PROOF

Contents

List of Illustrations vii Acknowledgments viii Notes on Contributors ix List of Abbreviations xii

Introduction The Aesthetic Life: Thinking Across the Arts and the Senses 1 Elicia Clements and Lesley J. Higgins

Part I Pater and Contemporary Visualities

1 Art and the Museum 13 Jonah Siegel

2 Pater and Contemporary Visual Art 33 J. B. Bullen

3 The ‘Necessity’ of Corot and Whistler in Pater’s ‘Network’ of Painters 47 Lesley J. Higgins

4 Critical Connections and Quotational Strategies: Allegory and Aestheticism in Pater and Simeon Solomon 68 Colin Cruise

Part II Pater and the Dynamic Arts

5 Pater’s Auxerre Tapestry 85 Kenneth Daley

6 Sculpture, Style and Pater’s Imaginative Sense of Touch 102 Lene Østermark-Johansen

7 The Painting as Physical Object in a Verbal Portrait: Pater’s ‘A Prince of Court Painters’ and Wilde’s ‘The Portrait of Mr W. H.’ 117 Norman Kelvin

8 Walter Pater, Film Theorist 135 Carolyn Williams

v PROOF vi Contents

9 Pater’s Musical Imagination: The Aural Architecture of ‘The School of Giorgione’ and Marius the Epicurean 152 Elicia Clements 10 Haunted Stages: Walter Pater and the ‘Theatrical Mode of Life’ 167 Andrew Eastham

Part III Pater and the Practice of Writing 11 Literary Communism: Pater and the Politics of Community 185 Matthew Potolsky 12 The Limitations of Schilleresque Self-Culture in Pater’s Individualist Aesthetics 205 Kate Hext 13 The Art of the Novel: Pater and Fiction 220 Laurel Brake

Bibliography 232 Index 249 PROOF 1 Art and the Museum Jonah Siegel

The nineteenth-century museum (Parnassus or the Disputation of the Sacrament)

Between approximately 1509 and 1511, as Michelangelo completed the Sistine ceiling nearby, Raphael set to work on his first major commission in Rome, a set of frescoes for the Stanza della Segnatura at the Vatican. On one wall of the room he painted the fresco that would become famous as The School of Athens (Figure 1.1); on the facing wall a theological subject that has come to be called the Disputation of the Sacrament (Figure 1.2); and on a third, a vision of poetry, Parnassus (Figure 1.3), presided over by Apollo and the Muses and inhabited by the great poets of antiquity and the modern era. Raphael’s program presents a beautifully realized illustration of the various realms of achievement – divine, intellectual, and creative – given weight not only by the painter’s mastery of technique and originality of conception, but also by the location of his works in the heart of Christendom. Individually, each of the three images is an instance of those pantheons of illustrious men that fascinated the Renaissance. And yet, taken together, the set also proffers a surprisingly complex and unsettled vision of inspiration. Plato famously points up to indicate his emphasis on the ideal; Aristotle points down for the more earthly empirical school of philosophy with which he was associated. Each of the various other thinkers around them stands for a distinct approach to the problems that challenge human reason. More sur- prising than the arguments of philosophers, however, is the ‘dispute’ that faces them: the Host that forms the center of the painting across from The School of Athens is not presented simply as the culminating earthly manifes- tation of all the divinity that rises above it (the gospels, Mary and Joseph, Jesus, and ultimately God the father), it is also the center of a transhistorical debate. Indeed, the painter’s art harmonizes any number of disputes on both sides of the room, even as the program as a whole suggests the harmony of classical thought with Christian. The Parnassus links both sides, enacting as it represents the pleasure of harmonization itself.

13 PROOF 14

Figure 1.1 Raphael, The School of Athens (1510–11)

Figure 1.2 Raphael, Disputa (Disputation of the Sacrament, 1509–10) PROOF Art and the Museum 15

Figure 1.3 Raphael, Parnassus (c. 1511)

Like all important, but relatively recent innovations, the museum seems to call out for antecedents that will explain its history and demonstrate its actual pedigree. I begin with Raphael’s work at the Vatican because it is through discussion of the decoration of this space that Pater, following Ruskin, addresses the essential qualities of the institution in his first pub- lished essay. Broadly speaking we can say that the program of the Stanza is about the sources of inspiration and the relationship of cultural achieve- ment to time, be it atemporality, synchronicity, or the renewal that we call tradition. The frescoes have at their heart the juxtaposition of individuals from widely divergent times and places (Homer with Dante; St Jerome with Savonarola; Plato with Socrates, but also Pythagoras and Zoroaster, and so on). Both themes – inspiration and cultural achievement in time – are at issue in Pater’s writing on the Stanza, but in order to understand what is at stake in his claims, it will be just as well to begin with the precedent that certainly underlies his own account of Raphael’s work: John Ruskin’s trou- bled reference to the space in Volume 3 of Stones of Venice (1853). The earlier critic had been exercised by a juxtaposition he identifies as being characteris- tic of modernity. For Ruskin, the problem is the lack of judgment, not to say hierarchy, in the visual paralleling of divine and artistic inspiration, of pagan PROOF 16 Jonah Siegel and Christian divinity. The rooms speak to Ruskin of a characteristic artistic egotism and the related loss of the ability to ascribe value he associates with the Renaissance broadly:

The faculties themselves wasted away in their own treason; one by one they fell in the potter’s field; and the Raphael who seemed sent and inspired from heaven that he might paint Apostles and Prophets, sank at once into powerlessness at the feet of Apollo and the Muses. (Ruskin, 1903–12, vol. 11, p. 130)

This melancholy evocation of the Disputa and the Parnassus emerges at the culmination of a scathing description of the decline in seriousness of paint- ing indicated by its change in ambition from the representation of religious subjects to the representation of classical ones. Raphael of course does not worship Apollo, but that is precisely Ruskin’s concern; a culture that cele- brates idols in which it does not believe participates in the emptying-out of meaning from all representations: ‘[T]his double creed, of Christianity confessed and Paganism beloved, was worse than Paganism itself, inasmuch as it refused effective and practical belief altogether’ (Ruskin, 1903–12, vol. 11, p. 129).1 Ruskin is describing the beginning of the museum culture he dreads, hence his choice, from the range of pagan figures painted by Raphael, of a representation of Apollo and the Muses:

the more skilful the artist, the less his subject was regarded; and the hearts of men hardened as their handling softened, until they reached a point when sacred, profane, or sensual subjects were employed, with absolute indifference, for the display of colour and execution; and grad- ually the mind of Europe congealed into that state of utter apathy, – inconceivable unless it had been witnessed, and unpardonable, unless by us, who have been infected by it, – which permits us to place the Madonna and the Aphrodite side by side in our galleries, and to pass, with the same unmoved inquiry into the manner of their handling, from a Bacchanal to a Nativity. (Ruskin, 1903–12, vol. 11, p. 131)

Ruskin moves seamlessly from past tense to present, as in one paragraph he travels from Raphael painting muses at the Vatican to the modern mind at the museum. Pater sees something quite similar to Ruskin at the Vatican, but the fun- damentally different understanding of the breaks and continuities in culture that he brings to bear is bound to lead him to entirely different conclusions:

In one of the frescoes of the Vatican, Raphael has commemorated the tradition of the Catholic religion. Against a space of tranquil sky, broken in upon by the beatific vision, are ranged the great personages of Christian PROOF Art and the Museum 17

history, with the Sacrament in the midst. Another fresco of Raphael in the same apartment presents a very different company, Dante alone appear- ing in both. Surrounded by the muses of Greek mythology, under a thicket of laurel, sits Apollo, with the sources of Castalia at his feet. On either side are grouped those on whom the spirit of Apollo descended, the classical and Renaissance poets, to whom the waters of Castalia come down, a river making glad this other ‘city of God’. (TR, p. 157)

The sensibility behind this bald identification of another city of God is pre- cisely the problem that alarms Ruskin. Nevertheless, it is in this other city and in the tradition for which it stands that Pater locates the continuity of culture that is his theme when he writes on Winckelmann in his very first published essay, challenging the stark divisions separating historical periods that had been so important for cultural analysis earlier in the century:

In this fresco it is the classical tradition, the orthodoxy of taste, that Raphael commemorates. Winckelmann’s intellectual history authenti- cates the claims of this tradition in human culture ...This testimony to the authority of the Hellenic tradition, its fitness to satisfy some vital requirement of the intellect, which Winckelmann contributes as a soli- tary man of genius, is offered also by the general history of the mind. The spiritual forces of the past, which have prompted and informed the culture of a succeeding age, live, indeed, within that culture, but with an absorbed, underground life. The Hellenic element alone has not been so absorbed, or content with this underground life; from time to time it has started to the surface; culture has been drawn back to its sources to be clarified and corrected. Hellenism is not merely an absorbed element in our intellectual life; it is a conscious tradition in it. (TR, pp. 157–8)

Pater cheerfully cites the juxtaposition that had so offended his pre- decessor for precisely the reasons Ruskin had dreaded. Placing religions alongside other cultural phenomena – indeed, identifying them as cultural phenomena – is a typical strategy of the later critic; he has no problem understanding the works of art to illustrate two parallel ‘traditions’, the Catholic and the classical. From this point of view, Ruskin’s anxious desire to look at only one wall of the Stanza della Segnatura is a willful denial of a constant tradition, not a turn away from a depraved modernity.2 We may take this instance as typical of a difference between the two critics ultimately traceable to their distinctive responses to a very concrete issue. Pater and Ruskin both are writing about the museum in the midst of the most important period of its development. For both, the institution is at once a symbol and a cause of the modern situation – one in which arguments for cultural continuity as much as for cultural breaks depend on an ever more common possibility of seeing just the kinds of juxtapositions (Madonna and PROOF 18 Jonah Siegel

Aphrodite side by side) that concern Ruskin. Its name notwithstanding, the museum is far from being a classical inheritance. The idea that the gather- ing together and display of works of art was a social good and necessary for the emergence of further art came to the fore in Europe late in the eighteenth century in response to new concepts of art and art education. It is to the century that followed, however, that we can look for the great period of museum development. The eighteenth century had seen the for- mation or opening to the public of a handful of influential continental museums, among them the Capitoline in Rome (1734) and the Uffizi in Florence (1769), the Pio-Clementino at the Vatican (1771) and the Louvre in Paris (1793). In England itself, the first national public collection was the British Museum, founded in 1753 when the collection of curiosities and objects of natural history acquired from Sir Hans Sloane’s estate was combined with the Harley collection of manuscripts and the Cottonian library acquired by the nation earlier in the century. The Museum opened to the public in its current location at Montague House, Bloomsbury, in 1759, but its form and content, shaped early on by accidents of acquisition rather than any plan, would be a topic of debate and reform for the century to come, even as individual collections expanded at a rate unforeseeable by its founders and early supporters. The material on display itself presented challenges, at once practical and conceptual. The story of the development of the British Museum’s collections of antiquities, to continue with this central example, is from the outset one of inexorable accumulation leading to competition for resources and viewer attention. The passion for art that emerged with force in late eighteenth-century English intellectual circles, along with the oppor- tunities for acquisition presented by international exploration, conflict, and expansion, resulted in the creation or augmentation of important collections throughout the nineteenth century. But the relationship among accessions, aesthetic value, and new knowledge was seldom straightforward or easy. To cite just one of the quicker instances in which cultural indifference overwhelmed once-admired objects as taste changed and new objects were acquired, we might mention the Townley Marbles. For decades this collec- tion of much-restored, largely Hellenistic, works assembled by the connois- seur Charles Townley had been the principal source of what was understood to be direct knowledge of classical art in England. At the time of their acces- sion in 1805 they formed an important holding at the British Museum, joining the more heterogeneous set of objects of natural history and art assembled by Sloane, as well as such disparate material as the Egyptian col- lection acquired in 1801, a trophy of Napoleonic struggle. Nevertheless, new forms of discrimination and connoisseurship meant that their fame would soon go into irreversible decline. The Elgin Marbles, purchased with much controversy in 1816, quickly overcame the Townley collection in the esti- mation of the cultured elite, and eventually in the popular imagination. But PROOF Art and the Museum 19 they themselves were subject to competition from the phenomenal Assyrian finds of Henry Layard and others at mid-century. While the accumulation of objects provokes the desire to organize into hierarchies of meaning and value, those hierarchies are unavoidably subjected to revisions that them- selves indicate the difficulty of making sense of so much material. Prized works call out for ideas that might identify the quantity and kind of atten- tion required from the viewer. And so, Ruskin’s anxiety about the effect of museum culture is based on the very conditions that drive the development of his own métier.3 From Neoclassicism to Pre-Raphaelitism and including such foreign devel- opments as the German Nazarenes, as well as characteristic turns in architec- ture and design, movements in art throughout the period typically shaped themselves as responses to a museal vision of the history of art, whether that vision resulted in the selection of one period (or a fantastic vision of that period) for celebration or emulation, or in the attempt to put the styles of a variety of periods into play. Eclectic amalgamations of historic forms, as much as archaeologically fastidious attempts to revivify one particular era at the expense of others – both extremes testify equally to the centrality of historical precedent for the period. The force of the museum in nineteenth- century culture was more than metaphorical, however. It is not just the case that more and more of the art of the past was available for evaluation and reuse; the institution in which it was typically presented was itself in the process of consolidation. If the museal nature of the nineteenth century was inescapable to perceptive critics, the emergence of the institution itself was only more self-evident. In 1839, the year of Pater’s birth, the National Gallery in London was only 15 years old; and among its 200 paintings were to be found relatively few of lasting merit.4 It was only the previous year that the Gallery had been moved from what had been the private home in Pall Mall of its principal benefactor, John Julius Angerstein, to premises built by the nation to house the collection and the Royal Academy on Trafalgar Square. By the year of Pater’s death, the Gallery had had two substantial renovations and the Royal Academy had been in its own quarters for more than two decades. That very year, the Tate Gallery of British Art would be commis- sioned. At Oxford itself, the University Museum (devoted largely to science) was inaugurated in 1860, while the Pitt Rivers (anthropology) opened its doors in 1884. By the early decades of the twentieth century more than 400 museums were in existence in the British Isles, a remarkable change from the less than half a dozen that have been identified at the beginning of the nineteenth century.5 However, new foundations are only a small part of the story in a period that saw constant renovation and rearrangement in response both to new acquisitions and to conceptual developments including the rise of scientific art history, the emergence of anthropology, and new interest in areas ranging from Mexico to Mesopotamia to medieval Britain, and beyond. PROOF 20 Jonah Siegel

To cite an instance that would be quite local for Pater, the Ashmolean, for all that its foundation in the seventeenth century makes it the oldest museum in Britain, saw massive changes in its collections and institutional commitments in the nineteenth century. Few objects on display when Pater arrived at Oxford – a time when the museum still displayed largely curiosities and objects of natural history – would have been on view by the time The Renaissance was first published, which was well after the museum directors had changed the institution’s focus to archaeology. The 1845 Museums Act, which allowed town councils to levy rates to pay for local museums, added to the widespread diffusion of the phe- nomenon of museums, although the National Gallery and the British Museum would remain the principal models and instances for nineteenth- century British culture. To these two still-extant institutions, we may add the Great Exhibition itself and especially its many descendants, not only the various international exhibitions that followed and the important 1857 Art Treasures Exhibition in Manchester, but also the Crystal Palace recon- structed at Sydenham in 1854, with its historic courts, casts of artistic masterpieces, and sculptures of prehistoric beasts. Developments such as the acquisition of Assyrian antiquities in the 1840s and 1850s were well covered in the press, in part due to the success of Layard’s memoirs, Nineveh and its Remains (1848) and Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon (1853). The print media also followed closely the various scandals and controversies related to acquisitions and restorations at the National Gallery, and the process of museum reform and renovation that preoc- cupied a number of Parliamentary commissions and resulted in notable projects, including the construction of the Reading Room at the British Museum and the opening of the South Kensington Museum (1857), the renovations of the frequently derided National Gallery (1860–61, 1872–76), and the removal of the British Museum’s natural history collection from Bloomsbury to South Kensington (1881). Museums were on the mind of nineteenth-century Britain for both conceptual and practical reasons, but the interactions of concepts and practical determinations were bound to be far from simple.

The museum as medium (Apollo or the Discobolus)

Keenly interested as he was at all times in the conditions that make percep- tion possible and shape its contingent nature, it was inevitable that Walter Pater should have been particularly responsive to such a crucial setting for the experience of art. And indeed, the critic was keenly aware that a prin- cipal shaping force in the period – molding consciousness and the object both – was the museum itself. It is a topic he develops with particular clarity in Greek Studies (1895), a late work whose historical subtlety is not unrelated to its institutional self-consciousness. PROOF Art and the Museum 21

Figure 1.4 Apollo Belvedere

In order to understand what is at stake in Pater’s long appreciation of the Townley Discobolus (see Figure 1.5) in the British Museum, it will be helpful to cite the influential ekphrastic effusion with which it is clearly in dialogue, Winckelmann’s seminal description of the Apollo Belvedere (Figure 1.4) in his History of Ancient Art (1764). ‘Among all the works of antiquity which have escaped destruction’, Winckelmann famously claims, ‘the statue of Apollo is the highest ideal of art’ (1873, vol. 3, p. 212). But only a longer citation will PROOF 22 Jonah Siegel

Figure 1.5 Discobolus. Photo: 1859

demonstrate the ways in which the ideal qualities Winckelmann identifies align the imagined passions of the statue’s creator with those of the sensitive viewer, in that sense recovering in the empyrean an otherwise lost creative context:

Let thy spirit penetrate into the kingdom of incorporeal beauties, and strive to become a creator of a heavenly nature, in order that thy mind may be filled with beauties that are elevated above nature; for there is nothing mortal here, nothing which human necessities require. Neither blood-vessels nor sinews heat and stir this body, but a heavenly essence, diffusing itself like a gentle stream, seems to fill the whole contour of the figure ...The soft hair plays about the divine head as if agitated by a gen- tle breeze, like the slender waving tendrils of the noble vine; it seems to be anointed with the oil of the gods, and tied by the Graces with pleasing display on the crown of his head. In the presence of this miracle of art I forget all else, and I myself take a lofty position for the purpose of look- ing upon it in a worthy manner. My breast seems to enlarge and swell with reverence, like the breasts of those who were filled with the spirit PROOF Art and the Museum 23

of prophecy, and I feel myself transported to Delos and into the Lycæan groves, – places which Apollo honored by his presence. (Winckelmann, 1873, vol. 3, pp. 213–14)

In his important study of Winckelmann, Alex Potts has noted that Pater was ‘an unusually close and careful reader’ of the History of the Art of Antiquity (Potts, 1994, p. 238), a text central to Pater’s essay on the art historian. Lit- tle wonder, then, that echoes of Winckelmann’s famous paean to Apollo return when the critic sets himself to describe the beauty of a statue. Still, the similarity serves more than anything to bring out fundamental differences. While the Apollo, in Winckelmann’s telling, is (has to be) the physical embodiment of the ideal, and an unimpeachable masterpiece of original Greek creativity, the Discobolus (Figure 1.5) on which Pater turns his gaze is known to be one of several marble copies of a bronze original:6

The face of the young man, as you see him in the British Museum for instance, with fittingly inexpressive expression, (look into, look at the curves of, the blossom-like cavity of the opened mouth) is beautiful, but not altogether virile. The eyes, the facial lines which they gather into one, seem ready to follow the coming motion of the discus as those of an onlooker might be; but that head does not really belong to the Discobo- lus. To be assured of this you have but to compare with that version in the British Museum the most authentic of all derivations from the original, preserved till lately at the Palazzo Massimi [sic]inRome.(GS, pp. 289–90)

Whereas the context of the gallery gives Winckelmann the opportunity to believe he is viewing antiquity directly when he looks at its objects purified of all the accidents of history, Pater knows it is modernity that stares back at him at the institution. As Pater accurately notes, the Townley Discobolus has generally been less admired than the one in the Massimo family collec- tion, which he goes so far as to call the original elsewhere in the essay, but which is itself, as he notes here, only ‘the most authentic of all derivations from the original’. Worse, the head of the statue at the British Museum, the feature to which Pater first draws the viewer’s attention, is itself not original, nor has it been correctly oriented on the body by whatever later restorer put it there. Winckelmann’s ideal form, as instantiated in the Apollo, combines divine power and indifference, perfection of execution with a complete invulnerability to the vicissitudes of the world. The image, like the god, is paradoxically incorporeal, rising above nature, beyond what human necessities require. The subtlety of Pater’s vision of the museum, however, is that it leads him neither to imagine an atemporal ideal realm in which the experience of art takes place, nor that the institution vouchsafes him access to the original thing in itself – far from it. While Pater relishes the incongruous atemporality of the experience of art in the museum – the very PROOF 24 Jonah Siegel characteristics that can make a Greek athlete equivalent to a British cricketer, or that can make another Greek statue comparable to a Gothic work of art elsewhere in the same essay – the qualities that inspire the general invita- tion to look together into the flower-like mouth of the young man imply a lost context of a sort which would preoccupy later writers on the insti- tution, one recoverable only by the eyes of the mind, and only with great difficulty. If the museum allows us still in some measure to stand with Pater and gaze at the parted lips of the Discobolus, we cannot ever be in the original context in which the work of art arose. Pater is presciently thoughtful on the effect of the reception of art in the deracinated medium of the museum.7 ‘Look’, is the invitation, ‘look into, look at the curves of, the blossom-like cavity of the opened mouth’ of the young man, ‘as you see him in the British Museum’(GS, pp. 289–90; my italics). Pater is doing more than indicating where the statue is to be found. He is insisting it be seen where it is, not as though its current situation were immaterial to the experience of the viewer. When he turns to the version of the Discobolus in Rome, his nuanced and insistently material account of the object is very far from the Lycaean groves of Winckelmann’s ideal:

Here, the vigorous head also, with the face, smooth enough, but spare, and tightly drawn over muscle and bone, is sympathetic with, yields itself to, the concentration, in the most literal sense, of all beside; – is itself, in very truth, the steady centre of the discus, which begins to spin; as the source of will, the source of the motion with which the discus is already on the wing, – that, and the entire form. The Discobolus of the Massimi Palace presents, moreover, in the hair, for instance, those survivals of primitive manner which would mark legitimately Myron’s actual pre-Pheidiac standpoint; as they are congruous also with a cer- tain archaic, a more than merely athletic, spareness of form generally – delightful touches of unreality in this realist of a great time, and of a sort of conventionalism that has an attraction in itself. (GS, pp. 304–5)

The attention Pater brings to bear allows at once a recognition of the actual experience of looking at an object that does not exist in the empyrean, but is embedded in the history of Greek culture (hence the sensitivity to Myron’s place in the development of ancient art) and of something more conceptual. Pater turns to the careful analysis of the sources (themselves, paradoxically material) of the long-lived fantasies of an ideal classical antiquity:

What we possess, then, of that highest Greek sculpture is presented to us in a sort of threefold isolation; isolation, first of all, from the concomitant arts – the frieze of the Parthenon without the metal bridles on the horses, for which the holes in the marble remain; isolation, secondly from the PROOF Art and the Museum 25

architectural group of which, with most careful estimate of distance and point of observation, that frieze, for instance, was designed to be a part; isolation, thirdly, from the clear Greek skies, the poetical Greek life, in our modern galleries. And if one here or there, in looking at these things, bethinks himself of the required substitution; if he endeavours mentally to throw them back into that proper atmosphere, through which alone they can exercise over us all the magic by which they have charmed their original spectators, the effort is not always a successful one, within the grey walls of the Louvre or the British Museum. (GS, p. 188)

In ‘The Beginnings of Greek Sculpture’ (1880; GS, pp. 194–262), the expe- rience of modern display is identified as a contributing factor in the understanding of Greek sculpture as fundamentally ideal, which is to say bereft of the accidental, the contingent, even of color itself. The historical inaccuracy of the qualities that Pater associates with Winckelmann’s classi- cism in The Renaissance are the very topics developed at the opening of the second section of the later essay:

Critics of Greek sculpture have often spoken of it as if it had been always work in colourless stone, against an almost colourless background. Its real background, as I have tried to show, was a world of exquisite crafts- manship, touching the minutest details of daily life with splendour and skill, in close correspondence with a peculiarly animated development of human existence – the energetic movement and stir of typically noble human forms, quite worthily clothed – amid scenery as poetic as Titian’s. (GS, p. 224)

While the color of the stone has been stripped away by time, the colorless background is provided by space of the exhibition. This is a criticism that has been leveled at museums with greater insistence in the twentieth cen- tury than it ever was in the nineteenth. But Pater’s alert interest in both the experience of actually looking and the deep structures underlying nos- talgia makes it impossible for him to stop at this point. For all the losses it entails, the modern museum also opens up the possibility of correcting a weak idealizing historical sensibility and moving beyond the outmoded (but still influential) hierarchies of taste that placed the (pure) merits of line above the (sensual) ones of color. A fiction traceable in no small part to the conceptual force of typical modes of display and reproduction, the chaste classical line of antiquity allowed a distinction between forms such as sculpture and painting that a more accurate understanding of the material past – of the color of antiquity – made moot.8 While the galleries of casts and restored antiquities of the eighteenth century allowed and supported a notably abstracted vision even of sculpture, the museums of fragments that emerged in the nineteenth century opened the possibility of recognizing a PROOF 26 Jonah Siegel more colorful, nuanced, and accidental past. Still, the process was extremely uneven, in part because preconceptions proved longer lasting than the forms of display that promoted them, but also – as Pater himself suggests in his ref- erence to the gray walls of the museum – because the museum itself will always tend to deracinate and idealize the objects it encloses, even when those objects themselves seem to speak about quite a different world from the one that houses them.

The museum as emblem (‘The Most Religious City in the World’)

For Pater, as it was for Ruskin, the museum is a characteristic figure for the modern experience of culture itself, one in no way easy or uncomplicated. ‘To many, certainly’, Pater writes in a biographical sketch, composed in 1886 but first published in Appreciations (1889), the life of the antiquarian Thomas Browne

would have seemed too like a lifelong following of one’s own funeral. A museum is seldom a cheerful place – oftenest induces the feeling that nothing could ever have been young; and to Browne the whole world is a museum; all the grace and beauty it has being of a somewhat mortified kind. (Ap, p. 134)

Pater was bound to be fascinated by the elaborate style of the author of Urn Burial (1658), but he was no less likely to respond to the macabre fascination of a home decorated with ancient funerary urns. ‘Their house at Norwich’, he writes of the family, ‘even then an old one it would seem, must have grown, through long years of acquisition, into an odd cabinet of antiquities’ (Ap, p. 136). The objects that give the impetus and theme to Browne’s best- known work belong to a category of antiquity entirely distinct from that to which the Apollo Belvedere or even the Discobolus belong. As receptacles of human remains, the urns are at once more banal and more profound. Moreover, the urns evoke an ancient link between Rome and Britain, the existence of which must trouble that sense of unbridgeable distance that provoked so much productive nostalgia in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The vessels and the remains they house are a reminder of a time when Britain was part of the classical world – hence Pater’s description of Browne’s ‘old Roman, or Romanised British Urns’ (Ap, p. 133). The urns make Browne’s home a mausoleum and a museum at once – a conflation of domestic grace and beauty, albeit ‘of a somewhat mortified kind’, that always fascinated the critic, most notably, perhaps, in Marius.In that novel, the sense that the whole world may be a museum is first instan- tiated in the protagonist’s home, but then made manifest in Rome itself, which is identified by an equivocal title in the chapter that brings Marius to PROOF Art and the Museum 27 the capital of the empire for the first time – ‘The Most Religious City in the World’. As the title suggests, Marius is lucky in the era of his arrival – but the explanation of his good fortune fills in some of what Pater means by religion in this instance:

He was certainly fortunate in the time of his coming to Rome. That old pagan world, of which Rome was the flower, had reached its perfection in the things of poetry and art – a perfection which indicated only too surely the eve of a decline. As in some vast intellectual museum all its manifold products were intact and in their places, and with custodians also still extant, duly qualified to appreciate and explain them. And at no period of history had the material Rome itself been better worth seeing – lying there not less consummate than that world of pagan intellect which it represented in every phase of its darkness and light. The various works of many ages fell here harmoniously together, as yet untouched save by time, adding the final grace of a rich softness to its complex expression. (ME, vol. 1, pp. 172–3)

Pater’s fantasy is of a perfect museum, which is to say, one in which wealth of display is matched by clarity of explanation and harmony of effect. The museal quality of ancient Rome is the ultimate source of the similar- ity between antiquity and modernity that Pater emphasizes throughout the novel. Nevertheless, the metaphorical force of the museum in the text is not due simply to the setting of the story in a cosmopolitan past. It is closely linked to the question of religion – hence the superlative title of the chap- ter. Rome is most religious in the sense that all gods are worshipped within its precincts. This is precisely the kind of polytheism Ruskin feared in rela- tion to art, now transposed firmly back to its natural realm, religion itself. Moreover, Pater’s metaphor gains in complexity because the religious nature of the museum runs two ways, and includes the essentially museal nature of religion, Christianity in particular. Thus, Marius’s engagement with the early Christians he meets in Rome takes place not in a space dramatically different but notably similar to the pagan city. The architecture of Cecilia’s home, to take the central example, is characterized by what Pater describes as ‘a noble taste’, that is at once absolutely modern and typical of the antiquity Marius finds in the city:

a taste, indeed, chiefly evidenced in the selection and juxtaposition of the material it had to deal with, consisting almost exclusively of the remains of older art, here arranged and harmonised with effects ...so delicate as to seem really derivative from some finer intelligence in these matters than lay within the resources of the ancient world. It was the old way of true Renaissance ...conceiving the new organism by no sudden and abrupt creation, but rather by the action of a new principle upon elements, all PROOF 28 Jonah Siegel

of which had in truth already lived and died many times. The fragments of older architecture, the mosaics, the spiral columns, the precious corner stones of immemorial building, had put on by such juxtaposition, a new and singular expressiveness, an air of grave thought, of an intellectual purpose, in itself, aesthetically very seductive. (ME, vol. 1, pp. 227–8)

The novelty of Christianity does not reside in the materials that make it up but in the spirit of arrangement that has harmonized those materials anew much as ‘the works of various ages fell harmoniously together’ in the expe- rience of Rome itself. Cecilia’s house comes to overlap with that other in which the entire novel takes place – ‘the beautiful house of art and thought which was the inheritance of the age’ (ME, vol. 1, p. 121), a location Pater ties directly to the practice of criticism. Like the Christian home, imperial Rome is made perfect by the heterogeneous range of antiquities it integrates. Given the resistance to absolute historical breaks Pater openly declares throughout his work and demonstrates so extravagantly in Marius by means of the conti- nuities he identifies between nineteenth-century Europe and late antiquity, it should come as no surprise that his treatment of the effect of Christianity on art calmly but absolutely revises Ruskin. Architecture in Marius is con- crete evidence for Pater’s quiet polemic on the topic of cultural change and continuity. He is fascinated as much by the conversion – not destruction – of pre-existent temples by the early Christians as by the emergence of the liturgy of the Church from a synthesis of the texts of Judaism and the Greek and Latin languages. In this most religious city in the world even that most apparently novel of faiths, Christianity, does not exist outside the museum of culture. Far from it, the exceptionality of the Christians resides in the creativity with which they reinvigorate the material they find around them. The nascent religion leads its members to a cultural practice that is closer to the thought of the contemplative critic, collector, or curator than to the passions of the religious convert: ‘Some transforming spirit was at work to harmonise contrasts, to deepen expression – a spirit which, in its dealing with the ele- ments of ancient life was guided by a wonderful tact of selection, exclusion, juxtaposition, begetting thereby a unique effect of freshness’ (ME, vol. 1, p. 239). The ‘tactful’ work of early Christianity is described in the same terms Pater used of the builders of Cecilia’s home. To work with tact in Marius is to be sensitive in organizing a crowded museum, selecting, exclud- ing, juxtaposing – harmonizing. Pater evidently has more in mind than the history of architecture when he writes of the reuse of the antique. We may remember Ruskin’s desire to separate Apollo and the Muses from the dis- pute over the Host in the Stanza della Segnatura when Pater suggests in Marius that even Christian Communion is ‘not so much new matter as a new spirit, moulding, informing, with a new intention, many observances not witnessed for the first time today’ (ME, vol. 1, p. 249). The history of the PROOF Art and the Museum 29

Host is no less a tale of creativity and inspiration, as Pater understands it, than any other important cultural phenomenon. The insight Ruskin fears is in fact true and precisely the kind likely to be made from within the museum.

I began this essay with the proposal that Pater and Ruskin’s accounts of the work of Raphael in the Stanza are usefully read as a response to a much later phenomenon than his frescoes, that when the critics look at Raphael paintings they recognize an anticipation of what they had come to under- stand as culture in the museum. When Pater returned to Raphael in a late lecture first delivered to University Extension students at Oxford in 1892 and subsequently published in the Fortnightly Review, he was quite clear on the museo-critical qualities of the painter: ‘The formula of his genius, if we must have one, is this: genius by accumulation; the transformation of meek scholarship into genius – triumphant power of genius’ (MS, p. 39). Genius transfiguring scholarship or arising from accumulation – Raphael’s triumph is undeniably a beautiful manifestation of the museal, and of a concomitant critical sensibility so characteristic of the modernity Pater sees not as absolutely distinct from antiquity, but as always fated to rediscover itself in its fantasies of the past. The works in the Stanza become ped- agogic as they show themselves to be reflections on the transmission of knowledge:

But then, for the wise, at the end of yet another of those divergent ways, glows his painted philosophy in the Parnassus and the School of Athens, with their numerous accessories. In the execution of those works, of course, his antiquarian knowledge stood him in good stead; and here, above all, is the pledge of his immense understanding, at work on its own natural ground on a purely intellectual deposit, the apprehension, the transmission to others of complex and difficult ideas. (MS, p. 56)

Raphael was, of course, a complicated figure for the nineteenth-century culture of art in Britain, serving as he had as a kind of important historical marker or shorthand for a falling away that was never fully instantiated in his work, though dangerously promoted by it. Lecturing in the 1890s, much as when he had written in the 1870s, Pater knew himself to be entering contested territory. His Raphael, like so many of his admired figures, is char- acterized by the ecumenical ability to take pleasure in a range of traditions typically understood to exist in fundamental contradiction. In the following passage the critic’s point is made in the first sentence by the unelaborated use of commas to set up scandalous equivalences:

For note, above all, that with all his wealth of antiquarian knowledge in detail, and with a perfect technique, it is after all the beauty, the PROOF 30 Jonah Siegel

grace of poetry, of pagan philosophy, of religious faith that he thus records. Of religious faith also. The Disputa, in which, under the form of a council representative of all ages, he embodies the idea of theology, divinarum rerum notitia, as constantly resident in the Catholic Church, ranks with the ‘Parnassus’ and the ‘School of Athens’, if it does not rather close another of his long lines of intellectual travail – a series of compositions, partly symbolic, partly historical ...which, painting in the great official chambers of the Vatican, Raphael asserts, inter- prets the power and charm of the Catholic ideal as realised in history. (MS, pp. 57–8)

Ruskin would recognize with distress the tenor of an analysis in which the ‘charm’ of the Church is celebrated, not its truths. The historic sense that allows Raphael to become a thoughtful analyst of the past requires him to keep the diverse range of human achievement in play even as it makes the kind of hierarchies Ruskin celebrates impossible. The great artist will neces- sarily take on the work of a critic in this context, which is the boon and the challenge of the museum. It would be difficult to overestimate the importance of Raphael in Pater’s imagination of a successful engagement with museum culture. The fortu- nate arrival of Marius in Rome is more than matched by Raphael’s manifold good luck in Pater’s 1892 account. Indeed, his explanation of good for- tune in the lecture provides a gloss for its presence in the novel; in both instances, it advances a historicist claim about cultural opportunities. The ‘luckiness’, or what Pater also terms ‘the good fortune, of genius’ (MS, p. 38) is the coming together of the receptive individual and the right histori- cal moment. Raphael’s good fortune is to have been born not only in the Renaissance, but in the age that would lead to the Reformation. Pater cites the shared birthday of Luther and Raphael in order to suggest that it is a historical process involving both figures, rather than the actual emer- gence of Protestant theology he has in mind (GS, p. 39). A kind of Marius redux, Raphael also has a notably celebratory first response to Rome, a metropolis figured as distinctly pagan: ‘Coming to the capital of Christen- dom, he comes also for the first time under the full influence of the antique world, pagan art, pagan life, and is henceforth an enthusiastic archaeol- ogist’ (MS, p. 54). His encounter with the capital of Christendom makes Raphael a classical archaeologist. One could call this turn the symmetri- cal opposite to the fate of Marius, if it were not the case that in his novel Pater had made Christianity itself so suitable an area for archaeological researches. While I have noted Pater’s refusal not to see the museum and what the museum has to offer of the broken, the transitional, the imperfect, the critic does not emphasize the shocks of fragmentation in the institution. While he cannot be satisfied by the idealization of Winckelmann, he turns PROOF Art and the Museum 31 away from the related claims of absolute breaks that drive or give shape to Ruskin’s historical anxiety. In Pater’s ideal museum the connections link- ing the apparently disparate are just what is revealed and made musical. It is in ‘Diaphaneitè’ (1864) that the most poignant and surprising celebra- tion of Raphael is to be found. In this essay, which is contemporary with that other evocation of the Stanza in ‘Winckelmann’, Raphael becomes a model for the response to divergent cultural drives. To be confronted by the apparently conflictual juxtaposition of, say, Pagan and Christian, need not result in collapse into either quiescent surrender or hardened refusal. What Pater attempts to imagine is the possibility of entering a state of self- contained contemplation at once happy and incomprehensible to the world at large:

Our collective life, pressing equally on every part of every one of us, reduces nearly all of us to the level of a colourless uninteresting existence. Others are neutralised, not by suppression of gifts, but by just equipoise among them. In these no single gift, or virtue, or idea, has an unmusi- cal predominance. The world easily confounds these two conditions. It sees in the character before us only indifferentism. Doubtless the chief vein of the life of humanity could hardly pass through it. Not by it could the progress of the world be achieved. It is not in the guise of Luther or Spinoza; rather it is that of Raphael, who in the midst of the Reformation and the Renaissance, himself lighted up by them, yielded himself to nei- ther, but stood still to live upon himself, even in outward form a youth, almost an infant, yet surprising all the world. (MS, pp. 252–3)

Underlying this notoriously abstract essay, and giving it substance, we may recognize some very concrete spaces. Indeed, the lecture on Raphael and the essay on Winckelmann license the reader to locate the actual and vivid manifestations of the Reformation and Renaissance in the midst of which the painter finds his equipoise. While Ruskin identified in the calm response to the challenges presented by integrating the classical and the religious a sign of a morbid inability to judge, Pater argues that Raphael’s achievement is a harmony that is itself the very essence of musical. Pater’s is an argument for contemplative pleasure based on the harmonization of the force of excessive and otherwise unintegrated expe- rience (what Pater calls ‘collective life’). The refusal to choose between The School of Athens and The Disputation of the Sacrament is mediated by a third work, one showing the Muses at play, and the calm project of making music. The Stanza stands behind this celebration of Raphael, which is a sympathetic refusal of the values typical of Ruskin at mid- century.9 The painter himself becomes a figure for what it might mean to try to live the fortunate life of the artist-critic-scholar – that is, life in the museum. PROOF 32 Jonah Siegel

Notes

Parts of the argument and instances in this essay are adapted from Siegel (2000 and 2008). 1. Cf. also ‘Pre-Raphaelitism’ (1851): ‘On one wall of that chamber he placed a picture of the World or Kingdom of Theology, presided over by Christ. And on the side wall of that same chamber he placed the World or Kingdom of Poetry, presided over by Apollo. And from that spot, and from that hour, the intellect and the art of Italy date their degradation’ (Ruskin, 1903–12, vol. 12, p. 148). 2. For the kind of historical sensibility underlying the response to Raphael, see Bullen (1994) and Fraser (1992). See also Law and Østermark-Johansen (2005). On Pater and Ruskin in relation to the painter, see Dellamora (1990), p. 126. For the most thorough conceptual treatment of Pater’s historicism, see Williams (1989). 3. For other instances of Ruskin’s complex relation to museums, see Siegel (2008, pp. 187–99, 278–82, 351–2). 4. When Friedrich Waagen visited in the 1830s, he found some canvases to admire, but he was clear on the weaknesses of the institution: ‘Of the great masters of the Florentine school, a school which above all others carried drawing to perfection, there is, in my opinion, nothing here’ (1838, vol. 1, p. 319). 5. The museum boom of the period comprised more than displays of art, and was wider than England, or even Europe. A small sampling of museums founded in Pater’s lifetime might include: Museum of Economic Geology (London, 1841), Musée de Cluny (Paris, 1844), Museum of Manufactures (London, 1854), National Portrait Gallery (London, 1856), South Kensington Museum (London, 1857; renamed Victoria & Albert, 1899), National Gallery of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1859), University Museum (Oxford, 1860), Bethnal Green Museum (London, 1872), Nat- ural History Museum (London, 1881), Museum of Science and Art (Dublin, 1890). Foundational work on the emergence of the museum was carried out by Haskell (1976) and Holt (1979). For more recent studies in this quickly burgeoning field, see Whitehead (2005) and Jenkins (1992). 6. Classical sources indicate that Myron’s statue was a bronze. On the Discobolus and its reception, see Haskell and Penny (1981, pp. 199–202). 7. For the most influential accounts of the issue, see Heidegger (1975) and Ben- jamin (1999). 8. On the discovery of Greek polychromy, see Jenkins (1992). 9. Ruskin himself, as his editors point out, came in later years to a view notably close to Pater’s. In 1876 he observes that ‘Raphael, painting the Parnassus and the Theol- ogy on equal walls of the same chamber of the Vatican, so wrote, under the Throne of the Apostolic power, the harmony of angelic teaching from the rocks of Sinai and Delphi.’ ‘Editor’s Preface to the Economist of Xenophon’ (Ruskin, 1903–12, vol. 31, p. 17). See ‘Pre-Raphaelitism’ (Ruskin, 1903–12, vol. 12, p. 149n.). PROOF

Index

Note: page numbers for illustrations are italicized.

Abrams,M.H.,151n.7 Arnold, Matthew, 211 Academy, 50, 77 Culture and Anarchy,214 Adorno, Theodor, 180 n. 9 ‘Pagan and Mediaeval Religious Aeginean Marbles, 104, 110 Sentiment’, 218 n. 4 aesthetic art, see Aestheticism art, aesthetic criticism, 4, 28, 40, 187–8 aspiring towards itself, 59, 66 n. 40 ‘aesthetic historicism’, 115 n. 9, 163 dissemination of, 48, 50 Aestheticism, 34, 37, 38, 42, 62, 68, 69, 73, and form, 54, 68, 135, 149–50, 75, 80 n. 1, 165, 167–8, 180 n. 12, 151 n. 1 209–10 fusion of form and content in, 5, 41–2, and fascism, 186 45, 58–9, 136, 142–5, 152–3, 155–6, and politics, 202 n. 1 165 n. 2, 170–1, 208 and theatre, 170, 172–3, 175, 178 and incompleteness, 56–7, 102, 109, 110, see also decadence 111, 115, 201 aesthetics, 25 journalism and critics, 50, 55, 75, 122 and the aesthetic personality, 177–8, 181 (see also names of individual critics n. 23 and publications) appreciation of, 208 and politics, 187 and freedom, 206, 209–12 and self-fashioning, 206–17 and gender, 66 n. 34 social production of, 48 and morality, 212–17 unity in, 176–7 and music, 152 see also Aestheticism; Anders-streben;film; and politics, 187–202 Greek art; interartistic discourse; and self-culture, 206–17 music; painting; photography; agency, 130–2 sculpture; theatre; names of allegory, 76–80 individual artists and movements All the Year Round, 133 n. 8 art criticism, 4, 28, 40 Anders-streben, 3, 8, 136, 137, 142, 143, 150, art journalism and critics, 50, 55, 75, 122 151 n. 1, 154–6, 157, 158–9, 179 n. 2 (see also names of individual critics and character, 178 and publications) and melodrama, 135, 146–50 and chauvinism, 55, 56 and music, 42–3, 45, 59, 136, 137, 142–5, and narrative, 68–9, 73 152, 155, 178 and subjectivity, 54, 69, 94, 132, 137, and painting, 136, 137, 142–5, 173–4 154–5 and theatre, 169–71, 173, 175, 178 see also aesthetic criticism see also interartistic discourse art for art’s sake, 48, 69, 74, 75 Andrews, Kit, 187, 189 Art Journal,50 Aphrodite, 18, 77 Arts and Crafts Movement, 100 n. 1 Apollo, 13, 16, 28, 90 Ash, Russell, 9 n. 1 Apollo Belvedere, 21, 21–3, 113 Ashmolean Museum, 20, 64 n. 11 Arachne, 90 askêsis, 151 n. 1 Aristotle, 13 Athenaeum, 50, 56, 75, 122, 222, 231 n. 5

249 PROOF 250 Index

‘aural architecture’, 154, 156, 157–8, 165 Bourdieu, Pierre, 47, 64 n. 7, 231 n. 7 Austin, Alfred, 35 Boyle, Marjorie, 108 Bradley, F. H., 215 Bacchantes, 95, 97 Brake, Laurel, 9, 204 n. 17, 220–31 Bacchus (Solomon), 34, 41, 96, 101 n. 14 Brasenose College, 34, 35 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 163 British Museum, 18, 20, 23, 24, 25, 218 n. 3 Barker, Alexander, 70, 81 n. 4 British Photographic Journal, 122 Barthes, Roland, 151 n. 8 Brontë,Emily,81n.9 Bartram, Michael, 118, 122 Brown, Ford Madox, 122 Batchen, Geoffrey, 145–6 Browne, Thomas, 26 Baudelaire, Charles, 9, 45 n. 5, 47, 48, 54, Urn Burial,26 55, 59, 60, 64 n. 8, 65 n. 26, 66 n. 36, Browning, Oscar, 35, 36 193 Browning, Robert, 35, 102 and Corot, 51, 54, 55, 56, 58, 66 n. 31 Men and Women,40 and Delacroix, 180 n. 19 Bruno, Giordano, 193, 194, 197, 198, 199, the flâneur, 210 203 n. 9 and Millet, 64 n. 12 Buchanan, Robert, 35–6 and photography, 120 Bucknell, Brad, 153 and Swinburne, 35, 41 Bullen, J. B., 7, 33–46 Works by: ‘L’eau-forte est à la mode’, 66 Burne-Jones, Edward, 3, 5, 34, 35, 36, 37, n. 36; [review of] Exposition 38, 42, 44, 55, 57, 66 n. 37, 70 Universelle, 1855, 54; The Painter of Day, 38, 39,66n.37 Modern Life, 54, 203–4 n. 13; Richard Days of Creation,45 Wagner et Tannhäuser à Paris, 58; Le The Golden Stairs,1–3,2,166n.9 Salon de 1846, 54, 56, 58, 66 n. 40, Laus Veneris,40 180 n. 19; ‘Salon de 1859’, 44 Burns, Sarah, 61 Bayeux Tapestry, 85–6 Becker-Leckrone, Megan, 147 Cameron, Julia Margaret, 121, 123, 125 Belgravia, 37, 45 n. 3 Canterbury Cathedral, 92 Bell Scott, William, 35 Carlyle, Thomas, 218 n. 3 Benjamin, Walter, 126, 186, 187–8, 189 ‘Life of Schiller’, 218 n. 3 Benson, Stephen, 163 Sartor Resartus, 218 n. 3 Berners Street Gallery, 49 Carr, J. Comyns, 55, 64 n. 12, 66 n. 33 Besant, Walter, Carrier, David, 33, 45 n. 5, 64 n. 2 The Art of Fiction, 220 Carte, Richard D’Oyly, 62, 67 n. 46 Bethnal Green Museum, 49 Cathedral of Saint-Étienne, 92–3, 98 Bible, 74, 81 n. 9, 82 n. 13, 189 Cecilia, St, 156–7, 165 n. 5, 166 n. 6 Bildung, The Century Guild Hobbyhorse,34 see ‘self-culture’ Chesnau, Ernest, Blackwood’s, 50, 131 The English School of Painting, 45, 45 n. 2 Blake, William, 6 Christianity, 27–9, 30, 156–7, 158, 160–2 Blesser, Barry, 154 and classicism, 13, 16, 17, 31, 76, 78, 88, Borkowska, Eva, 153 92 Botticelli, Sandro, 7, 38, 40, 68–74, 77, 81 feast of Pentecost, 194–5, 196–8, 201 n. 5, 110, 214 and paganism, 15–16, 17, 27, 30, 31, nineteenth-century reception of, 70, 81 88, 92 n. 3 Protestant Reformation, 30, 31, 185, 188 Works by: The Birth of Venus, 69, 81 n. 5; cinema, Madonna with the Pomegranate, 69; see film Mars and Venus, 73; Primavera,72 Clark, Kenneth, 144–5 PROOF Index 251 class, 125, 132 n. 4 italien, 52; La Solitude; Souvenir de classicism, 6, 18, 24, 25, 27, Vigen (Limousin),52;Souvenir de and Christianity, 13, 16, 17, 31, 76, 78, Mortefontaine, 49, 52, 53, 65 n. 25, 65 88, 92 n. 30; Souvenir des environs du lac de in painting, 16, 48, 53 Nemi, 52; VuedeportdeLaRochelle, see also Greece, ancient; Greek art; 52; Vue prise dans la forêt de paganism; Rome, ancient Fontainebleau, 54; Vue prise des jardins Clements, Elicia, 1–10, 152–66, 179 n. 8 Farnèse (le midi),51 Clements, Patricia, 45 n. 5, 64 n. 5, De corporis humani fabrica (Vesalius), 191, 193 detail from frontispiece, 105, 106 Columbus, Christopher, 105 detail from title page, 105, 107 Colvin, Sidney, 34, 35, 55, 62, 63, 66 n. 33, Le Coup de vent (Legros), 43 66 n. 38, 75 criticism The Concert (Titian), 158–60, 159, 166 n. 7 see art criticism and n. 9, 173–4, 176, 180 n. 13 Cruise, Colin, 7, 41, 68–82, 203 n. 5 Conlon, John, 63, 66 n. 36 Crystal Palace, 20 Connor, Steven, 92, 100–1 n. 11 Cunningham, Valentine, 98 Constable, John, 55 Contemporary Review, 179 n. 6, 230 n. 2 Daguerre, Louis-Jacques-Mandé, 146 Corot, Jean-Baptiste-Camille, 5, 7, 33, 37, Daily Telegraph,50 44, 47–63, 64 n. 4, n. 9, n. 11, and n. Daley, Kenneth, 7, 85–101, 110, 203 n. 10 12, 65 n. 19, n. 21, n. 23, n. 25, n. 26, dandyism, 179 n. 27, and n. 30, 66 n. 31 Dark Blue, 36, 42, 75 and Baudelaire, 51, 54, 55, 56, 58, Darwin, Charles, 66 n. 31 The Expression of Emotions in Man and and classicism, 53 Animals, 122–3 and display of works, 49 and photography, 122–3, 133 n. 9 and incompleteness, 56 Daubigny, Charles-François, 37 and innovation, 48 da Vinci, Leonardo, 40, 99, 110, 132 and landscape painting, 52–3 La Gioconda (Mona Lisa), 132 Works by: Chemin de Sèvres, 52; Le Davis, Michael, 101 n. 12 Concert, 58; Daphnis and Chloe, 51; Day (Burne-Jones), 38, 39,66n.37 Dianesurpriseaubain, 53; Environs de decadence, 179, 180 n. 12, 193–4, 223 Beauvais, du côté de Voisinlieu, 52; The Degas, Edgar, 33 Evening Star, 52; Figures with Delacroix, Eugène, 41, 180 n. 19 Landscape, 49; Le Forum vu des jardins Deleuze, Gilles, 151 n. 8 Farnèse (le soir), 52; Homère et les della Robbia, Luca, 7 bergers; paysage, 51, 54; L’Île heureuse, Cantoria, 110 52; Macbeth, 49; Un Matin à Demeter, 53–4, 110, 111 Ville-d’Avray, 52; Une Matinée (or La see also Pater, Walter: ‘The Myth of Danse des nymphes) 50, 51, 52, 53, 65 Demeter and Persephone’ n. 23; Les Nymphes, 49; Orphée series, de Rossi, Giovanni Battista, 166 n. 6 53, 65 n. 27; Pastorale, 51; Paysage au desire, 97–8 clair de lune, 52; Paysage; soleil in Solomon’s art, 71–2, 82 n. 10 couchant (or Le Petit Berger), 58; see also homoeroticism Premières feuilles près de Mantes, 52; de Staël, Anne Louise Germaine, 9–10 n. 4 Une Route aux environs d’Arras (or Les Dickens, Charles, 133 n. 10 Chaumières), 52; La Route de Our Mutual Friend,123–4 Sin-le-Noble, près de Douai, 52; The Pickwick Papers, 147 Silène, 53; Soliel couchant, site du Tyrol Dickinson, Anna Elizabeth, 125 PROOF 252 Index

Diderot, Denis, 135, 139-41, 151 n. 3 femininity, 96, 97, 98 ‘Conversations on The Natural Son’, 141 and artistic reception, 94 Salons, 139, 141 and colour, 66 n. 34 Dionysus, 41, 89, 90, 94–6, 97, 100–1 n. 11, and Dionysian myth, 95 101 n. 14 and ekphrasis,90 as symbol of theatre, 101 n. 13, 171–2, and embroidery, 86 175, 178 see also gender; masculinity see also Pater, Walter: ‘A Study of Ficino, Marsilio, 108, 115 n. 4 Dionysus’ film, 135–6, 145–7, 150, 151 n. 8 Discobolus (Myron), 22, 23, 24, Fine Art Society, 49, 65 n. 18 32 n. 7, 112 Flaubert, Gustave, 47 Disdéri, André, 119 form, 165 n. 1 Disputa (Disputation of the Sacrament) in art, 54, 68, 135, 149–50, (Raphael), 13, 14, 16, 30, 31 151 n. 1 Dowling, Linda, 8, 35, 186, 191, 202 n. 1, fused with content in art, 5, 41–2, 45, 209, 218 n. 11 58–9, 136, 142–5, 152–3, 155–6, 165 drama, n. 2, 170–1, 208 see theatre Fortnightly Review, 29, 34, 35, 41, 50, 70, Dublin University Magazine,38 75, 82 n. 11, 86, 137, 221, 222, Dudley Gallery, 34, 49, 75, 78, 225, 229 101 n. 14 François, Louis, 50 Dupré, Jules, 37 Frazer, James, 97 Durand-Ruel, Paul, 50, 65 n. 19 Freer Gallery, Washington, DC, 49 Free Society of Artists, 49 French Revolution, 189, 192, 203 n. 3 Eastham, Andrew, 8, 165 n. 4, 166 n. 6, Fried, Michael, 140, 168, 179 n. 3, 167–81 180 n. 13 Eastlake, Elizabeth, 121 Fry, Roger, 123 ekphrasis, 7, 21, 69, 85–100, 100–1 n. 11, Fun,50 119, 132 n. 2, 171, 174 see also ‘notional’ ekphrasis Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 181 n. 21 ekphrastic poetry, 89 Gautier, Théophile, 47, 55, 58, Elgin Marbles, 18, 104, 113 66 n. 39, 93 Eliot, George, 121 gender, Romola, 40, 228 andaesthetics,66n.34 Eliot, T. S., 148 and artistic receptivity, 94 Ellmann, Richard, 127 and artistic representation, 77, 79–80 Elsner, Jas,´ 91 and ekphrasis,89–90 epiphanic moment, 135–6, 142, 147–50, see also femininity; masculinity 151 n. 7, 158 genius (artistic), 208 Euripedes, German Idealism, 168 The Bacchae (also The Bacchanals), see also Hegel; Kant 110, 172 Giorgione [Giorgio da Castelfranco], 41, 53, see also Pater, Walter: ‘The Bacchanals of 137, 140 Euripedes’ Fête Champêtre, 41, 63 n.1 Examiner,50 Giotto [Giotto di Bondone], 6 Exposition Universelle, 1855,54 The Globe, 36, 66 n. 33 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 104, 105, Fantin-Latour, Henri, 44, 66 n. 36 151 n. 1, 205, 211, 218 n. 1, n. 3 Farmer, Albert, 179 n. 1 Elective Affinities, 228 PROOF Index 253

Faust, 218 n. 1 homoeroticism, 7, 34, 41, 72–3, 78, 94–6, Aus meinem Leben: Dichtung und Wahrheit, 105, 109, 126–7, 129, 131, 210 218 n. 1 in Oxford, 35–6 The Golden Stairs (Burne-Jones), 1–3, 2, 166 see also homophobia; homosexuality n. 9 homophobia, 35–7, 186, 227 Gosse, Edmund, 33, 115 n. 1 homosexuality, 86, 89–90, 94, 95–6, 98, 230 Gray, John Miller, 42, 59 and gay subculture, 203 n. 6 Great Exhibition, 20 and sexual dissidence, 186 Greece, ancient, 76, 80 see also homoeroticism; homophobia; ethics of, 213 homosociality see also Greek art homosociality, 98 Greek art, 110 Hopkins, Gerard Manley, 34, 45, 141, 148 polychromy, 25, 32 n. 9 Hough, Graham, 58 sculpture, 21–6, 103, 105, 106, 110, Household Words,133n.8 111–13, 172 Howard, George, 45 Grieve, Alistair, 63 n. 1 Hugo, Victor, 47, 64 n. 8, 179 n. 5, 211 Grosvenor Gallery, 3, 37–8, 40, 42, 45, 49, Humm, Maggie, 120 58, 59, 65 n. 17, 66 n. 33, n. 36, 102 Hunt, William Holman, 122 Guasti, Cesare, 107 Hunterian Gallery, University of Gutch, John W., 122 Glasgow, 49

Illustrated London News, 50, 78 Haden, Seymour, 44 ‘imaginary portraits’, as genre, 4, 226 Hallé, Charles, 66 n. 33 imagination, 207–8, 209, 210–11, 212, Hanslick, Eduard, 152 213–14, 218 n. 7 On the Musically Beautiful, 165 n. 1 and moral sense, 213 Hardinge, William Money, 37 Impressionism, 47, 65 n. 19 Hardy, Thomas, 136 incompleteness, 217 Desperate Remedies, 124 in art, 56–7, 102, 109, 110, 111, Harvey, Michael, 121 115, 201 Hayes, John, 123 influence, 99–100 Heffernan, James, 87, 90, 91, 113 Ingres, Jean-Auguste-Dominique, 33 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 104, 109, Inman, Billie Andrew, 38, 42, 205, 115 n. 2, 165 n. 2, 168, 180 n. 11, 211 218 n. 3 Aesthetics, 104, 172, 179 n. 4 interartistic discourse, 3, 6, 8, 41, 152, 156, Heine, Heinrich, 93 159, 164 Hellenism, 106, 168–9, 177–8, 180 n. 10, between sculpture and writing, 114 n. 11 and ekphrastic poetry, 89 Heraclitus, 144 and theatre, 168 Herzog, Patricia, 152 see also Anders-streben Hext, Kate, 8, 203 n. 7, 205–19 International Exhibition of 1862, 123 Higgins, Lesley, 1–10, 10 n. 5, 45 n. 2 and 7, internationalism, 48 47–67, 80–1 n. 1, 110, 130, 180–1 n. 19 intertextuality, 64 n. 3, 74, 80, 81 n. 9, 82 Hill, Donald, 9 n. 3 n. 13 historical continuity, 17, 26, 28, 110 Ionides, Constantine Alexander, 45, 102 in The Renaissance, 38–40, 42 Iser, Wolfgang, 193 Hogarth, William, The Rake’s Progress, 149 James, Henry, 102, 118 Hollander, John, 85 on art, 38 Homer, 74, 77, 81 n. 9, 104, 110, 112–13 and photography, 133 n. 11 PROOF 254 Index

James, Henry – continued Leyland, Frederick, 57, 82 n. 12 Works by: ‘The Art of Fiction’, 9, 220, liberalism, 209 228–9; Partial Portraits, 117, 229; The Lindley, David, 180 n. 15 Portrait of a Lady, 117, 227; ‘The Real Lindsay, Sir Coutts, 66 n. 33 Thing’, 124, 133 n. 11 see also Grosvenor Gallery Jankélévitch, Vladimir, 159–60, 161 Lippincott’s, 230 Japonisme, 59, 67 n. 41 Lloyd, E. M., 75 journalism, 231 n. 7 Longman’s Magazine, 220 and art criticism, 50, 55, 75, 122 see also names of individual periodicals Louvre, 49, 64 n. 11 Jowett, Benjamin, 36 Joyce, James, 136, 148 Macdonald, Gus, 119 Kahn, Douglas, 152 Macmillan, Alexander, 222, 223, 230 n. 3 Kant, Immanuel, 209, 211, 212, 218 n. Macmillan Publishers, 221, 223, 224–5, 230 5, n. 7 n. 1 Critique of Judgment, 205, 209, 213, 218 Macmillan’s Magazine, 50, 51, 126, 221, n. 6 222–7, 230, 230 n. 2, n. 3, n. 4, 231 n. 5 Critique of Pure Reason, 218 n. 6 Madonna, as art icon, 16, 17, 214 Keats, John, 88 Maeterlinck, Maurice, 181 n. 24 Kelvin, Norman, 7–8, 117–34 Les Aveugles,179 Kirchner, Ernst Ludwig, Pélleas et Mélisande, 179 Girl Under a Japanese Umbrella,67n.41 Mallock, William, Klein, Julie Thompson, 3 New Republic, 37, 45 n. 3 Kompridis, Nikolas, 211 Maltz, Diana, 186 Mantz, Paul, 58 Laird, Andrew, 86 Marsyas, 90 Landor, Walter Savage, Marucci, Franco, 228 Imaginary Conversations, 132 n. 1 Marx, Karl, 211 Lang, Cecil Y., 81 n. 9 Laocoön, 113 masculinity, 95–6, 186 L’Art,66n.33 andaesthetics,66n.34 Lasey, Richard, 51 and artistic reception, 94 Layard, Sir Austen Henry, 20 and ekphrasis,90 Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and see also femininity; gender Babylon,20 Mason, George, 33 Nineveh and its Remains,20 Evening Hymn,33 Leek Embroidery Society, 86, 100 n. 2 Masque de l’homme au nez cassé (Rodin), Legros, Alphonse, 5, 35, 37, 42–5, 55, 66 n. 102, 103 36, 143 Mater dolorosa,54 Angelus,44 McGann, Jerome, 63 n. 1 Le Coup de vent, 43 McGrath, F. C., 205 Leighton, Angela, 153 medieval culture, 168, 169, 181 n. 23, 189 Leighton, Frederick, 35, 102 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 141, 145, 151 medievalism, 6 n. 3 and Pre-Raphaelite art, 40 Laocoön, 141 Meisel, Martin, 136, 149, 150 Levine, George, 149 Mérimée, Prosper, 47 Lewes, George Henry, 1572: Chronique du règne de Charles Life of Goethe, 218 n. 3 IX, 193 PROOF Index 255

Michelangelo [di Lodovico Buonarroti as fusion of form and matter, 42, 45, 58, Simoni], 7, 13, 40, 57, 107–10, 111, 152–4 112, 115, 115 n. 8 and melodrama, 142 Creation of Man, 108, 109 and painting, 135, 136, 142–5, 156, Dawn, 108 158–60, 164, 174 Day, 108 Myron [of Eleutherae], 24 Night, 108 Discobolus, 22, 23, 24, 32 n. 7, 112 Twilight, 108 The Mystery of Faith (Solomon), 71, 75, 81 Millais, Sir John Everett, 70, 122 n. 6 Millet, Jean-François, 33, 37, 64 n. 12 mythology, mimesis, 58, 180 n. 12 see paganism; and names of individual Mino da Fiesole, 110 mythological figures Mitchell, W. J. T., 88–9, 93, 100–1 n. 11 modernism, 8, 148, 151 n. 7, 165, 168, 179 Nancy, Jean-Luc, 196, 202 modernity, 15, 17, 23, 27, 29, 55, 77, 206, National Gallery, London, 19, 20, 49, 64 n. 207, 217 10, 64 n. 11, 123 Moi, Toril, 141 National Portrait Gallery, London, 123 Monet, Claude, 33 naturalism, 73, 74, 77 La Japonaise (Camille Monet in Japanese Neoplatonism, 108, 114 Costume), 67 n. 41 New English Art Club, 49 Monsman, Gerald, 132, 166 n. 6, 193, 204 New Review, 221, 223 n. 16 and n. 17, 222 New Water-Colour Society (later, The Royal Montaigne, Michel de, 194, 197, 198, 199, Institute), 49 203 n. 9 Newman,JohnHenry,47 Moore, Albert, 63, 69 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 215, 216, 218 n. 2 Moore, George, 33 Beyond Good and Evil, 218 n. 9 ‘Literature at Nurse’, 221 The Genealogy of Morals, 218 n. 9 Modern Painting,33 Nineteenth Century,50 Moran, Maureen, 91, 93 non finito, Morely, John, 34 see incompleteness in art Morgan, Thaïs, 35, 36 Northcote, Revd J. Spencer, 166 n. 6 Morris, Mowbray, 223 Notes and Queries,9n.1 Morris, William, 34, 47, 100 n. 1, 169, 186 ‘notional’ ekphrasis, 85, 92, 113, 154 Mürger, Henri, 55 novel, as genre, 220–2, 225–30 museums, 7, 13–32, 203 n. 2 Victorian cultural connotations, 222 history of, 18–19, 32 n. 6 Victorian publication practices, 221 and organization of knowledge, 18–20 see also names of individual museums Museums Act (1845), 20 Ohi, Kevin, 197 music, 31, 142–7, 148, 149–50, 152–65, 165 Old Water-Colour Society, 49 n. 1, n. 2 Orr, Mary, 10 n. 6 aesthetics of, 152 Østermark-Johansen, Lene, 7, 102–16 as artistic subject matter, 41, 72, 87, Ovid, 86, 90, 97, 98, 100 142–3, 159 Metamorphoses,90,98 as condition to which art aspires, 42–3, Oxford, 19, 38, 60, 62, 212 45, 59, 136, 137, 142–5, 152, 155, culture of male-male desire, 35–6 178 Oxford Chronicle & Berks & Bucks Gazette, as fusion of artistic disciplines (see also 62, 63 interartistic discourse), 41 Oxford Times, 62, 63 PROOF 256 Index paganism, 93 and Hopkins, 34, 45 and Christianity, 15–16, 17, 27, 30, 31, lectureship at Brasenose 88, 92 College, 34 see also names of individual deities and Legros, 42–5, 143 painting, 7–8, 16, 25, 33–46, 48, 103, 110, and Macmillan’s Magazine, 221–5, 226–7, 112, 135–49, 190 230 academy-controlled systems of display, and modernism, 7, 8, 165 49 and novel-writing, 4, 220–30 and Anders-streben, 136, 137, 142–5, as outsider, 212 173–4 in Oxford, 35–6, 212 British painting, 78, 92 and politics, 185–202 colour in, 54, 55, 59, 62, 66 n. 34, 69 and Pre-Raphaelitism, 34 French landscape painting, 37, 42 and Rossetti, 34, 41, 63 n. 1, French painting, 53, 55, 56 144, 149 genre painting, 48, 135, 137–8, 139–40, and Royal Academy, 34 142, 143, 163–4, 168, 173 and Ruskin, 15, 16–18, 26, 27–9, 30–1, and music, 135, 136, 142–5, 156, 158–60, 59, 70, 81 n. 3, 186 164, 174 and self-fashioning, 4, 205–17 portrait painting, 118, 125, 126 and sexual freedom, 210 societies and associations, 49 and social engagement, 8, 185–202 and tableaux, 135–42 and Solomon, 7, 34–5, 36–7, 41, 45, 63 n. and theatre, 171, 173–4, 176, 179 n. 2 1, 70–80, 95, 227 Venetian style, 40–1, 42, 112, 137, 156, and Swinburne, 34, 35, 36, 38, 40, 42, 55, 168, 171, 176 60, 64 n. 6, 78 Victorian reproductions of, 50–1 and Whistler, 5, 7, 9, 35, 42, 44, 45, see also art; and names of individual 47–63, 64 n. 9, 66 n. 36 and n. 37, 67 artists, associations, galleries, n. 44 and n. 47 movements, and works and Wilde, 38, 40, 120, 121, 125–32, 180 Pall Mall Gazette, 66 n. 33, 75, 225 n. 12, 208, 230 Parnassus (Raphael), 13, 15, 16, 29, 30 Worksby:‘TheAestheticLife’,3,4,5,10 pastiche, 72, 73, 74 n. 5, 10 n. 7, 42, 55, 59, 66 n. 35; Pater, Clara Ann, 8 ‘Aesthetic Poetry’, 169; Appreciations, Pater, Walter, 26, 64 n. 8, 179 n. 1, 221, 227–8, 230 and Aestheticism, 34, 38, 80 n. 1, 153, n. 1; ‘Aucassin and Nicolette’, 40; 163, 165, 167 ‘The Bacchanals of Euripedes’, 95, and Baudelaire, 47, 54–5, 56, 57, 65 n. 26 171–2, 175, 180 n. 10; ‘The and Burne-Jones, 38, 44, 66 n. 37 Beginnings of Greek Sculpture’, 112; conservatism of, 210 ‘Charles Lamb’, 167, 176; ‘The Child and contemporary visual art, 33–45 in the House’, 54, 126; ‘Conclusion’ and Corot, 33, 44, 47–63, 64 n. 9 and n. to The Renaissance, 60, 81 n. 2, 110, 12, 65 n. 21 139, 144, 163, 167, 186, 195, 228; and Dudley Gallery, 34 ‘Corot’, 65 n. 21 and n. 29; ‘Deny and the epiphanic moment, 135, 136, L‘Auxerrois’, 7, 85–100, 110, 189; 148, 150 ‘Diaphanietè’, 31, 189, 206, 212, and Gautier, 55 216–17; ‘Emerald Uthwart’, 203 n. 3; and gay subculture, 203 n. 6 [Review of] The English School of and Grosvenor Gallery, 60 Painting, 45; ‘A Fragment on and homoeroticism, 78 Botticelli’, 70; Gaston de Latour,45n. and homophobia in Victorian culture, 5, 53, 65 n. 26, 188, 191–202, 203 n. 35–6 10, n. 11, and n.13, 204 n. 15, 220, PROOF Index 257

Pater, Walter – continued Pattison, Emilia (later, Lady Dilke), 33, 179 221–3, 224–7, 228, 230, 230 n. 4, 231 n. 6 n. 5; Greek Studies, 20, 23–5, 30, 103, performance arts, 112, 113; ‘Hippolytus Veiled’, 221, see film; theatre 225; Imaginary Portraits, 117, 118, Performance Studies, 159, 166 n. 8, 168, 126, 226; ‘Leonardo da Vinci’, 35, 179 n. 2 132; ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost’, 176; Persephone, 110, 111 ‘Luca della Robbia’, 103, 109, 111, see also Pater, Walter: ‘The Myth of 115 n. 7; Marius the Epicurean,8, Demeter and Persephone’ 26–8, 30, 54, 59, 148, 149, 152, Phelan, Peggy, 168, 179 n. 2 156–8, 160–2, 164–5, 166 n. 6, 220, Philomela, 86, 90, 91, 97, 98, 100 223–4, 225–7, 228, 230 n. 3; Philostratus the Elder, 91 ‘Measure for Measure’, 170–1; Photographic Journal, 122 Miscellaneous Studies, 29, 30, 31; Photographic News, 122 [Review of] Modern Painting, 33, 42, photography, 7–8, 119–28, 132 n. 5, 55; ‘Mr George Moore as an Art 133 n. 8, n. 9, n. 10, n. 11, n. 13, Critic’, 50; ‘The Myth of Demeter and n. 14, 136, 145 and Persephone’, 37, 53, 64 n. 12, 66 Phryne, 67 n. 44 n. 37; ‘Pico della Mirandola’, 76, Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni, 74, 76, 77 108; Plato and Platonism, 4, 180 n. Song of Divine Love,74 12, 191, 217, 230 n. 2; ‘The Poetry of Plato, 4, 13, 81 n. 9, 142, 147 Michelangelo’, 103, 107, 109, 110, Republic, 217 168; Preface to The Renaissance, 54, see also Pater, Walter: Plato and Platonism 155, 163; ‘A Prince of Court Painters’, play, 159, 166 n. 8, 174–5, 176–7, 181 54, 118, 126, 128–32, 133 n. 15, n. 21 189–90; ‘Prosper Mérimée’, 193; The ‘free play’, 207–8, 214 Renaissance, 3, 4, 20, 33, 34, 36, 37, poetry, 208 38, 40, 47, 54, 62, 66 n. 38, 75, 78, see also names of individual poets 81 n. 2, 103, 110, 118, 169, 206, 207, Portfolio, 50, 75 209, 211, 226, 227–8; ‘Romanticism’, portraiture, ‘imaginary’, 48, 55, 228; ‘Sandro Botticelli’, 68, see ‘imaginary portraits’ 75, 111; ‘The School of Giorgione’, 3, Potolsky, Matthew, 8, 185–204 5, 8, 9 n. 3, 36, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 54, Potts, Alex, 23 59, 63 n. 1, 66 n. 36, 111, 135–9, Poynter, Edward, 44 140, 141, 142–5, 147, 148, 149, 151 A Prelude by Bach (Solomon), 72, 72–3, 81 n. 3, 152–6, 158–60, 163–5, 169–71, n. 7 173–6, 177, 178, 179, 208; The Pre-Raphaelites, 80 School of Giorgione, and Other Studies, and Botticelli, 70 171; ‘Sebastian van Storck’, 190; see also Pre-Raphaelitism; and names of ‘Shakespeare’s English Kings’, 178, individual artists 203 n. 4; ‘Sir Thomas Browne’, 185; Pre-Raphaelitism, 34, 36, 40, 74 Studies in the History of the and photography, 121 Renaissance, 33, 36, 169, 227–8 Preston, Carrie, 141 (see also Pater, Walter: The Prettejohn, Elizabeth, 38–40, 63 n. 1, 64 Renaissance); ‘A Study of Dionysus’, n. 3, 66 n. 36 34, 41, 82 n. 11, 90, 94, 95, Prins, Yopie, 94 171, 172, 173, 179 n. 7; ‘Style’, 9, Procne, 97 104, 113–14, 115, 221, 222, 225, Punch,50 226, 229; ‘Winckelmann’, 9 n. 4, 17, Puvis de Chavannes, Pierre, 33 23, 31, 34, 47, 102, 104, 105, 109, 110, 111, 113, 171, 179 n. 5, 208 Quilter, Harry, 38, 64 n. 6 PROOF 258 Index

Raffalovich, André, 63 Architecture of the Valley of the Somme, The Rambler, 166 n. 6 92; Fors Clavigera,50;Praeterita, 148; Raphael [Raffaello Sanzio], 13, 16, 29, 30, ‘Pre-Raphaelitism’, 32 n. 2; Stones of 31, 48, 189, 212 Venice, 15–16, 214 Disputa (Disputation of the Sacrament), 13, 14, 16, 30, 31 Sacramentum Amoris (Solomon), 78, 79,82 frescoes in Stanza della Segnatura, n. 12 Vatican, 13–17, 28, 29–30, 32 n. 2 Said, Edward, 59 Parnassus, 13, 15, 16, 29, 30 Saint-Beuve, Charles-Augustine, 47, 117, The School of Athens, 13, 14, 29, 30, 31 132 n. 1 realism, 47, 54, 55, 58, 66 n. 40, 102 Portraits contemporains, 117 Reformation, Protestant, 30, 31, 185, 188 Portraits littéraires,117 relativism, 215 Salon, Paris, 49, 54, 64 n. 16 Renaissance, 13, 16, 30, 31, 40–1, 74, 98, same-sex desire, 105, 110, 135, 137, 143, 188 see homoeroticism; homosexuality Ricketts, Charles, 131, 132 Sargent, John Singer, 33, 63 Rodin, Auguste, 110, 115 n. 8 Sarony, Napoleon, 125, 126, 127 Masque de l’homme au nez cassé, 102, Saturday Review,34 103 Savile Club (formerly The New Club), 35 Romanticism, 47, 48, 51, 54, Schechner, Richard, 159 180 n. 22, 205 Schiller, Friedrich, 8–9, 114, 218 n. 1, n. 3, Rome, ancient, 26–8, 157, 165 n. 5, 166 n. 6 n. 5, n. 7, and n. 11 Ronsard, Pierre de, 193, 194, 196–7, 199 and ‘self-culture’, 205–17 Franciade, 201 Works by: Aesthetic Education of Man,8–9, Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 34, 35, 36, 37, 40, 205, 206, 214; Das Ideal und Das 41, 42, 44, 47, 59, 60, 63 n. 1, 70, 128, Leben, 180 n. 11 149 Schlegel, Friedrich, 181 n. 22 and photography, 122 Schoenberg, Arnold, 153 Works by: Bocca Baciata, 40–1; The House The School of Athens (Raphael), 13, 14, 29, of Life, 149; Poems, 35; ‘A Venetian 30, 31 Pastoral, by Giorgione’, 144 Scribner’s Magazine, 178 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 141 sculpture, 7, 57, 102–15, 168, 171, 179 n. 4 Pygmalion, 141–2 classical, 21–6, 103, 105, 106, 111–12, Rousseau, Théodore, 37 172 Royal Academy, 19, 34, 37, 41, 44, 49, 64 n. relief, 110, 111, 112–14 16, 75, 95, 101 n. 14 and writing, 103, 106, 112–15 Royal Institute (formerly The New ‘self-culture’, 178, 205–17 Water-Colour Society), 49 selfhood, 206 Ruskin, John, 37, 62, 63 n. 1, 70, 81 n. 3, see also ‘self-culture’; subjectivity 136, 186 Shadwell, Charles, 103, 113 and the gothic, 179 n. 5 Shakespeare, William, 177, 181 n. 22 and museum culture, 6–7, 15–19, 26, 27, Measure for Measure, 170 28–9, 30, 31 Romeo and Juliet,177 and Neoplatonism, 108 Sherman, Cindy, 150 and photography, 120–1, 132 n. 6 Shrimpton, Nicholas, 34, 45 n. 2 and realism, 54, 59 Siegel, Jonah, 6–7, 13–32, 99, 111, 203 n. 2 Whistler controversy, 42, 57, 60, 110 Sisley, Alfred, 33 Works by: ‘The Art of Engraving’, 121; Slater, Linda-Ruth, 154 ‘Editor’s Preface to the Economist of Society of Artists, 49 Xenophon’, 32 n. 10; The Flamboyant Society of British Artists, 49, 59 PROOF Index 259

Solomon, Simeon, 7, 34–7, 40–2, 44, 45, 63 Academy Exhibition, 1868, 60; Notes n. 1, 70–80, 82 n. 13, 203 n. 5, 227 on Some Pictures of 1868, 66 n. 36; and Aestheticism, 73 Poems and Ballads, 35, 81 n. 9; and allegory, 76–80 [review of] A Vision of Love Revealed and Botticelli, 70–3, 81 n. 5 in Sleep, 35, 36, 41–2, 75–6 and desire, 71–2, 82 n. 10 Symbolism, 178 and homoeroticism, 72–3, 74, 78, 95 Symonds, J. A., 77 narrative in work of, 73, 74 Symons, Arthur, 102, 110, 115, 178, Works by: Bacchus, 34, 41, 96, 101 n. 14; 216, 222 The Bride, the Bridegroom and the Symphony in White, No. 2: The Little White Friend of the Bridegroom, 34, 73, 81 n. Girl (Whistler), 60, 61 7; The Chanting of the Gospels, 34, 41; The Child Jeremiah, 41; A Greek tableau, 135–42, 145–6, 147, 149, 150, 151 Acolyte (formerly known as ASaintof n. 2 and n. 8 the Eastern Church), 75; Love Bound Taine, Hippolyte, 36 and Wounded, 75; Love in Autumn, 75, Tannhäuser myth, 40 81 n. 5; The Mystery of Faith, 71, 75, tapestry, 85–100, 110 81 n. 6; A Prelude by Bach, 72, 72–3, 81 n. 7; Sacramentum Amoris, 78, 79, taste, 82 n. 12; Sappho and Erinna in a see aesthetics Garden at Mytilene, 73; A Vision of Tate Gallery of British Art, 19 Love Revealed in Sleep, 7, 35, 36, 41, Taylor, Tom, 45, 56 70, 74–5, 77, 78, 80; AYoung Teukolsky, Rachel, 163, 164 Musician in the Temple,41 theatre, 135–6, 138–9, 140, 141–2, 145, South Kensington Museum (later, Victoria 146–7, 149–50, 151 n. 2, 159, 167–79, & Albert), 20, 86 180 n. 10, n. 12, and Souvenir de Mortefontaine (Corot), 49, 52, 53, n. 14 65 n. 25, n. 30 and aestheticism, 170, 172–3, 175, 178 Spark, Muriel, 8 and Anders-streben, 169–71, 173, 175, 178 The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, 186 and Dionysus, 101 n. 13, 171–2, 175, 178 Spectator,50 masque, 175, 180 n. 10, n. 14, n. 15, and Stauder, Ellen Keck, 165 n. 2 n. 18 Stein, Richard, 92 The Times, 45, 50, 56, 62 Stendhal, Titian [Tiziano Vecellio], Racine and Shakspeare,48 The Concert, 158–60, 159, 166 n. 7 and n. Stevens, Alfred, 63 9, 173–4, 176, 180 n. 13 subjectivity, 8, 48, 153, 155, 165 n. 2 Fête champêtre, 173, 174–5, 180 n. 13 and the aesthetic personality, 177–8 Townley Marbles, 18 in art criticism, 54, 69, 94, 132, 137, Turner, Joseph Mallord William, 37, 154–5 55, 92 see also ‘self-culture’; selfhood Turner, Victor, 155 Summers, David, 66 n. 34 Sunday Times,63 unity, 180 n. 19, 202, 206–9, 213 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 34, 35, 36, in art, 176–7 37, 38, 40, 45, 47, 55, 58, 66 n. 36, 67 n. 44, 74, 78 and Baudelaire, 35, 41 Vanity Fair, 38, 50 and Whistler, 60 Venus, 72, 77, 81 n. 5, 210 Works by: ‘Before the Mirror’, 60; ‘Laus ‘verbal portraits’, 118, 119, 125–32 Veneris’, 40; Notes on the Royal Verrocchio, Andrea del, 110 PROOF 260 Index

Vesalius, Andreas, The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, 68; frontispiece of De corporis humani fabrica, HarmonyinGreyandGold,68;Milly 105, 106 Finch, 67 n. 41; Nocturne in Black and title page of De corporis humani fabrica, Gold, 45; Phryne the Superb!,67n.44; 105, 107 The Six Projects, 60; Symphony in Viola, Bill, 150 White, No. 1: The White Girl,56,64 A Vision of Love Revealed in Sleep (Solomon), n. 16; Symphony in White, No. 2: The 7 Little White Girl, 60, 61; Symphony in visual art, White, No. 3: Three Girls, 58; The see film; painting; sculpture Woman in White,58 Wilde, Oscar, 38, 40, 120, 121, 125, 126–32, Waagen, Friedrich, 32 n. 5 133 n. 13, 172–3, 180 n. 12, 208, 230 Wagner, Richard, 165 n. 1 ‘The Canterville Ghost’, 127 ‘Lettre sur la musique’, 41 ‘Decay of Lying’, 180 n. 12 Walker, Frederick, 33 [review of] Grosvenor Gallery opening, The Plough, 34, 45 n. 1 38, 44, 60 Wallace Collection, 49 Intentions,128 Wallace, Richard, 49 The Picture of Dorian Gray, 118, 119, Ward,J.P.,208 126–7, 128, 180 n. 12 Ward, Mary Arnold, 223–4 ‘The Portrait of Mr W. H.’, 118, 119, 126, Robert Elsmere, 224 128–32, 133 n. 14, n. 16, and n. 17, Wardle, Elizabeth, 86, 100 n. 1 134 n. 18, 180 n. 12 Warner, Michael, 195 ‘The Soul of Man Under Socialism’, 128, Watteau, Jean-Antoine, 54, 126, 128, 216 132, 189 ‘The Sphinx Without a Secret’, 127 Watts, George Frederic, 44 Wildman, Steven, 121 Weliver, Phyllis, 149 William of Sens, 92 Westminster Review,34 Williams, Carolyn, 8, 129, 135–51, 163, 165 Whistler, James Abbott McNeill, 5, 7, 33, n. 4, 176, 179 n. 8, 180 n. 17 35, 37, 42, 44, 47–63, 64 n. 9 and n. 15, Williams, Raymond, 8, 186 65 n. 18, 66 n. 36, n. 37, and n. 40, 67 Winckelmann, Johann, n. 41, n. 43, n. 44, and n. 47 History of Ancient Art, 21, 22–3, 24, 30 and Aestheticism, 62, 68, 80 n. 1 Woolf, Virginia, 148 Eastern and Western elements in the To the Lighthouse, 148 work of, 59 Wordsworth, William, 47, 114, 136, 147–8, ‘harmony’ in art, 58, 62, 71, 73 208 incompleteness in the work of, 56 The Prelude, 144, 148, 149 innovation in the work of, 48 Worth, George, 222 Ruskin controversy, 57, 61, 110 Wright, Samuel, 165 n. 5 Ten O’Clock Lecture, 58, 59, 62, 66 n. 33, Wright, Thomas, 66–7 n. 40 The Life of Walter Pater, 165 n. 5 Works by: Arrangement in Grey and Black, No. 1: The Artist’s Mother, 51, 64 n. Yeats, W. B., 186 14; Arrangement in Grey and Black, Young, George Malcolm, No. 2: Portrait of Thomas Carlyle, 49; Victorian England: Portrait of an Age, 117