The morning call., 1893-12-03

man, Scn0iar, arcn40loglSt ana SOCIALIST
who has been spoken of as Tennyson's
successor IN the laureateship, and in the
oninion of many ranks second to SWIM
burne. The fact that he is a socialist by
nc means makes him communist, so
altruistic as to be willing to share all Ee
has with the world. He manufactures
fancy papers, makes artistic tapestry,
every inch of which may cost guineas,
produces stained glass of great beauty
and heavy cost, prints books. sometimes
his own and sometimes other peoples, on
hand-woveD paper in exquisite typog-
rapny and superb design of binding, has
toiled at painting and given it up rs a
profession. and is saturated with refine
ments of taste and practical notions of
utility very rare in mortals who succeed in
life. Socialism has not barred the way to
wealth. he has some of the aims of that
famous pre-Raphaelite brotherhood in
which Ross-tti, Holman. Hunt. Millais and
Ford Maddox Brown figured, and with
which he also was associated.
Mr.. Morris was asked recently his opin-
lon of Hnwells' declaration that no man
ought to live bv an art. Within certain
limitations ne thought this dictum sound.
The painter, be said, must be paid. be-
cause his work m0nopoliZed his lifetime,
but he ruled poets outside rewards other
than wreath. The nationality of this
distin ction is hard TO see, because poet
is word painter, and his verse is not
more spontaneous or creative than the
works of the artist who breathes spirit
into his themes. But actually Mr.. Morris
is looking far ahead to time when art
work is to be executed by guilds. when the
whole people will have a cultured taste in
art. and it will not depend as now upon
professional clques or mutual admiration
circles, and when there will be nothing
exclusive in art, even as to possession of
the grand creations of genius. He does
not think, however, the millennium will
arrive in our time. and be goes on making
wall paper and tapestries, writing and
printing books, and charging prices de
luxe for the same. In short, the esthete
of such generous benevolence and enno-
bling aspirations Is climbing the ladder or
worldly success just as nimbly as if he
were sordid manufacturer. squeezing all
he can out Of the public for the mere love
of gain.
But it Is 10 Mr.. Morris credit that he
treats his employees as a just man should,
and that he puts conscience into his work,
for which he has an inveterate objection
to charge too little. Perhaps he also finds
that the good people who flock to him for
lovely things wherewith they may adorn
their homes and reflect their own pride
would be disappointed if they did net pay
UduuSOucly lUF tUdb WHICH tDeY cnvet. on
the principle that cheapness is despicable
and vulgar. and that it is impossible TO ad.
mire carpet or picture which does not
attest it's worth by great price. Therein
are the idealists who understand the true
iuwardness OF art wise in their generation.
What would the buver of that etching of
embrandt-Rembrandt himself leaning
on a saber-have thought of the work had
he not paid $4,000 for it. the highest
figure recorded for single print? He
might be pleased to have paid only SIS for
IL did he know that he could next day get
two thousand times as much, but not
otherwise.
epics and lyrics, or whatever his roaming
fancy draws him into. for the pure love of
his rhythmic conceptions Is peculiarly full
Of noble sacrifice. But why should the
poet make the public present of his verse
any more than the dram atist or the novel;
istp In any case It is labor far more than
inspiration, and often very hard labor, re-
vised again and again until the composer
must be awesry OF the thin gold he has
hammered out. Is Ii not with the poet as
with the painter? When the work Is over
dors not much of the affection with which
the toll was lightened fade away, and does
not the creation appear to be blistered
with rash of defects? Where is the
spontapeity when so much OF the finest
verse Is altered. rounded or inserted in the
proof sheets, and even rhyming diction-
ary is help to gsniusP To expect a NOR
tai who eats dinners and wears clothes to
freckle his brow with thought for six
miDdedness. and to sleep restlessly for the
sake Of the poetre-lovng public, is to ex-
pect tno much philanthropy.
No. to have his verse aGored, committed
to memory and recited with a thrilling
voice and a moist. flashing eye. the poet
80
metaphorically. in diamonds, especially
as those nnphilanthropic necessities,
publishers, have no misgivings about
what Is due In their own case. 1t will be
chilling day for poetry when the poets
write "for song" and deprive the public
of the pleasure of being able to boast that
this or that edition. superbly printed. cost
| so many dollars and Is therefore treasure
to be priZsd.
Generally speaking. there are no indica-
tions that the poets in this regard have
taken leave of their senses. Tennyson had
not only his copyrights but guinea line
from Moxon for the "Idylls OF the King. !"
Byron. it IL true. disdained TO write for
money, and profassed scnrn for it. But
there is great difference between writing
for money and accepting money when the
poetry has sprung from the heart uncon-
taminated by calculations OF sordid ucre,
The com pulsion of inclination under which
with the acceptance of reward from those
who enjoy bestowing il In tangible worldly
shape. Byron nurssd his vanity by his
peculiar views on the poets duty, hut Scott
had no such notion and his stanZas, although h
under cloud to-day among certain critics
who regret that they are not mystified
enough. may live quite as long as those Of
Byron.
The utopian contention that no man
ought to live by an art is probably meant
to imply that in art the thought of gain
should be banished il it influences the
conception and execution. There should
be no swerving from the ideal from sense
Of fear or favor, reward or punishment
As poets are mortal. however, they are
often bundles of inirmities. crotcbets,
and mean, petty characteristics. all of
which traits give complexion TO their
muse when aroused. These individuals
ties. In short, pass muster as noble feeling
or paltry littleness, according to the emo
| ton of the moment. In poers biography
there Is good deal Of anguish akin to the
ridiculous. The felIcities Of verse are
drowned in the comm onplace prosiness of
ordinary existence. not . whit moro ami
able than that Of dull-miDded folk VINO
| never wrote a line of poetry In their lives
| and are about as enlightened on the sub