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AUBREY BEARDSLEY
[Illustration: MRS. PATRICK CAMPBELL
_Now in the Berlin National Gallery_]
[Illustration]
AUBREY BEARDSLEY
BY ROBERT ROSS
WITH SIXTEEN FULL-PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS AND A
REVISED ICONOGRAPHY
BY AYMER VALLANCE
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMIX
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
TO
Sir COLERIDGE ARTHUR FITZROY KENNARD,
Bart.
Illustrations
MRS PATRICK CAMPBELL _Frontispiece_
_Now in the Berlin National Gallery_
_facing page_
SIEGFRIED 12
_Reproduced from the original in the possession of
Mrs Bealby Wright_
THE WOMAN IN THE MOON 14
_From "Salome"_
THE TOILETTE OF SALOME 18
_From "Salome"_
THE DANCER'S REWARD 20
_From "Salome"_
TAILPIECE 22
_From "Salome"_
DESIGN FOR A FRONTISPIECE 26
_From "Plays" by John Davidson_
THE WAGNERITES 28
ATALANTA 32
THE MYSTERIOUS ROSE GARDEN 36
ILLUSTRATION FOR "A NOCTURNE OF CHOPIN" 38
CHOPIN, BALLADE III. OP. 47 42
_Reproduced by permission of Charles Holme, Esqre._
THE BARON'S PRAYER 44
_From "The Rape of the Lock"_
THE BATTLE OF BEAUX AND BELLES 48
_From "The Rape of the Lock"_
A DESIGN FROM "LYSISTRATA" 50
D'ALBERT IN SEARCH OF IDEALS 54
_From "Mademoiselle de Maupin." Reproduced from the
original in the possession of Mrs Bealby Wright_
AUBREY BEARDSLEY
Aubrey Beardsley was born on August 21st, 1872, at Brighton. He was a
quiet, reserved child, caring little for lessons, though from an early
age he shewed an aptitude for drawing. He began his education at a
Kindergarten. He was seven years old when the first symptoms of delicacy
appeared, and he was sent to a preparatory school at Hurstpierpoint,
where he was remarkable for his courage and extreme reserve. Threatened
with tuberculosis, he was moved for his health to Epsom in 1881. In
March 1883 his family settled in London, and Beardsley made his first
public appearance as an infant musical phenomenon, playing at concerts
in company with his sister. He had a great knowledge of music, and
always spoke dogmatically on a subject, the only one he used to say, of
which he knew anything. He became attracted at this time by Miss Kate
Greenaway's picture books, and started illuminating menus and invitation
cards with coloured chalks, making by this means quite considerable sums
for a child.
In August 1884 he and his sister were sent back to Brighton, where
they resided with an old aunt. Their lives were lonely, and Beardsley
developed a taste for reading of a rather serious kind--the histories
of Freeman and Greene being his favourite works. He could not remain
a student without creating, so he started a history of the Armada! In
November of the same year he was sent to the Brighton Grammar School as
a day boy, becoming a boarder in January 1885. He was a great favourite
with Mr King, the house-master, who encouraged his tastes for reading
and drawing by giving him the use of a sitting-room and the run of
a library. This was one of the first pieces of luck that attended
Beardsley throughout life. The head-master, Mr Marshall, I am told,
would hold him up as an example to the other boys, on account of his
industry. His caricatures of the masters were fully appreciated by
them, a rare occurrence in the lives of artists. He cultivated besides
a talent for acting, and would often perform before large audiences at
the Pavilion. He organized weekly performances at the school, designing
and illustrating the programmes. He even wrote a farce called "A Brown
Study," which was played at Brighton, where it received serious
attention from the dramatic critics of the town. He would purchase
each volume of the Mermaid series of Elizabethan dramatists then being
issued, and with his sister gave performances during the holidays. From
the record of the "Brighton College Magazine," Beardsley appears to have
taken a leading role in all histrionic fetes, and to "The Pied Piper of
Hamelin" he contributed some delightful and racy little sketches, the
first of his drawings, I believe, that were ever reproduced.
[Illustration: SIEGFRIED
_Reproduced from the original in the possession of Mrs. Bealby Wright_]
In July 1888 he left school, and almost immediately entered an
architect's office in London. In 1889 he obtained a post in the Guardian
Life and Fire Insurance. During the autumn of that year the fatal
haemorrhages commenced; for two years he gave up his amateur theatricals
and did little in the way of drawing. In 1891, however, he recuperated;
a belief in his own powers revived. He now commenced a whole series
of illustrations to various plays, such as Marlowe's "Tamerlane,"
Congreve's "Way of the World," and various French works which he was
able to enjoy in the original. He would often speak of the encouragement
and kindness he received at this period from the Rev. Alfred Gurney, who
had known his family at Brighton, and who was perhaps the earliest of
his friends to realize that Beardsley possessed something more than mere
cleverness or precocity.
Several people have claimed to discover Aubrey Beardsley, but I think it
truer to say that he revealed himself, when proper acknowledgment has
been made to Mr Aymer Vallance, Mr Joseph Pennell, Mr Frederick Evans,
Mr J. M. Dent, and Mr John Lane, with whom Beardsley's art will always be
associated in connection with the Yellow Book, that too early daffodil
that came before the swallow dared and could not take the winds of March
for beauty. To Mr Pennell belongs the credit of introducing Beardsley's
art to the public; and to Mr Dent is due the rare distinction of giving
him practical encouragement, by commissioning the illustrations to the
"Morte d'Arthur," long before critics had written anything about him,
or any but a few friends knew of his great powers. Beardsley was too
remarkable a personality to remain in obscurity. Though I remember
with some amusement how the editor of a well-known weekly mocked at a
prophecy that the artist was a coming man who would very shortly excite
discussion if not admiration. Fortunately Mr Pennell, a distinguished
artist himself, and a fearless critic, not only espoused the cause of
the new draughtsman, but became a personal friend for whom Beardsley
always evinced great affection, and to whom he dedicated his "Album of
Fifty Drawings."
[Illustration: THE WOMAN IN THE MOON
_From "Salome"_]
I shall never forget my first meeting with Aubrey Beardsley, on February
14th, 1892, at the rooms of Mr Vallance, the well-known disciple and
biographer of William Morris. Though prepared for an extraordinary
personality, I never expected the youthful apparition which glided into
the room. He was shy, nervous, and self-conscious, without any of the
intellectual assurance and ease so characteristic of him eighteen months
later when his success was unquestioned. He brought a portfolio of his
marvellous drawings, in themselves an earnest of genius; but I hardly
paid any attention to them at first, so overshadowed were they by the
strange and fascinating originality of their author. In two hours it was
not hard to discover that Beardsley's appearance did not belie him. He
was an intellectual Marcellus suddenly matured. His rather long brown
hair, instead of being "ebouriffe," as the ordinary genius is expected
to wear it, was brushed smoothly and flatly on his head and over part
of his immensely high and narrow brow. His face even then was terribly
drawn and emaciated. Except in his manner, I do not think his general
appearance altered very much in spite of the ill-health and suffering,
borne with such unparalleled resignation and fortitude: he always had
a most delightful and engaging smile both for friends and strangers.
He grew less shy after half an hour, becoming gayer and more talkative.
He was full of Moliere and "Manon Lescaut" at the time; he seemed
disappointed that none of us was musical; but he astonished by his
knowledge of Balzac an authority on the subject who was also present.
He spoke much of the National Gallery and the British Museum, both of
which he knew with extraordinary thoroughness. He told me he had only
been once to the New Gallery, where he saw some pictures by Burne-Jones,
but had never been to the Royal Academy. As far as I know, he never
visited the spring shows of Burlington House. He always, however,
defended that institution with enthusiasm, saying he would rather be an
Academician than an artist, "as it takes only one man to make an artist,
but forty to make an Academician."
Our next meeting was a few weeks later, when he brought me a replica of
his "_Joan of Arc_." I was anxious to buy the first and better version,
now in the possession of Mr Frederick Evans, but he refused to part with
it at the time. He seemed particularly proud of the drawing; it was the
only work of this period he would allow to have any merit.
In the early summer of 1892 he visited Burne-Jones and Watts, receiving
from the former artist cordial recognition and excellent advice which
proved invaluable to him. He attributed to the same great painter the
criticism that "he had learnt too much from the old masters and would
benefit by the training of an art school." A few days afterwards he
produced a most amusing caricature of himself being kicked down the
stairs of the National Gallery by Raphael, Titian, and Mantegna, whilst
Michael Angelo dealt a blow on his head with a hammer. This entertaining
little record, I am sorry to say, was destroyed. Beardsley was always
sensible about friendly and intelligent criticism. When he reached a
position enjoyed by no artist of his own age, he was swift to remedy
any defect pointed out to him by artists or even by ordinary friends.
I never met anyone so receptive on all subjects; he would record what
Mr Pennell or Puvis de Chavannes said in praise or blame of a particular
drawing with equal candour and good humour. This was only one of his
many amiable qualities. When he afterwards became a sort of household
word and his fame, or notoriety as his enemies called it, was
established, he never changed in this respect. He made friends and
remained friends with many for whom his art was totally unintelligible.
Social charm triumphed over all differences. He would speak with
enthusiasm about writers and artists quite out of sympathy with his
own aims and aspirations. He never assumed that those to whom he was
introduced either knew or admired his work. His character was brisk
and virile to an extraordinary degree. He made enemies, I believe,
by refusing to revolve in mutual admiration societies or to support
literary and artistic cliques. With the shadow of death always over
him and conscious of the brief time before him, he never gave himself
up to morbid despair or useless complaints. He determined to enjoy life,
and, equipped with all the curiosity and gaiety of boyhood, he caught
at life's exquisite moments. There was always a very deep and sincere
religious vein in his temperament, only noticeable to very intimate
friends. With all his power of grasping the essential and absorbing
knowledge, he remained charmingly unsophisticated. He took people as
they came, never discriminating, perhaps, sufficiently the issues of
life. He was unspoiled by success, unburdened with worldly wisdom.
He was generous to a fault, spending his money lavishly on his friends
to an extent that became almost embarrassing.
[Illustration: THE TOILETTE OF SALOME
_From "Salome"_]
His love and knowledge of books increased rather than diminished even
after he devoted himself entirely to art. In early days he would
exchange his drawings for illustrated books and critical texts of the
English classics with Mr Frederick Evans, an early and enthusiastic
buyer of his work. His tastes were not narrow. Poetry, memoirs, history,
short stories, biography, and essays of all kinds appealed to him; but
he cared little for novels, except in French. I don't think he ever
read Dickens, Thackeray, and George Eliot, though he enjoyed Scott
during the last months of his life. He had an early predilection for
lives of the Saints. The scrap-book of sketches, containing drawings
done prior to 1892, indicates the range and extent of his taste. There
are illustrations to "Manon Lescaut," "Tartarin," "Madame Bovary,"
Balzac ("Le Cousin Pons," the "Contes Drolatiques"), Racine, Shelley's
"Cenci." He retained his love of the drama, and began to write a play in
collaboration with Mr Brandon Thomas. While dominated by pre-Raphaelite
influences, he read with great avidity "Sidonia the Sorceress," and "The
Shaving of Shagpat," a favourite book of Rossetti's; and it was with a
view to illustrate Mr Meredith's Arabian Night that he became introduced
to Mr John Lane, who divides with Mr Herbert Pollit the honour of
possessing the finest Beardsleys still in this country. He read Greek
and Latin authors in translations, and often astonished scholars by his
acute appreciation of their matter. He approached Dantesque mediaevalism
through Rossetti and, later on, at the original source. Much of his
early work illustrated incidents in the "Divine Comedy." He was a
fervent admirer of the "Romance of the Rose" in the original, and
several mediaeval French books, but he once told me that he found the
"Morte d'Arthur" very long-winded.
[Illustration: THE DANCER'S REWARD
_From "Salome"_]
For one so romantic in the expression of his art, I should say his
literary and artistic tastes were severely classic, though you would
have expected them to be bizarre. He was ambitious of literary success,
but any aspirations were wisely discouraged by his admirers. His
writings, however brilliant--and they often were brilliant--shewed a
dangerous cleverness, which on cultivation might have proved disastrous
to the realization of his true genius. "Under the Hill" is a delightful
experiment in a rococo style of literature, and it would be difficult to
praise sufficiently the rhythm and metrical adroitness of the two poems
in the Savoy Magazine. Though I cannot speak of his musical attainments,
it may be regarded as fortunate that so remarkable a genius was directed
to a more permanent form of executive power.
His knowledge of life, art, and literature seemed the result of instinct
rather than study; for no one has ever discovered where he found the
time or opportunity for assimilating all he did. Gregarious and sociable
by nature, he was amusingly secretive about his methods and times of
work. Like other industrious men, he never pretended to be busy or
pressed for time. He never denied his door to callers, nor refused to
go anywhere on the plea of "work."
He disliked anyone being in the room when he was drawing, and hastily
hid all his materials if a stranger entered the room. He would rarely
exhibit an unfinished sketch, and carefully destroyed any he was not
thoroughly satisfied with himself. He carried this sensitive spirit
of selection and self-criticism rather far. Calling on friends who
possessed primitives, he would destroy these early relics and leave a
more mature and approved specimen of his art, or the _edition de luxe_
of some book he had illustrated. Some of us were so annoyed that we were
eventually obliged to lock up all early examples. For though friends
thus victimized were endowed with a more valuable acquisition, they had
a natural sentiment and affection for the unsophisticated designs of
his earlier years.
[Illustration: TAILPIECE
_From "Salome"_]
His life, though many-sided and successful, was outwardly uneventful.
In the early summer of 1892 he entered Professor Brown's night school
at Westminster, but during the day continued his work at the Guardian
Fire Insurance until August, when, by his sister's advice, he resigned
his post. In December he acquainted with Mr Pennell, from whose
encouragement and advice he reaped the fullest advantage. After
commencing the decorations to the "Morte d'Arthur," he ceased to attend
Professor Brown's classes. In February 1893 some of his drawings were
first published in London in the Pall Mall Budget under the editorship
of Mr Lewis Hind, but one of the most striking of his early designs
appeared in a little college magazine entitled The Bee. When The Studio
was started by Mr Charles Holme under the able direction of the late
Gleeson-White, Beardsley designed the first cover and Mr Pennell
contributed the well-known appreciation of the new artist.
Towards the end of 1893 he commenced working for Mr John Lane, who
issued his marvellous illustrations to "Salome" in 1894. In April of the
same year appeared the Yellow Book. To the first four volumes Beardsley
contributed altogether about eighteen illustrations. From a pictorial
point of view this publication had no other _raison d'etre_ than as a
vehicle for the production of Beardsley's work, though Henry Harland,
in his capacity as literary editor, revealed the presence of many new
writers among us. Throughout 1894 Beardsley's health seemed to improve,
and his social success was considerable. In the previous year he had
been ridiculed, but now the world accepted him at Mr Pennell's
valuation. The Beardsley type became quite a fashion, and was burlesqued
at many of the theatres; his name and work were on everyone's lips. He
made friends with many of his contemporaries distinguished in art and
literature. At the house of one of his friends he delivered a very
amusing lecture on "Art" which created much discussion.
A little later Beardsley was popularly supposed to have given pictorial
expression to the views and sentiments of a certain school, and his
drawings were regarded as the outward artistic sign of inward literary
corruption. This is not the place to discuss the invention of a mare's
nest. He suffered considerably by this premature attempt to classify his
art. Further efforts to ridicule his work and suppress its publication
were, however, among the most cheering failures of modern journalism.
In 1895 he ceased to contribute to the Yellow Book, and in January 1896
The Savoy was started by Leonard Smithers, with Mr Arthur Symons as the
literary editor, who became the most subtle and discerning of all his
critics after Beardsley's death. Failing health was the only difficulty
with which he had to contend in the future. From March 1896, when he
caught a severe chill at Brussels, he became a permanent invalid. He
returned to England in May, and in August went to Bournemouth, where
he spent the autumn and winter.
Those who visited him at Bournemouth never expected he would live for
more than a few weeks. His courage, however, never failed him, and
he continued work even while suffering from lung haemorrhage; but he
expressed a hope and belief, in which he was justified, that he might
be spared one more year. On March 31st, 1897, he was received into the
Catholic Church. The sincerity of his religious convictions has been
affirmed by those who were with him constantly; and, as I have suggested
before, the flippancy and careless nature of his conversation were
superficial: he was always strict in his religious observances. Among
his intimate friends through life were clergymen and priests who have
paid tribute to the reality and sincerity of his belief.
A week after being received, Beardsley rallied again, and moved to
Paris, but still required the attention and untiring devotion of his
mother, to whom he was deeply attached. He never returned to England
again. From time to time he was cheered by visits from Miss Mabel
Beardsley (Mrs Bealby Wright), who understood her brother as few sisters
have done. For some time he stayed at St Germain, and in July 1897 he
went to Dieppe, where he seemed almost to have recovered. It was only,
however, for a short time, and in the end of 1897 he was hurried to
Mentone. He never left his room after January 25th. The accounts of him
which reached London prepared his friends for the end. Almost one of his
last letters was to Mr Vincent O'Sullivan, the poet, congratulating him
on his Introduction to "Volpone," for which Beardsley was making the
illustrations. Beardsley had a considerable knowledge and appreciation
of Ben Jonson.
[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE
_From "Plays" by John Davidson_]
On March 23rd, 1898, he received the last sacraments; and on the 25th,
with perfect resignation, in the presence of his mother and sister, to
whom he had confided messages of love and sympathy to his many friends,
Aubrey Beardsley passed away.
"Come back in sleep, for in the life
Where thou art not
We find none like thee. Time and strife
And the world's lot
Move thee no more: but love at least
And reverent heart
May move thee, royal and released
Soul, as thou art."
No one could have wished him to live on in pain and suffering. I think
the only trials of his life were the periods in which he was unfitted
for work. His remarkable career was not darkened by any struggle for
recognition. Few artists have been so fortunate as Aubrey Beardsley.
His short life was remarkably happy--at all events during the six years
he was before the public. Everything he did met with success--a success
thoroughly enjoyed by him. He seemed indifferent to the idle criticism
and violent denunciation with which much of his art was hailed. I never
heard of anyone of importance who disliked him personally; on the other
hand, many who were hostile and prejudiced about his art ceased to
attack him after meeting him. This must have been due to the magnetism
and charm of his individuality, exercised quite unconsciously, for he
never tried to conciliate people, or "to work the oracle," but rather
gloried in shocking "the enemy," a boyish failing for which he may be
forgiven.
[Illustration: THE WAGNERITES]
He had considerable intellectual vanity, but it never relapsed into
common conceit. He was generous in recognizing the talent and genius of
others, but was singularly perverse in some of his utterances. He said
once that only four of his contemporaries interested him. He bore with
extraordinary patience the assertions of foolish persons who calmly
asserted that both in America and England other artists had anticipated
the peculiarities of his style and methods. I have seen the works of
these Lambert Simnels and Perkin Warbecks, and they proved, one and all,
crows in peacocks' feathers. Beardsley's style, nevertheless, influenced
(unfortunately, I think) many excellent artists both younger and older
than himself. In France his work was accepted without question: he was
always gratified by the cordiality which greeted him in a country where
he was more generally understood than in his own. He has illustrious
precedents in Constable and Bonnington. Italy, Austria, and Germany
recognized in him a master some time before his death. At Berlin his
picture of _Mrs Patrick Campbell_, the actress, is now in a place of
honour in the Museum. A portrait study of himself is in the British
Museum Print Room; a few examples are at South Kensington; but all his
important work is in private collections; much of it is in America and
Germany. In England, putting aside the notoriety and sensation caused
by his posters and the Yellow Book, appreciation of his work has been
confined rather to the few. He enjoyed, however, the friendship and
intimacy of great numbers of people, shewing that his amiable qualities,
no less than his art, received due recognition. His conversation was
vehement and witty rather than humorous. He had a remarkable talent for
mimicking, very rarely exercised. He loved argument, and supported
theories for the sake of argument in the most convincing manner, leaving
strangers with a totally wrong impression about himself, a deception to
which he was much addicted. He possessed what is called an artificial
manner, cultivated to an extent that might be mistaken for affectation.
He never could sit still for very long, and he made use of gesture for
emphasis. His peculiar gait has been very happily rendered in a portrait
of him by Mr Walter Sickert; he also sat to M. Blanche, the well-known
French portrait painter; the portrait by himself is tinged with
caricature.
* * * * *
To estimate the art of Aubrey Beardsley is not difficult. That his
drawings must excite discussion at all times is only a proof of their
lasting worth. They can never be dismissed with unkindly comment, nor
shelved into the limbo of art criticism which waits for many blameless
and depressing productions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
Among artists and men of letters no less than with that great inartistic
body, "the art-loving public," Aubrey Beardsley's name will always call
forth wonder, admiration, speculation, and contempt. It should be
conceded, however, that his work cannot appeal to everyone; and that
many who have the highest perception of the beautiful see only the
repulsive and unwholesome in the troubled, exotic expression of his
genius. Fortunately, no reputation in art or letters rests on the
verdict of majorities--it is the opinion of the few which finally
triumphs. Artists and critics have already dwelt on the beauty of Aubrey
Beardsley's line, which in his early work too often resolved itself into
mere caligraphy; but the mature and perfect illustrations to "Salome"
and "The Rape of the Lock" evince a mastery unsurpassed by any artist in
any age or country. No one ever carried a simple line to its inevitable
end with such sureness and firmness of purpose. And this is one of
the lessons which even an accomplished draughtsman may learn from
his drawings, in any age when scraggy execution masquerades under
impressionism. Aubrey Beardsley did not shirk a difficulty by leaving
lines to the imagination of critics, who might enlarge on the reticence
of his medium. Art cant and studio jargon do not explain his work. It
is really only the presence or absence of beauty in his drawing, and
his wonderful powers of technique which need trouble his admirers or
detractors. Nor are we confronted with any conjecture as to what Aubrey
Beardsley might have done--he has left a series of achievements. While
his early death caused deep sorrow among his personal friends, there
need be no sorrow for an "inheritor of unfulfilled renown." Old age
is no more a necessary complement to the realization of genius than
premature death. Within six years, after passing through all the
imitative stages of probation, he produced masterpieces he might have
repeated but never surpassed. His style would have changed. He was
too receptive and too restless to acquiesce in a single convention.
[Illustration: ATALANTA]
This is hardly the place to dwell on the great strides which black and
white art made in the nineteenth century. It has been called the most
modern of the arts; for the most finished drawings of the old masters
were done with a view to serve as studies or designs to be transferred
to canvas, metal, and wood, not for frames at an expensive dealer's.
Vittore Pisano and Gentile Bellini would hardly have dared to mount
their delightful studies and offer them as pictures to the critics
and patrons of their day. At all events it were safer to say, that
appreciation of a drawing for itself, without relation to the book or
page it was intended to adorn or destroy, is comparatively modern. It is
necessary to keep this in mind, because the suitability of Beardsley's
work to the books he embellished was often accidental. His designs
must be judged independently, as they were conceived, without any view
of interpreting or even illustrating a particular author. He was too
subjective to be a mere illustrator. Profoundly interested in literature
for the purposes of his art, he only extracted from it whatever was
suggestive as pattern; he never professed to interpret for dull people,
unable to understand what they read, any more than the mediaeval
illuminator and carver of grotesques attempted to explain the mysteries
of the Christian faith on the borders of missals and breviaries or
the miserere seats of the choir. His art was, of course, intensely
_literary_, to use the word hated of modern critics, but his expression
of it was the legitimate literature of the artist, not the art peculiar
to literature. He did not attempt, or certainly never succeeded in
giving, pictorial revision to a work of literature in the sense that
Blake has done for the book of Job, and Botticelli for the "Divine
Comedy." While hardly satisfying those for whom any work of art guilty
of "subject" becomes worthless, this immunity from the conventions of
the illustrator will secure for Beardsley a larger share of esteem among
artists pure and simple than has ever fallen to William Blake, who
appeals more to men of letters than to the artist or virtuoso. The
uncritical profess to find many terrible meanings in Aubrey Beardsley's
drawings; and he will probably never be freed from the charge of
symbolism. However morbid the sentiment in some of his work, and often
there was a _macabre_, an unholy insistence on the less beautiful side
of human things, the cabala of the symbolists was a sealed book to
him. Such things were entirely foreign to his lucid and vigorous
intelligence. There is hardly a drawing of his that does not explain
itself; the commentator will search in vain for any hieroglyphic or
symbolic intention. The hieratic archaism of his early work misled many
people, for whom pre-Raphaelitism means presupposition. Of mysticism,
that stumbling-block, he had none at all. "_The Initiation of a Neophyte
into the Black Art_" would seem to contradict such a statement. The
fantasy and grotesqueness of that lurid and haunting composition have
nothing in common with the symbolism of black magic, the ritual of
freemasonry, or all the fascinating magic to be found in the works of
Eliphaz Levi. The sumptuous accessories in which he revelled had no
other than a decorative intention, giving sometimes balance to a
drawing, or conveying a literary suggestion necessary for its
interpretation.
Artists are blamed for what they have not tried to do; or for the
absence of qualities distinguishing the work of an entirely different
order of intellect; for their indifference to the observations of
_others_. As who should ask from Reynolds a faithful reproduction of
textile fabrics; and from Carlo Crivelli the natural phenomena of nature
we expect from Turner and Constable? For nature as it should be, in
the works of Corot and Turner; for nature made easy, in modern English
landscape; for nature without tears, in the impressionist fashion, or as
popularly viewed through the camera, Aubrey Beardsley had no feeling. He
was frankly indifferent to picturesque peasants, the beauties of "lovely
spots," either in England or France. A devout Catholic, the ringing of
the Angelus did not lure him to present fields of mangel-wurzels in an
evening haze. The treatment of nature in the larger and truer sense of
the word had little attraction for him; he never tried, therefore, to
represent air, atmosphere, and light, as many clever modern artists have
done in black and white! Though Claude, that master of light and shadow,
was a landscape painter who really interested him. Beardsley's
landscape, therefore, is formal, primitive, conventional; a breath of
air hardly shakes the delicate leaves of the straight poplars and
willows that grow by his serpentine streams. The great cliffs, leaning
down in promontories to the sea, have that unreal, architectural
appearance so remarkable in the West of Cornwall, a place he had never
visited. Yet his love and observation of flowers, trees, and gardens
are very striking in the drawings for the "Morte d'Arthur" and the
Savoy Magazine, but it is the nature of the landscape gardener,
not the landscape painter. There is some truth in the half-playful,
half-unfriendly criticism, that his pictures were a form of romantic
map-making. Future experts, however, may be trusted to deal with
absence of chiaroscuro, values, tones, and the rest. In only one of his
drawings, conceived, curiously enough, in the manner of Burne-Jones (an
unlikely model), is there anything approaching what is usually termed
atmosphere. Eliminating, therefore, all that must not be expected from
his art--mere illustration, realism, symbolism and naturalism--in what,
may be asked, does his supreme achievement consist? He has decorated
white sheets of paper as they have never been decorated before; whether
hung on the wall, reproduced in a book, or concealed in a museum, they
remain among the most precious and exquisite works in the art of the
nineteenth century, resembling the designs of William Blake only--in
that they must be hated, misunderstood, and neglected, ere they are
recognized as works of a master. With more simple materials than those
employed by the fathers of black and white art, Beardsley has left
memorials no less wonderful than those of the Greek vase-painters, so
highly prized by artists and archaeologists alike, but no less difficult
for the uninitiated to appreciate and understand.
[Illustration: THE MYSTERIOUS ROSE GARDEN]
The astonishing fertility of his invention, and the amount of work he
managed to produce, were inconceivable; yet there is never any sign of
hurry: there is no scamping in his deft and tidy drawing. The neatness
of his most elaborate designs would suggest many sketches worked over
and discarded before deciding on the final form and composition. Strange
to say, this was not his method. He sketched everything in pencil, at
first covering the paper with apparent scrawls, constantly rubbed out
and blocked in again, until the whole surface became raddled from
pencil, indiarubber, and knife; over this incoherent surface he worked
in Chinese ink with a gold pen, often ignoring the pencil lines,
afterwards carefully removed. So every drawing was invented, built up,
and completed on the same sheet of paper. And the same process was
repeated even when he produced replicas. At first he was indifferent to
process reproduction, but, owing to Mr Pennell's influence, he later on
always worked with that end in view; thereby losing, some will think,
his independence. But he had nothing to complain of--Mr Pennell's
contention about process was never so well proved as in Beardsley's
case. His experiments in colour were not always successful, two of
his most delightful designs he ruined by tinting. In the posters and
Studio lithograph, however, the crude colour is highly effective, and
"_Mademoiselle de Maupin_" shewed he might have mastered water-colour
had he chosen to do so. There are at present in the market many coloured
forgeries of his work: these have been contrived by tracing or copying
the reproductions; the colour is often used to conceal the paucity of
the drawing and hesitancy of line; they are nearly always versions of
well-known designs, and profess to be replicas. When there _is_ any
doubt the history and provenance of the work should be carefully
studied. It is not difficult to trace the pedigree of any _genuine_
example.
[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE
_From "A Nocturne of Chopin"_]
A good deal has been made out of Beardsley's love of dark rooms and lamp
light, but this has been grossly exaggerated. He had no great faith in
north lights and studio paraphernalia, so necessary for those who use
mediums other than his own. He would sometimes draw on a perfectly flat
table, facing the light, which would fall directly on the paper, the
blind slightly lowered.
The sources of Beardsley's inspiration have led critics into grievous
errors. He was accused of imitating artists, some of whose work he had
never seen, and of whose names he was ignorant at the time the alleged
plagiarism was perpetrated--Felicien Rops may be mentioned as an
instance. Beardsley contrived a style long before he came across any
modern French illustration. He was innocent of either Salon, the
Rosicrucians, and the Royal Academy alike; but his own influence on the
Continent is said to be considerable. That he borrowed freely and from
every imaginable master, old and new, is, of course, obvious. Eclectic
is certainly applicable to him. But what he took he endowed with a
fantastic and fascinating originality; to some image or accessory,
familiar to anyone who has studied the old masters, he added the touch
of modernity which brings them nearer to us, and reached refinements
never thought of by the old masters. Imagination is the great pirate
of art, and with Beardsley becomes a pretext for invention.
Prior to 1891 his drawings are interesting only for their precocity;
they may be regarded, as one of his friends has said, more as a presage
than a precedent. You marvel, on realizing the short interval which
elapsed between their production and the masterpieces of his maturity.
His first enthusiasm was for the work of the Italian primitives, as Mr
Charles Whibley says, distinguished "for its free and flowing line."
Even at a later time, when he devoted himself to eighteenth century
models and ideals, his love of Andrea Mantegna never deserted him. He
always kept reproductions from Mantegna at his side, and declared that
he never ceased to learn secrets from them. In the "_Litany of Mary
Magdalen_" and the two versions of "_Joan of Arc_" this influence
is very marked. A Botticelli phase followed, and though afterwards
discarded, was reverted to at a later period. The British Museum and the
National Gallery were at first his only schools of art. As a matter of
course, Rossetti and Burne-Jones, but chiefly through photographs and
prints, succeeded in their turn; the influence of Burne-Jones lasting
longer than any other.
Fairly drugged with too much observation of old and modern masters, he
entered Professor Brown's art school, where he successfully got rid
of much that was superfluous. The three months' training had the most
salutary effect. He now took the advice attributed to Burne-Jones, and
unlearned much of his acquired pedantry. The mere penmanship which
disfigured some of his early work entirely disappeared. His handling
became finer, his drawing less timid. The sketch of _Moliere_, it may
be interesting to note, belongs to this period of his art.
[Illustration: Chopin. Ballade III. Op. 47
_Reproduced by permission of Charles Holme, Esqre._]
A few months afterwards, he commenced the "Morte d'Arthur." Suggested
and intended to rival the volumes of the Kelmscott Press, it is his
most popular and least satisfactory performance. Still the borders have
far more variety and invention than those of Morris; the intricate
splendours of mediaeval manuscripts are intelligently imitated or
adapted. The initial- and tail-pieces are delightful in themselves, and
among the most exquisite of his grotesques and embellishments. But the
popularity of the book was due to its lack of originality, not to its
individuality. Mediaevalism for the middle classes always ensures an
appreciative audience. Oddly enough, Morris was said to be annoyed by
the sincerest form of flattery. Perhaps he felt that every school of art
comes to an end with the birth of the founder, and that Beardsley was
only exercising himself in an alien field of which Morris himself owned
the tithe. At all events it is not unlikely that Beardsley aroused in
the great poet and decorator the same suspicion that he had undoubtedly
done in Watts.
The "Morte d'Arthur" may be said, for convenience, to close Aubrey
Beardsley's first period; but he modified his style during the progress
of the publication, and there is no unity of intention in his types or
scheme of decoration. He was gravitating Japanwards. He began, however,
his so-called Japanesques long before seeing any real Japanese art,
except what may be found in the London shop windows on cheap trays
or biscuit-boxes. He never thought seriously of borrowing from this
source until some one not conversant with Oriental art insisted on the
resemblance of his drawings to Kakemonos. It was quite accidental.
Beardsley was really studying with great care and attention the
Crivellis in the National Gallery; their superficial resemblance to
Japanese work occasioned an error from which Beardsley, quick to
assimilate ideas and modes of expression, took a suggestion,
unconsciously and ignorantly offered, and studied genuine examples.
"_Raphael Sanzio_" (first version) was produced prior to this incident,
and "_Madame Cigale's Birthday Party_" immediately afterwards. His
emulation of the Japanese never left him until the production of the
Savoy Magazine. In my view this was the only bad artistic influence
which ever threatened to endanger his originality, or permanently
vitiate his manner. The free use of Chinese ink, together with his
intellectual vitality, saved him from "succumbing to Japan," to use
Mr Pennell's excellent phrase.
[Illustration: THE BARON'S PRAYER
_From "The Rape of the Lock"_]
A series of grotesques to decorate some rather silly anthologies
produced in the same year as the "Morte d'Arthur" are marvels of
ingenuity, and far more characteristic. With them he began a new period,
throwing over the deliberate archaism and mediaevalism, of which he began
to tire. In the illustrations to "Salome," he reached the consummation
of the new convention he created for himself; they are, collectively,
his masterpiece. In the whole range of art there is nothing like them.
You can trace the origin of their development, but you cannot find
anything wherewith to compare them; they are absolutely unique. Before
commencing "Salome" two events contributed to give Beardsley a fresh
impetus and stimulate his method of expression: a series of visits
to the collection of Greek vases in the British Museum (prompted by
an essay of Mr D. S. McColl), and to the famous Peacock Room of Mr
Whistler, in Prince's Gate--one the antithesis of Japan, the other
of Burne-Jones. Impressionable at all times to novel sensations, his
artistic perceptions vibrated with a new and inspired enthusiasm.
Critical appreciation under his pen meant creation. From the Greek
vase painting he learned that drapery can be represented effectually
with a few lines, disposed with economy, not by a number of unfinished
scratches and superfluous shading. If the "Salome" drawings have any
fault at all, it is that the texture of the pictures suggests some other
medium than pen and ink, as Mr Walter Crane has pointed out in his other
work. They are wrought rather than drawn, and might be designs for the
panel of a cabinet, for Limoges or Oriental enamel. "The Rape of the
Lock" is, therefore, a more obvious example of black and white art.
Beardsley's second period lasted until the fourth volume of the Yellow
Book, in which the "_Wagnerites_" should be mentioned as one of the
finest. In 1896 Beardsley, many people think to the detriment of his
style, turned his attention to the eighteenth century, in the literature
of which he was always deeply interested. Eisen, Moreau, Watteau,
Cochin, Pietro Longhi, now became his masters. The alien romantic art
of Wagner often supplied the theme and subject. The level of excellence
sustained throughout the Savoy Magazine is extraordinary, in view of the
terrible state of his health. His unexampled precision of line hardly
ever falters; and while his composition gains in simplicity, his
capacity for detail has not flagged. It is, perhaps, an accident that
in his most pathetic drawing, "_The Death of Pierrot_," his hand seems
momentarily to have lost its cunning. The same year he gave us "The Rape
of the Lock," regarded by some artists as the testament of his genius;
and an even more astonishing set of drawings to the "Lysistrata" of
Aristophanes. These are grander than the "Rape of the Lock," and larger
in treatment than anything he ever attempted. Privately issued,
Beardsley was able to give full rein to a Rabelaisian fantasy, which he
sometimes cultivated with too great persistence. Irritated by what he
considered as over-niceness in some of his critics, he seemed determined
to frighten his public. There is nothing unwholesome or suggestive about
the "Lysistrata" designs: they are as as frank, free, and outspoken as
the text. For the countrymen of Chaucer to simulate indignation about
them can only be explained "because things seen are greater than things
heard." Yet, when an artist frankly deals with forbidden subjects, the
old canons regular of English art begin to thunder, the critics forget
their French accent; the old Robert Adam, which is in all of us, asserts
himself; we fly for the fig-leaves. A real artist, Beardsley has not
burdened himself with chronology or archaeology. Conceived somewhat in
the spirit of the eighteenth century, the period of graceful indecency,
there is here, however, an Olympian air, a statuesque beauty, only
comparable to the antique vases. The illusion is enhanced by the absence
of all background, and this gives an added touch of severity to the
compositions.
Throughout 1896 the general tendency his style remains uniform, though
without sameness. He adapted his technique to the requirements of his
subject. Mindful of the essential, rejecting the needless, he always
realized his genius and its limitations. From the infinite variety
of the Savoy Magazine it is difficult to choose any of particular
importance: for his elaborate manner, the first plate to "_Under the
Hill_"; and in a simpler style, the fascinating illustration to his own
poem, "_The Barber_"; "_Ave Atque Vale_" and "_The Death of Pierrot_"
have, besides, a human interest over and above any artistic quality
they possess. For the "Volpone" drawings Beardsley again developed
his style, and seeking for new effects, reverted to pure pencil work.
The ornate, delicate initial letters, all he lived to finish, must be
seen in the originals before their sumptuous qualities, their solemn
melancholy dignity, their dexterous handling, can be appreciated. The
use of a camel's-hair brush for the illustrations to "_Mademoiselle de
Maupin_," one of his last works, should be noted, as he so rarely used
one. Beardsley's invention never failed him, so that it is almost
impossible to take a single drawing, or set of drawings, as typical of
his art. Each design is rather a type of his own intellectual mood.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF BEAUX AND BELLES
_From "The Rape of the Lock"_]