YuITC/NarrativeQA-Dataset-Restructured huggingface dataset:
The narrator of the story is a British journalist in IndiaâKipling himself, in all but name. While on a tour of some Indian native states he meets two scruffy adventurers, Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan. He rather likes them, but then stops them from blackmailing a minor rajah. A few months later they appear at his office in Lahore. They tell him their plan. They have been "Soldier, sailor, compositor [typesetter], photographer... [railroad] engine-drivers, petty contractors," and more, and have decided India is not big enough for them. The next day they will go off to Kafiristan to set themselves up as kings. Dravot can pass as a native, and they have twenty Martini-Henry rifles (then perhaps the best in the world). They plan to find a king or chief, help him defeat enemies, then take over for themselves. They ask the narrator for the use of any books or maps of the areaâas a favour, because they are fellow Freemasons, and because he spoiled their blackmail scheme.
Two years later, on a scorching hot summer night, Carnehan creeps into the narrator's office. He is a broken man, a crippled beggar clad in rags and he tells an amazing story. Dravot and Carnehan succeeded in becoming kings: finding the Kafirs, who turn out to be white ("so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends"), mustering an army, taking over villages, and dreaming of building a unified nation. The Kafirs (pagans, not Muslims) were impressed by the rifles and Dravot's lack of fear of their idols, and acclaimed him as a god, the reincarnation or descendant of Alexander the Great. The Kafirs practised a form of Masonic ritual, and Dravot's reputation was further cemented when he showed knowledge of Masonic secrets that only the oldest priest remembered.
Their schemes were dashed when Dravot decided to marry a Kafir girl. Terrified at marrying a god, the girl bit Dravot when he tried to kiss her. Seeing him bleed, the priests cried that he was "Neither God nor Devil but a man!" Most of the Kafirs turned against Dravot and Carnehan. A few of his men remained loyal, but the army defected and the two kings were captured.
Dravot, wearing his crown, stood on a rope bridge over a gorge while the Kafirs cut the ropes, and he fell to his death. Carnehan was crucified between two pine trees. When he survived for a day, the Kafirs considered it a miracle and let him go. He begged his way back to India.
As proof of his tale, Carnehan shows the narrator Dravot's head, still wearing the golden crown. Carnehan leaves carrying the head. The next day the narrator sees him crawling along the road in the noon sun, with his hat off and gone mad. The narrator sends him to the local asylum. When he inquires two days later, he learns that Carnehan has died of sunstroke ("half an hour bare-headed in the sun at mid-day..."). No belongings were found with him.

Question: How many Martini-Henry rifles do Daniel and Peachey have?
Answer: 20
The narrator of the story is a British journalist in IndiaâKipling himself, in all but name. While on a tour of some Indian native states he meets two scruffy adventurers, Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan. He rather likes them, but then stops them from blackmailing a minor rajah. A few months later they appear at his office in Lahore. They tell him their plan. They have been "Soldier, sailor, compositor [typesetter], photographer... [railroad] engine-drivers, petty contractors," and more, and have decided India is not big enough for them. The next day they will go off to Kafiristan to set themselves up as kings. Dravot can pass as a native, and they have twenty Martini-Henry rifles (then perhaps the best in the world). They plan to find a king or chief, help him defeat enemies, then take over for themselves. They ask the narrator for the use of any books or maps of the areaâas a favour, because they are fellow Freemasons, and because he spoiled their blackmail scheme.
Two years later, on a scorching hot summer night, Carnehan creeps into the narrator's office. He is a broken man, a crippled beggar clad in rags and he tells an amazing story. Dravot and Carnehan succeeded in becoming kings: finding the Kafirs, who turn out to be white ("so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends"), mustering an army, taking over villages, and dreaming of building a unified nation. The Kafirs (pagans, not Muslims) were impressed by the rifles and Dravot's lack of fear of their idols, and acclaimed him as a god, the reincarnation or descendant of Alexander the Great. The Kafirs practised a form of Masonic ritual, and Dravot's reputation was further cemented when he showed knowledge of Masonic secrets that only the oldest priest remembered.
Their schemes were dashed when Dravot decided to marry a Kafir girl. Terrified at marrying a god, the girl bit Dravot when he tried to kiss her. Seeing him bleed, the priests cried that he was "Neither God nor Devil but a man!" Most of the Kafirs turned against Dravot and Carnehan. A few of his men remained loyal, but the army defected and the two kings were captured.
Dravot, wearing his crown, stood on a rope bridge over a gorge while the Kafirs cut the ropes, and he fell to his death. Carnehan was crucified between two pine trees. When he survived for a day, the Kafirs considered it a miracle and let him go. He begged his way back to India.
As proof of his tale, Carnehan shows the narrator Dravot's head, still wearing the golden crown. Carnehan leaves carrying the head. The next day the narrator sees him crawling along the road in the noon sun, with his hat off and gone mad. The narrator sends him to the local asylum. When he inquires two days later, he learns that Carnehan has died of sunstroke ("half an hour bare-headed in the sun at mid-day..."). No belongings were found with him.

Question: What group of people declared Dravot a god?
Answer: Kafirs
The narrator of the story is a British journalist in IndiaâKipling himself, in all but name. While on a tour of some Indian native states he meets two scruffy adventurers, Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan. He rather likes them, but then stops them from blackmailing a minor rajah. A few months later they appear at his office in Lahore. They tell him their plan. They have been "Soldier, sailor, compositor [typesetter], photographer... [railroad] engine-drivers, petty contractors," and more, and have decided India is not big enough for them. The next day they will go off to Kafiristan to set themselves up as kings. Dravot can pass as a native, and they have twenty Martini-Henry rifles (then perhaps the best in the world). They plan to find a king or chief, help him defeat enemies, then take over for themselves. They ask the narrator for the use of any books or maps of the areaâas a favour, because they are fellow Freemasons, and because he spoiled their blackmail scheme.
Two years later, on a scorching hot summer night, Carnehan creeps into the narrator's office. He is a broken man, a crippled beggar clad in rags and he tells an amazing story. Dravot and Carnehan succeeded in becoming kings: finding the Kafirs, who turn out to be white ("so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends"), mustering an army, taking over villages, and dreaming of building a unified nation. The Kafirs (pagans, not Muslims) were impressed by the rifles and Dravot's lack of fear of their idols, and acclaimed him as a god, the reincarnation or descendant of Alexander the Great. The Kafirs practised a form of Masonic ritual, and Dravot's reputation was further cemented when he showed knowledge of Masonic secrets that only the oldest priest remembered.
Their schemes were dashed when Dravot decided to marry a Kafir girl. Terrified at marrying a god, the girl bit Dravot when he tried to kiss her. Seeing him bleed, the priests cried that he was "Neither God nor Devil but a man!" Most of the Kafirs turned against Dravot and Carnehan. A few of his men remained loyal, but the army defected and the two kings were captured.
Dravot, wearing his crown, stood on a rope bridge over a gorge while the Kafirs cut the ropes, and he fell to his death. Carnehan was crucified between two pine trees. When he survived for a day, the Kafirs considered it a miracle and let him go. He begged his way back to India.
As proof of his tale, Carnehan shows the narrator Dravot's head, still wearing the golden crown. Carnehan leaves carrying the head. The next day the narrator sees him crawling along the road in the noon sun, with his hat off and gone mad. The narrator sends him to the local asylum. When he inquires two days later, he learns that Carnehan has died of sunstroke ("half an hour bare-headed in the sun at mid-day..."). No belongings were found with him.

Question: Why did the Kafirs let Carnehan go?
Answer: He survive a day of crucifixion.
The narrator of the story is a British journalist in IndiaâKipling himself, in all but name. While on a tour of some Indian native states he meets two scruffy adventurers, Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan. He rather likes them, but then stops them from blackmailing a minor rajah. A few months later they appear at his office in Lahore. They tell him their plan. They have been "Soldier, sailor, compositor [typesetter], photographer... [railroad] engine-drivers, petty contractors," and more, and have decided India is not big enough for them. The next day they will go off to Kafiristan to set themselves up as kings. Dravot can pass as a native, and they have twenty Martini-Henry rifles (then perhaps the best in the world). They plan to find a king or chief, help him defeat enemies, then take over for themselves. They ask the narrator for the use of any books or maps of the areaâas a favour, because they are fellow Freemasons, and because he spoiled their blackmail scheme.
Two years later, on a scorching hot summer night, Carnehan creeps into the narrator's office. He is a broken man, a crippled beggar clad in rags and he tells an amazing story. Dravot and Carnehan succeeded in becoming kings: finding the Kafirs, who turn out to be white ("so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends"), mustering an army, taking over villages, and dreaming of building a unified nation. The Kafirs (pagans, not Muslims) were impressed by the rifles and Dravot's lack of fear of their idols, and acclaimed him as a god, the reincarnation or descendant of Alexander the Great. The Kafirs practised a form of Masonic ritual, and Dravot's reputation was further cemented when he showed knowledge of Masonic secrets that only the oldest priest remembered.
Their schemes were dashed when Dravot decided to marry a Kafir girl. Terrified at marrying a god, the girl bit Dravot when he tried to kiss her. Seeing him bleed, the priests cried that he was "Neither God nor Devil but a man!" Most of the Kafirs turned against Dravot and Carnehan. A few of his men remained loyal, but the army defected and the two kings were captured.
Dravot, wearing his crown, stood on a rope bridge over a gorge while the Kafirs cut the ropes, and he fell to his death. Carnehan was crucified between two pine trees. When he survived for a day, the Kafirs considered it a miracle and let him go. He begged his way back to India.
As proof of his tale, Carnehan shows the narrator Dravot's head, still wearing the golden crown. Carnehan leaves carrying the head. The next day the narrator sees him crawling along the road in the noon sun, with his hat off and gone mad. The narrator sends him to the local asylum. When he inquires two days later, he learns that Carnehan has died of sunstroke ("half an hour bare-headed in the sun at mid-day..."). No belongings were found with him.

Question: What proof of his tale did Carnehan provide?
Answer: Dravots head with its crown.
The narrator of the story is a British journalist in IndiaâKipling himself, in all but name. While on a tour of some Indian native states he meets two scruffy adventurers, Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan. He rather likes them, but then stops them from blackmailing a minor rajah. A few months later they appear at his office in Lahore. They tell him their plan. They have been "Soldier, sailor, compositor [typesetter], photographer... [railroad] engine-drivers, petty contractors," and more, and have decided India is not big enough for them. The next day they will go off to Kafiristan to set themselves up as kings. Dravot can pass as a native, and they have twenty Martini-Henry rifles (then perhaps the best in the world). They plan to find a king or chief, help him defeat enemies, then take over for themselves. They ask the narrator for the use of any books or maps of the areaâas a favour, because they are fellow Freemasons, and because he spoiled their blackmail scheme.
Two years later, on a scorching hot summer night, Carnehan creeps into the narrator's office. He is a broken man, a crippled beggar clad in rags and he tells an amazing story. Dravot and Carnehan succeeded in becoming kings: finding the Kafirs, who turn out to be white ("so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends"), mustering an army, taking over villages, and dreaming of building a unified nation. The Kafirs (pagans, not Muslims) were impressed by the rifles and Dravot's lack of fear of their idols, and acclaimed him as a god, the reincarnation or descendant of Alexander the Great. The Kafirs practised a form of Masonic ritual, and Dravot's reputation was further cemented when he showed knowledge of Masonic secrets that only the oldest priest remembered.
Their schemes were dashed when Dravot decided to marry a Kafir girl. Terrified at marrying a god, the girl bit Dravot when he tried to kiss her. Seeing him bleed, the priests cried that he was "Neither God nor Devil but a man!" Most of the Kafirs turned against Dravot and Carnehan. A few of his men remained loyal, but the army defected and the two kings were captured.
Dravot, wearing his crown, stood on a rope bridge over a gorge while the Kafirs cut the ropes, and he fell to his death. Carnehan was crucified between two pine trees. When he survived for a day, the Kafirs considered it a miracle and let him go. He begged his way back to India.
As proof of his tale, Carnehan shows the narrator Dravot's head, still wearing the golden crown. Carnehan leaves carrying the head. The next day the narrator sees him crawling along the road in the noon sun, with his hat off and gone mad. The narrator sends him to the local asylum. When he inquires two days later, he learns that Carnehan has died of sunstroke ("half an hour bare-headed in the sun at mid-day..."). No belongings were found with him.

Question: When Carnehan goes mad the narrator sends him where?
Answer: Asylum
The narrator of the story is a British journalist in IndiaâKipling himself, in all but name. While on a tour of some Indian native states he meets two scruffy adventurers, Daniel Dravot and Peachey Carnehan. He rather likes them, but then stops them from blackmailing a minor rajah. A few months later they appear at his office in Lahore. They tell him their plan. They have been "Soldier, sailor, compositor [typesetter], photographer... [railroad] engine-drivers, petty contractors," and more, and have decided India is not big enough for them. The next day they will go off to Kafiristan to set themselves up as kings. Dravot can pass as a native, and they have twenty Martini-Henry rifles (then perhaps the best in the world). They plan to find a king or chief, help him defeat enemies, then take over for themselves. They ask the narrator for the use of any books or maps of the areaâas a favour, because they are fellow Freemasons, and because he spoiled their blackmail scheme.
Two years later, on a scorching hot summer night, Carnehan creeps into the narrator's office. He is a broken man, a crippled beggar clad in rags and he tells an amazing story. Dravot and Carnehan succeeded in becoming kings: finding the Kafirs, who turn out to be white ("so hairy and white and fair it was just shaking hands with old friends"), mustering an army, taking over villages, and dreaming of building a unified nation. The Kafirs (pagans, not Muslims) were impressed by the rifles and Dravot's lack of fear of their idols, and acclaimed him as a god, the reincarnation or descendant of Alexander the Great. The Kafirs practised a form of Masonic ritual, and Dravot's reputation was further cemented when he showed knowledge of Masonic secrets that only the oldest priest remembered.
Their schemes were dashed when Dravot decided to marry a Kafir girl. Terrified at marrying a god, the girl bit Dravot when he tried to kiss her. Seeing him bleed, the priests cried that he was "Neither God nor Devil but a man!" Most of the Kafirs turned against Dravot and Carnehan. A few of his men remained loyal, but the army defected and the two kings were captured.
Dravot, wearing his crown, stood on a rope bridge over a gorge while the Kafirs cut the ropes, and he fell to his death. Carnehan was crucified between two pine trees. When he survived for a day, the Kafirs considered it a miracle and let him go. He begged his way back to India.
As proof of his tale, Carnehan shows the narrator Dravot's head, still wearing the golden crown. Carnehan leaves carrying the head. The next day the narrator sees him crawling along the road in the noon sun, with his hat off and gone mad. The narrator sends him to the local asylum. When he inquires two days later, he learns that Carnehan has died of sunstroke ("half an hour bare-headed in the sun at mid-day..."). No belongings were found with him.

Question: What was said to be the cause of Carnehan's death?
Answer: Sustroke
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: What does James welcome?
Answer: Advances in the technology of realism
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: Who was James' principal publisher?
Answer: Harper
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: Who are the illustrators James writes on?
Answer: Personal friends
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: Who illistrated some of James' fiction?
Answer: Charles Reinhart
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: How long has James' work been out of print?
Answer: Since it's first edition
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: Why was James put out of print?
Answer: It was out of print because color illustrations took over soon after
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: What does James say is the greatest type of art?
Answer: A portrait
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: Who is James' protege?
Answer: John Singer Sargent
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: Whose articles keep being reprinted?
Answer: Sargent's and Daumier
Although originally conceived as an extended puff for Harper artists, who were also personal friends, the book presents some general ideas about the relation between author and illustration, picture and text, as well as the advancing technology of illustration. Both in print and in the theater, James welcomes advances in the technology of realism, but complains if the visual dominates author and actor. He praises the black-and-white engravings of the illustrators for their tact and their illumination of settings, but criticizes elaborate modern stage scenery that overwhelms the actor's art. These essays, although slight, are illustrated with drawings of each other by the artist subjects, and is itself an example of what James extols, as well as being a rare extended essay by James on the unity of the arts.
The illustrators of whom he wrote were an Anglo-American group, all personal friends, at a time when Harper was his principal publisher. They were known in the day for their summer gatherings at the village of Broadway in the Cotswolds, where for several years James joined them, and where Sargent gained his first footing among British artists. Among the artists in the group, Charles Reinhart illustrated some of James' own fiction, Alfred Parsons designed James's gardens at Lamb House, and the sets for James' play Guy Domville whose first, raucous performance he attended. Edwin Abbey and Sargent later collaborated on the enormous wall paintings for the Boston Public Library, and were among the leading artists of their day.
James' treatment of his friend Honore de Daumier was a welcome effort on behalf of an artist many considered little more than a political cartoonist. James found an "impressive depth" in Daumier's portrayal of the peculiar and the (sometimes) ugly. Many of Daumier's subjects are now remembered only in his often slashing work, but that's appropriate because all art "prolongs...preserves...consecrates...raises from the dead."
In his essay on his protĂŠgĂŠ John Singer Sargent, James marvels at the painter's complete knowledge of his art and his unfailing technical proficiency. James particularly admires Sargent's portraits of women, such as Miss Burckhardt (not identified by name but illustrated in the magazine text of the article) and Madame X (called Madame G in the essay). "There is no greater work of art than a great portrait," James concludes, and Sargent's portraits combine "quick perception" and "lingering reflection."
The essays on Daumier and Sargent have frequently been reprinted, but the book as a whole has been out of print since its first edition, in part because the black-and-white engravings that are its principal subject were so soon to be displaced by photographs and colored illustrations.

Question: What did Honore de Daumier do for art?
Answer: Political cartoons