; and such a feeling took of course an English development, which gave its own character to the work produced. Now what I wish to call your attention to is, that this tradition having died out through the causes I have mentioned, and the circumstances under which works of art and manufacture are produced, and matters having arrived at the dead-lock described above, so that, except in a few solitary cases, it may be said that an object of industrial art is never now produced which is satisfactory to the cultivated eye from every point of view — what I desire to point out is, that only through th determination and energy, and to a certain extent the self-sacrifice, of those who are capable of directing the public taste — that is, of artists and men of culture — can an improvement be considered possible.

There has been a great effort in this direction made of late years. The firm of which Mr. William Morris is the head, of which indeed he is now the sole member, started the idea, now well understood, that the only possible means of producing work which shall be satisfactory from every side, is to return to the principles on which all works of art and art-manufacture were executed, not only in the Middle Ages, but at all epochs up to the beginning of this century. That is, it was intended that the leading spirit of the firm should be not merely a contractor for the work of others, looking to the public to guide his taste, but himself an artist, not only with the power to direct the craftsmen who work under him, but with skill and taste to produce designs, and knowledge not only of the aesthetic but of the practical side of the craft. Such a knowledge and skill Mr. Morris undoubtedly possesses, and there is no less doubt in my mind that from under his direction have proceeded the only thoroughly satisfactory works of decorative industrial art which have been done in this country since the decay of the tradition of sound work. And he has not done this without the determination and energy I have spoken of, nor without a considerable amount of self-sacrifice both of time and money. Since this experiment has been set on foot the movement has become more general; so general in fact that it may be said now to have become a matter of fashion. Many imitations, more or less successful, of this experiment have been made which are perfectly genuine; but there are many more which are only meant to catch the public taste while it runs in this direction. We have evidence of this in the numerous firms which advertise art-furniture, art-pottery, art-needlework, &c., &c., some of which no doubt are sufficiently in earnest, while others merely trade on the cant of the day, to pass off furniture and other fabrics as bad in design and construction as any that were produced before this movement took place, and infinitely worse in taste. The influence of the designs which have proceeded from Mr. Morris's firm has been immense, and has affected the productions of many who no doubt imagine themselves quite free from it; for I trace, or fancy I trace it, in the works of men most opposed in taste and principle ; but the effect on the large mass of manufacturers has only been that they have followed the fashion, and caught a few tricks which they repeat in a servile manner, without having in the least understood or seized the spirit. It is the characteristic indeed of men of genius to be perpetually surprising their imitators, and there is no fear of a " Morris style " being adopted which shall ever outdo him on his own ground. It is to be hoped that the success of this experiment may not be so much a matter of fashion as to leave no lasting trace, and it will be the fault not only of the public but of the artists themselves if this is the case.

It will of course be quite understood that if I refer at this length to the work Mr. Morris has done, it is not with any view of bringing his name forward, for he is fortunately by this time too well known to require aid from anything I can say. It is because I have a firm conviction that it is only by some such devotion on the part of artists themselves that the degrading tendency of mechanism and all its accompaniments may be counteracted; and only through such practical application of knowledge and skill can the taste of the public, which has more influence for good or for evil in this country than in any other, ever be really improved.

To pass on to another point, it may be said that the increasing spread of the education which every year is being more widely diffused, and in which the teaching of drawing is encouraged by Government grants, must gradually infuse a spirit of art and a love of beauty ; and what is still more important, a hatred of ugliness, and a capacity for distinguishing the true from the vulgar and pretentious. I believe that it may have a limited effect in this direction. It is not to be supposed, however, that to teach the rudiments of geometry and perspective and elementary freehand drawing to so many thousands of children, will turn them at once into artists, or even give them any artistic instincts. But it will act as other elementary education acts — give a chance of cultivation to some receptive natures which might otherwise remain undeveloped. These elementary stages in art indeed can hardly be said to be art at all; and those who complain that free-hand drawing is dull and tedious work for children, and that they should be taught to work at once from nature so as to have interest in their subject, do not understand the reasons for this system. In the first place, the authorities well understand that to make geometrical and free-hand drawings can no more be called studying art than learning the alphabet can be said to be studying literature, both being the necessary preliminary stages to a higher culture; and in the second place, where drawing is only a small portion of the course of elementary education, and is carried on for a very limited time in places where perhaps hundreds of school children are learning, it is necessary to give the instruction in the most convenient and handy form. There are the art schools for the further development of those whose taste or talent impels them to further study in this direction ; and I may add that a constant effort is being made so to arrange the Government payments to the masters, that there shall be the necessary inducement to lead the pupils from one stage to another — a matter which would be easy enough if the supplies were unlimited, but which is difficult when they have to be kept within bounds. It is in this way then that I hope the influence of the vast machinery of the Art Department may be felt; that is, through the chances given to children of turning their attention to art if their inclinations lie that way, through the inducements to study offered by the art classes and art schools, and through the final inducements to enter into training at South Kensington as art masters, and in turn diffuse their knowledge through the country.

There is, however, another great piece of machinery which runs no such risks, and by which the truest principles of taste may be diffused among all classes. I refer to the institution and formation of museums. Here again do not let us deceive ourselves as to the influence they may exercise. Without previous culture no one is likely to appreciate a work of high art; the richness and splendour of workmanship and material in a cup by Cellini will please an uneducated eye, but it needs a long apprenticeship in general and special study for the appreciation of the exquisite taste and fancy which has guided the artist. Mr. Morley, in a speech on education, lately asked why the collection of Castellani jewels at the British Museum should not be sent to Birmingham, to improve the taste of the jewellers. If it was in the least probable that the goldsmiths and jewellers would take to heart the lesson that those wonderful specimens of Greek art might teach them, the lesson which I have tried to inculcate in this paper — viz., that exquisite workmanship is the essence of all fine art manufacture, and of jewellery above all things — no risk perhaps would be too great to run in the cause; but it is far too probable that the only result would be the "cribbing" of a few of the forms to produce a novelty, and the executing them in a more or less coarse and barbarous manner. It must be remembered, too, that museums have another important function besides the circulation through the provinces of fine specimens of art and workmanship, and that is the preservation of those inestimably precious relics of antiquity which no money or labour could ever restore to us if once lost or destroyed. After this has been taken into account, there can be no doubt that the exhibition and circulation of objects of art is of great importance, and cannot but have a refining and educating effect on those whose tastes are sufficiently raised by cultivation to appreciate them ; indeed, to supply the local museums and art schools with the best specimens available, is one of the most important functions of the South Kensington Museum.

If I have explained myself in these remarks, it will be understood that I see three ways in which the influence of art may be brought to bear on our social system — through the return, if only in part, to that bygone excellence of workmanship which, for reasons that I have dwelt on, and others which I have forborne to discuss, must necessarily be only partial ; through the spread of education; and through opportunities afforded to art-students throughout the kingdom of seeing fine works of different periods and styles. All these influences however I have been obliged to confess must be limited in their effect, and we must not deceive ourselves as to the extent to which public taste may be influenced by these means. We have only to think of the immense number amongst us of all classes, from the highest to the lowest, who are utterly indifferent as to whether their surroundings are ugly or beautiful, and who trouble themselves only about personal comfort or luxury according to their degree, to realise how impossible it will be ever to instil into them the most rudimentary ideas upon the subject. We who are interested in these things, though we appear to ourselves to be a large and important section of the community, form but a very small portion of the whole mass of the nation, which is for the most part animated by other interests, indifferent, and in many cases irreconcilably opposed, to the interests of art. We may remember however as an encouragement, that at no time in the world's history, except at that period of the culmination of Greek art which I have referred to, has a nation been wholly artistic. In Italy, even at the best time, the mass of the people were probably indifferent, and the love of art was confined to artists, artificers, and the cultivated class. It is true that in Florence there seems to have been something like popular enthusiasm when a fine work of art was produced, as in a well-known instance, when Cimabue's picture was carried in procession. It may be doubted however whether this was anything more than an exhibition of enthusiasm among the painter's friends or his guild, taking a form of rejoicing common in those days. And although I have said that I do not see the possibility under existing conditions of so complete a diffusion of taste for art among us as shall make us an artistic race, yet there is no reason why it should not become amongst us, as it was once in Italy, the property at least of the cultivated class and of all art-workmen. Let us never forget, too, that the spirit of art will of itself assist in the increase of this educated class, and in the spread of the cultivation by which it lives.

It may be advisable to add a few words to this paper, left rather incomplete in its latter part. I have frequently in the course of this and other lectures alluded to the dying out of the tradition of good work as a cause of the degeneracy of workmanship in the present day; and I have referred to certain artists and architects as devoting themselves to restoring this tradition of good work by their individual efforts. It is obvious, however, that unless something like a School is produced by these means, such good work as is done must be very limited, its only influence being traceable in the false and cheap imitations which copy the manner without seizing, or desiring to seize, the spirit. The best counteracting influence, therefore, would be the establishment of schools where good workmanship should be taught. Abroad, the spirit of fine workmanship is not dead. The Paris Exhibition of 1875 proved that in France and Italy all kinds of technical arts are still in as good a condition as ever as regards execution and workmanship, if degenerate in taste and invention. Some carved panels exhibited in the Italian Court, two of which were bought for the South Kensington Museum, were executed in the highest perfection. And in all matters connected with modelling and metal work the French and other nations excel us on every point ; it is well known indeed that our most eminent pottery firms and silversmiths employ French workmen. Our plan, therefore, is to establish technical schools under the best foreign teachers that are to be found; and if our manufacturers are not too much under the influence of trade jealousies to allow it, and our mechanics are not too conceited to learn, some good may be done. One of the City Companies has already given assistance towards the formation of a School of Woodcarving under an Italian artist, which promises the best results; and it would be an admirable thing if others of those rich companies would aid in like manner towards the recovery of those technical arts of which they are the recognised representatives.

Footnotes:

1. Delivered at the Liverpool Meeting of the Social Science Congress, October, 1876.

2. This would perhaps be more exactly true of the Athenians than of the Greeks as a nation, for the new discoveries at Elis seem to show that occasionally they put up with very inferior work (see the Edinburgh Review for Jan. 1879); but the almcst universal perfection of Greek work shows that such a feeling must have existed very widely.

3. I have in this passage laboured under some strange mental confusion. Old Blackfriars Bridge, of which I was thinking, was pulled down some seventeen years ago; I probably had in my mind the new bridge and the railway bridge alongside it, and the railway bridge by Southwark bridge. In any case there is a confusion of hideous bridges at that part of the river.

4. Mr. Street reminds me that by taking the railway across the river a little lower down it might have been carried under Fleet Street instead of over it.

5. I understand that Messrs. Doulton affirm that so far from these accidents being intentional, their efforts are directed to avoiding their occurrence, which would perhaps point to there being something wrong in the manufacture, as the colours are very clearly and cleanly defined in the old Grès de Flandre. But 1 am confident that with the "artistic" public the charm is believed to be in the imperfection; I learn from the remarks of my aesthetic friends that it is certainly so in the case of modern Venetian glass.

6. These remarks have been misinterpreted in some newspaper criticisms to mean that mechanical processes should in no case be made use of in art. It was a question with me when writing this lecture, whether it would not be better to anticipate objections by a digression on this very point; but I felt that this would so interfere with the course of the argument, that I thought it better to leave it to the intelligence of my audience to infer a certain amount of common sense on my part. Some remarks lately made by Sir Henry Cole at Manchester prove to me, however, that I have not expressed myself with sufficient fulness. It is well to state, therefore, that I had no such intentions as he assumes. The reason why the objections to the mechanical production of the embossed decoration of a wine-glass do not hold good in the case of the printed patterns on a wall-paper or chintz are clear enough on a little consideration. That a repeated pattern may look well, its repetitions must be true; in a chintz or wall-paper, therefore, mechanical reproduction becomes a positive advantage, as the accurate repetition by hand of a pattern recurring some hundreds and thousands of times is either impossible, or so nearly impossible, and in any case so laborious, as to appal one with the idea of the wasted time and energy requisite to such a result; a result so easily achieved by mechanical mean's. Imagine the attempt to execute by hand the five or six hundred repetitions, to be found in a small room (such as the one in which I am writing) of the elaborately involved patterns in one of the "Morris papers" to which Sir Henry refers me; the result would either be simple chaos, in a case where precision in the repeated forms is a chief point in the effect required by the designer: or we should require a twelvemonth's work by a slulful workman, which would after all be less effective than a few hours' use of the printing-blocks. On the other hand, in decorations where there is no repetition, as in the case of the Chinese hand-painted papers of birds and flowering-trees, it would not only be more laborious to print the pattern, but it is the freedom of the hand-work which gives the charm, the fancy of the artist coming in at every touch.

The objections to mechanical reproduction in the case of the wineglass quoted above are more complex. In the first place, the necessity for added decoration is not so strong: blank walls where we could not employ an artist to paint them, or single coloured chintzes where we could not have hand-embroidery, would become wearisome to the eye to such a degree that some easily-produced form of decoration becomes a necessity; but a plain wine-glass of a good form is nearly, if not quite, as pretty as an embossed one, and the variations to be made in the form alone are practically endless. In the next place, the making of the diamond pattern in the old way involves no laborious process (it is only too slow for the exigencies of trade), but merely a certain amount of easily-acquired skill on the part of the workman; the skill itself (as explained above) giving the charm to the work. In brief, by our manufacturers a decorative feature is added to the glass by mechanical means, which only has value when it is not done by mechanical means. It is needless to multiply illustrations and arguments which will readily suggest themselves to the reader, and it must be remembered that I only use the wine-glass accidentally as an illustration, and not as an extreme case. Although an exact definition is not easy, it may be broadly affirmed that mechanical reproduction in art begins to be objectionable at the point where, precise and multiplied repetition not being one of the conditions, the charm of free and skilful treatment outweighs the imperfections and the more lengthened processes of hand-work; and conversely, it ceases to be offensive to taste where the labour of hand-work not only becomes oppressive to the imagination, but cea es to fulfil the requisite conditions.