It is interesting to trace in the history of an indigenous art the
development of drawing that shall ultimately express ideas of
three-dimensional form. Prof. Emanuel Loewy, in his _Rendering of Nature
in Early Greek Art_, demonstrates how the early Greek sculpture (and
that of all primitive peoples, children and ungifted artists) shows an
aversion from depth. Their reliefs are of the flattest description,
almost raised contours, and their figures in the round have at first
only one aspect, or flat facade, so to speak, then three and four
aspects, and finally at the date of Lysippus the figures are fully
rounded out, and the members project at liberty in all directions. Then
for the first time Greek sculpture showed a complete conception of the
body's corporeity (_Kurperlichkeit_). The primitive artist, however well
he may be _intellectually_ aware of the three dimensions of an object,
does not fully apprehend its true aspect as offered to the eye from one
point of view. Following this conclusion, it is easy to see also in the
drawing of the early Greeks, children and so on, the same lack of idea
of the third dimension. The figures on the vases of the "finest period"
(about 475 B.C.), despite occasional foreshortenings, have, when
considered as representations of solid forms, a papery appearance. They
have not half the draughtsmanship shown by the latter period of the vase
industry, where the figures, though careless, stereotyped and
ill-composed, come forwards (to use Prof. Loewy's description of later
sculpture), go backwards, twist and turn in space in a manner which
cannot be excelled. The reproductions in figs. 1, 2, 3 will illustrate
the development. The primitive draughtsman is at first bound by the
silhouette. Later, he desires to fill out the interior, but this cannot
be done without in great part modifying his contour lines, because they
are generally merely indications of the disappearing and reappearing
inner modelling, i.e. of the figure's third dimension. Finally, the
draughtsman in full possession of a feeling for the corporeity of the
object will determine his contour entirely from within, a procedure
which is the exact opposite to that of his first beginnings. He
conceives the length, breadth and depth of an object and all its parts
as solid wholes. To him a body in violent foreshortening is as easy as a
simple profile, and, though it may not be as attractive, it is perhaps
more interesting because its contours are more bound up with, and
dependent upon, the inner modelling; in other words, it has more depth.
The draughtsman's idea of a form in nature is not a "flat idea," but one
containing three dimensions. This idea he seeks to express either by
line alone or by light and shade. If an artist has not a
three-dimensional "grasp" of forms, and, like a child, confines himself
to the primitive tracing of the silhouette, his compositions may be of
excellent flat pattern, and equal to any of the designs of ancient
carpets or early Greek vases; but in the light of the above argument,
and when compared with the productions of mature draughtsmen of all ages
and countries, they cannot be said to be complete drawings, any more
than the early unifacial statues of the Greeks can be called true
plastic, simply because in neither case has the artist yet reached the
highest possible development of corporeous conception, by which truly to
interpret the solid objects of nature as we know them, and as master
draughtsmen see them.
An attempt should be made to explain the psycho-physiological process
that must take place in the mind of the real draughtsman. When we look
at an object in nature we know its length and breadth by the flat image
on the retina; we see also the light and shade, which at once gives us a
correct idea of the object's depth or relief. But we do not, nor could
we, have this idea from the flat image on the retina alone, i.e. from
the mere perception of the light and shade: our knowledge of its depth
is the result of experience, i.e. of our having from infancy remarked a
certain dispensation of light and shade on, and peculiar to, every form
we have touched or traversed, and so, by association and inference,
being early enabled to have ideas of the depth of things by their
various arrangements of lights and darks without having to touch or
traverse them. Nevertheless the act (generally, but by no means always,
an unconscious one) of visually touching a form must necessarily take
place before we can apprehend the third dimension of a form. It is,
then, by the combination of the ideas derived from pure vision and the
ideas derived from touch that we know the length, breadth and depth of a
solid form. We have shown that the art of drawing is not an imitation,
but an expression of the artist's ideas of form; therefore all drawing
of forms that merely reproduces the image on the retina, and leaves
unconsulted the ideas of touch, is incomplete and primitive, because it
does not express a conception of form which is the result of an
association of the two senses; in other words, it does not contain an
idea of the object's relief or solidity. And all teaching of drawing
that does not impress upon the student the necessity of combining the
sense of vision with that of touch is erroneous, for it is thereby
limiting him to a mechanical task, viz. the tracing of the flat image on
the retina, which could be equally well done by mechanical means, or by
photography alone.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.]
In most of the schools of Europe and America it is true that great
stress is laid upon the importance of giving life-like relief to
drawings, but the method by which the students are allowed to get the
relief is by employing the sense of vision only. Tracing the silhouette
of the figure as minutely as possible, they then fill it out with
inner-modelling, which also is done by vision alone, for the lights and
darks of the original are copied down as so many flat patterns fitted
together and gradated like a child's puzzle, and are not used merely as
indication by which to "feel" the depth of the object. Such a procedure
is as if in drawing a brick of which three sides were visible, one were
first to draw the entire contour (fig. 4, a), the subtle perspective of
which he might get correct with some mechanical apparatus or by infinite
mechanical pains, and then fill up the interior with its "shading" (fig.
4, b). The method would be plainly laborious, unintelligent and
unedifying, and in drawing the most complicated foreshortened forms of
the human body it would seem still more illogical. That this principle
of instruction does not help the student to grasp the three-dimensional
character properly can be proved by the twenty-minute studies of the
average student who in his fourth year has won a gold medal for an
astounding piece of life-like stippling. They are still unintelligent
contour tracings, as if of cardboard figures, with a few irrelevant
patches of dark here and there within the silhouette.
But high modelling that would make for illusion of reality is not the
first aim of draughtsmanship, nor have the best draughtsmen employed it
save by exception. Michelangelo, Ingres, Holbein and Rembrandt have
shown us that it is possible to give sufficient relief with a mere
outline drawing. Again, the desire for salience often blunts the
student's sense of the real character of the forms he is rounding out.
So his elaborately modelled portrait may look very "life-like," but when
compared with the original it will generally be seen that the whole and
each of the individual forms of the drawing lack the peculiar character
of those of the original. It is by carefully watching for the character
of each fresh variety in figure and feature that great draughtsmen have
excelled, and not by "life-like" relief, or even a sophisticated
exposition of anatomical details at the expense of character. Can it be
seriously maintained that a masterly sudden grasp of true formal
character can be developed in a student by a system in which he
patiently spends many days and weeks in stippling into plastic
appearance one drawing which has originally been "laid in" by a
mechanical process?
It has been shown that to attempt to make an illusion of nature is
neither within the power of monochrome nor has been the chief aim of
draughtsmen, but that the art of drawing consists in giving a plain
statement of one's ideas, be they slight or studied, of the solid forms
of nature. But the question may still be asked: Why is it that a
rigorously accurate and finished drawing by a student or artist with
_no_ such ideas or conception is not good drawing, containing as it must
do all that can be seen in the original, missing only its complete
illusion? Why, in a word, is not a photograph a work of art?
The common explanation of the above important question is that the
artist "selects and eliminates from the forms of nature." But surely
this is the principle of the caricaturist and virtuoso? A beautiful
drawing, however slight, is but the precipitate of the whole in the
artist's mind. And a highly finished drawing by a master does not show
even any apparent selection or elimination. The adoption of the
principle of selection to differentiate art from mechanical reproduction
is fundamentally vicious, and could be shown to be wholly inapplicable
to the so-called formative arts. Nor could the theory of "selection" be
used as a principle of teaching, for if to the first question the pupil
would make, "What am I to select?" it were answered, "Only the important
things," then the next question, "What are the important things?" could
be answered only by saying, "That alone the real artist knows, but
cannot teach." Certainly there are important things that can be taught
the student in the initial stage of "laying-in" a figure, but _when_ to
begin selecting or eliminating no teacher could tell him, simply because
he must be aware that a true draughtsman can afford to eliminate nothing
when the truth of the whole is at stake. The artist's conception and its
expression may be slight or elaborate, but in neither case can selection
or elimination take place, for a true conception must be founded upon
the character of the whole, which is determined by the entire complex of
all the parts.
To explain the essential difference between art and mechanical drawing
or mechanical reproduction, a more applicable theory must be found.
Compare the art of telling a story. If, to describe an incident in the
street you had the entire affair reenacted on the same spot, you would
have but made a mechanical reproduction of it, leaving the spectator to
simplify the affair, and construct his _own_ conception of it. You have
not given _your_ ideas of the event, and so you have not made a work of
art. So, if a man draws an object detail for detail by any mechanical
process, or traces over its photograph, he has but reduplicated the
real aspect of the object, and has failed to give the spectator a simple
and intelligible idea of it. Starting out with the generous notion of
giving all, that there may be "something for everyone," he has given
nothing. He did not originally form an intelligible and simplified idea
of the figure, so how can his drawing be expected to give one to others?
But how can forms be made _more_ simple and intelligible than by
reproducing their aspect with absolute accuracy? Our combined sense of
vision and touch comprehends very easily certain elementary solid forms,
the sphere, the cube, the pyramid and the cylinder. No forms but these,
and their modifications, can be apprehended by the mind in one and the
same act of vision. Every complex form, even so simple as that of a
kidney, for instance, must be first broken up into its component parts
before it can be fully apprehended or remembered. Analogously with the
above, Prof. Wundt has shown how the mind can apprehend _as separate
units_ any number, of marbles for instance, up to five, after which
every number must be split up into lots of twos, threes, fours and
fives, or twenties, thirties and so on, before it can realize the full
content of that number in one and the same mental picture. So the only
way to receive an intelligible idea of a complex form, such as a human
figure, is first to discover in the figure itself, and then in all its
parts, only modifications of the above elementary solid forms, and the
drawing of a conception thus informed must needs be a very clear and
intelligible one. The more the artist is capable and practised, the more
clearly will he conceive and distinguish in nature each subtle
modification of these elementary forms, their direction, their relation
to, and their dependence upon one another. The only difference between a
good draughtsman and a bad one is the degree of subtlety of his
apprehension. Unless the draughtsman has seen some such clear forms in
his original, his labour to produce a work of art will be grievous and
fruitless. All good drawing is stamped with this kind of structural
insight. The more the artist adheres to nature, and the more finished
his drawing, the more will the lines and forms that he makes be, so to
speak, _in excess_ of those of nature, or dull imitation or photography.
It is not to be supposed that able draughtsmen work, or need ever have
worked, consciously in this manner. It is, indeed, the virtue peculiar
to the artist, as interpreter of form, that he instinctively comprehends
the real elemental character of complex forms, whilst the majority of
people (on the showing of their own drawings) entertain but confused or
_no_ ideas of them. It is because a good drawing reduces the chaos of
ideas supplied by the raw material of nature, to one intelligible manner
of seeing it, that all lovers of nature welcome it with joy. It is this
process of discovery and interpretation that marks the essential
difference between art and mechanical drawing or reproduction. Art gives
intelligible ideas of the forms of nature, mechanism attempts to
reduplicate their aspects.
There are some who hold that drawing is not exclusively a matter of
interpreting form, but that great artists have their own "personalities"
which they infuse into their work. They will ask, How is it otherwise to
be explained that two equally good draughtsmen will invariably make
different drawings of the same figure? Is it not for the same reason
that one man will divide up a row of eight marbles into groups of four,
and another into five and three? The subjectivity of experience governs
the different conceptions that good draughtsmen will form of the same
object. Accordingly as a draughtsman feels form so will he draw it, and
it is only because our sense apparatuses are more or less similarly
constituted that we can understand and appreciate one another's
conceptions.
But if the master draughtsman gives the true character of his model's
form, why is it that his drawings are not pleasing to all alike? Whence
the doubts and criticism that have been called forth by all original
artists? If we first examine the attitude of the average man, artist or
layman, towards nature, we can better explain his attitude towards works
of art. The average man or artist has not a highly developed
appreciation of form _per se_, whether it be the form of natural or
manufactured objects. And it would seem that he is still less a
disinterested spectator of the forms and features of his fellow beings
and animals, their movements, their colour, their value in a room or
landscape. He has sentimental, moral or intellectual preferences. In
other words, he likes or dislikes only those faces or figures which
hundreds of personal associations have taught him to like or dislike.
The riding man's admiration for the look of a particular horse is based
upon the fact that it looks like "a horse to go," and hence it is what
he calls beautiful, while the artist, in the capacity of artist and not
of sportsman, is not particular in his choice of horse-flesh, but finds
each animal equally interesting for itself alone. Consequently in art
any face, figure or object that does not come into the category of what
the average man cares for is condemned by him even as it would be in
real life, since he is no lover of form for form's sake, but provided
the subject or moral be pleasing the quality of the draughtsmanship is
of small account. The picture of a dwarf, or of an anatomy lesson, or of
a group of ordinary bourgeois folk would not really please him, even
though he were told that the work was by Velazquez, Rembrandt or Manet.
We have only to listen to the common criticism of works of art to know
that it is founded upon personal predilection only. We do not hear such
personal criticism upon drawings of landscape, not because artists do
them better, but because natural landscape has no interest for any one
other than for its form, or, at least, people do not hold such definite
personal likes or dislikes with regard to its various manifestations.
But the artist, though his own personal predilections may, and generally
do, lead him to work within that agreeable _milieu_, has, in the
capacity of artist, no subjective prejudices; indeed, if he had them, he
could not represent them by line, light and shade. He seeks always new
varieties of form; hence his subjects, and his manner of posing them,
are often unpleasing to the man who is busy with other affairs, and has
no great experience of nature's forms. Let a good draughtsman make a
successful likeness of the mother of some average man, and the latter
will be delighted, but it by no means follows that he will delight in a
drawing of the wife of the artist, though done by the same hand and with
equal skill.
If drawing is the art of giving one's ideas of the forms of nature, then
all criticism of drawing must be based upon the question, "How far does
such and such a work show an intimate knowledge of or intelligent
visualization of the forms we know in nature?" and no other principle of
judgment can be applicable to all drawing alike. Hence only those who
have by natural endowment a clear sense of the forms of things, and who
have made more than ordinary study of them, are in a position to apply
to drawings the above criterion with any approach to infallibility. It
is a fact that there are, and always have been, a certain number of
people who agree perfectly in their appreciation of the works of certain
draughtsmen of different times and countries, and who can state reasons
for their appreciation in definite and almost identical terms, for it is
based upon knowledge and experience. To such people all fine
draughtsmanship owes its public fame, and its immortality lies in their
safe keeping.
It may be argued that each has a right to his own opinion about form and
its representation, on the supposed ground that we all see form in
different ways. But there is a fallacy in this argument. If we take the
average man's drawing of any form more complex than a loaf of bread as a
fair and only testimony of his power of visualization of forms, we must
conclude that most of us see not differently, but _wrongly_, or rather
confusedly and disconnectedly, and that some can visualize form scarcely
at all. If this be true, the average person's sight and ability to judge
drawing is seriously diminished. If, then, drawing can be judged and
appreciated only by knowledge and experience of the forms of nature, no
critical formula could be made out so as to enable a child or savage or
ordinary civilized adult to estimate or enjoy it. If it be argued that
drawings are to be judged from some abstract or symbolic point of view,
independently of its subtle representation of form, then incompetent
drawing might be as beautiful as the competent, which would be absurd.
However, if the competent characterization of form were admitted as at
least the first condition of beautiful drawing, it would follow that
any abstract value it might have must be wholly dependent upon the
manner in which form is represented, and so it would be superfluous to
judge it by any standard other than the direct, definite and concrete
one of form. Abstract beauty, since no one has yet defined it agreeably
to all, is, apparently, with those who affect a feeling for it, a matter
of individual taste, and therefore cannot be questioned. But the clear
visualization of the forms of nature is based upon a special endowment
and knowledge, and can be criticized by demonstration. People may differ
in their tastes, but they may not, nor do they, differ upon questions of
real knowledge. Drawing, as the activity of giving one's ideas of form,
must therefore be judged not by taste but by knowledge.
In view of the purpose and content of drawing as here demonstrated,
there is no other principle of judgment that is relevant. Yet we often
hear drawing judged by criteria which are founded upon no such concrete
base but upon certain vague abstractions; or, again, upon a literary or
moral base which could be applicable only to symbolic art.
It is said that this or that draughtsman excels in "beauty of line." Now
in spite of the labours of many painters and theorists, it cannot
reasonably be held that one purely abstract line or curve is more
beautiful than another, for the simple reason that people have no common
ground upon which to establish the nature of abstract beauty. It may be,
however, that even as certain simple forms are more easily apprehended
than complex ones, there is the same distinction with regard to lines.
If then an artist of clean vision sees in an object of reality such
clear characteristic lines, he draws them not for their abstract beauty,
but merely because by them alone can he express his idea of the form
before him. The early Greek vase painters, and all great artists of
primitive periods, being attracted only by the silhouette, became very
subtle to observe nature's outlines in their most intelligible
character, and to this capacity is due their "beauty of line," and not
to any preconceived notion of an abstract line of perfect beauty, and
nowhere will "beauty of line" be found on Greek vases, or elsewhere,
that is not informed by, and does not express, a fine conception of
nature's contours. So too in later three-dimensional drawing there is no
beauty of line which does not intelligibly express not only the
directions and angles of the main contour, but the inner modelling, i.e.
the relief of the figure. It is only a superficial judgment that would
prefer one drawing to another, even if both may be equally good, because
the line of one is neat and the other "tormented." Contour being _in
nature_ an ideal line between one form and another, it is illogical to
treat it or criticize it in a _drawing_ as an actual and specific thing,
apart from the forms that make it and are made by it. If an artist drew
a dragon with deliberate disregard for animal construction, his drawing
would be silly, and only by a profound knowledge of the forms of nature
could it be made to have beautiful lines. Truth to nature is always
originality, and it is the only originality worth the name.
Again, some people judge one drawing as better than another in that it
shows more "individuality" or "temperament." Now a man's individuality
is, presumably, a vague feeling in our minds produced by the net result
of the ways in which he sees, hears, loves, thinks and so on, so that we
could not tell a man's individuality from any single one of his
manifestations. With his entire work as an artist before us, i.e. his
manner of seeing, we could do no more than infer, with the help of
outside data, from the subjects he chooses, and the neatness or boldness
of his line, something about his general character, and that with small
degree of certainty. To regard a man's works of art, or indeed any of
his manifestations, from this point of view, is, after all, nothing but
a kind of inquisitive cheiromancy. Those who pretend to like the
drawings of Watteau or Michelangelo "because they show more
individuality" than the incompetent work of a beginner or poor artist
cannot be skilled in their own business, because the lady who tells your
character by your handwriting finds as much individuality in bad writing
as in good,--sometimes even more. It may be entertaining to some to
guess at the artist's character from his works by this process of
inference and comparison, but it is unreasonable to imagine that
"individuality," as such, can be made a serious criterion of aesthetic
judgment. The only individuality a draughtsman can show directly by his
drawing is his individual way of conceiving the forms of nature, and
even this is immaterial provided the conception and drawing be good.
A word or two are necessary upon "style," which unfortunate word has
made much mystery in criticism. The great draughtsmen of every time and
country are known by their own words, as well as their works, to have
been infinitely respectful to the form of every detail in nature. Their
drawings always recall to our minds reality as we ourselves have seen it
(provided we have studied from nature and not from pictures). The
drawing of a hand, for instance, by Hokusai, Ingres or Durer, revives in
us our own impressions of the forms and aspects of real hands. In short
there is manifest in all good drawings, whatever their difference of
medium or superficial appearance, an entire dependence upon the forms of
nature. Hence we cannot imagine that they were conceived and executed
with the conscious effort to obtain some abstract style independent of
the material treated. The style they plainly have can spring from this
common quality, their truthful and well understood representation of
forms. Style, then, is the expression of a clear understanding of the
material from which the artist works. Unless a drawing shows this
understanding it would be as impossible as it would be gratuitous to
argue that it could have style. But it would seem that some people mean
by style nothing more than the mere superficial appearance of the work.
They would have a draughtsman draw "in the style of Holbein," but not
"in the style" of Rembrandt. This kind of preference, as remarked above,
is superficial, for it overlooks the main issue and purpose of drawing,
viz. the representation, by any means whatever, of the artist's ideas of
form. It is as though one should prefer a letter from Holbein to one
from Rembrandt, though both were equally expressive, simply because
Holbein's handwriting was prettier than Rembrandt's. Each draughtsman
manifests a kind of handwriting peculiar to himself even in his most
faithful rendering of form; and by this we can immediately recognize the
artist; many, for instance Hogarth and some Japanese, seem to have let
their quirks, full stops and so on, get the upper hand at the expense of
serious, sensitive draughtsmanship.
It is fair to suppose that all abstract principles of aesthetic
judgment, such as beauty of line, personality, style, nobility of
thought, romanticism, are merely pretexts set up by people who would
still affect to admire the drawings of recognized masters when they have
neither the knowledge of, nor the care for, the forms of nature by
virtue of which alone these drawings are what they are, and by which
alone they can be immediately appreciated. (J. R. FO.)
_Drawing-Office Work._--In modern engineering, few pieces of mechanism
are ever produced in the shops until their design has been settled in
the "drawing office," and embodied in suitable drawings showing general
and detailed views. This is a broad statement to which there are
exceptions, to be noted presently.
Drawing-office work is divisible into four principal groups. First,
there is the actual designing, by far the most difficult work, which is
confined to relatively few well-paid men. The qualifications necessary
for it are a good scientific, mathematical and engineering training, and
a specialized experience gathered in the particular class of mechanism
to which the designing relates. Second, there is the work of the rank
and file who take instructions from the chiefs, and elaborate the
smaller details and complete the drawings. Third, there are the tracers,
either youths or girls, who copy drawings on tracing paper without
necessarily understanding them. Fourth, there is a printing department
in which phototypes are produced on sensitized paper from tracings.
The character of the drawings used includes the general drawings, or
those which show a mechanism complete; and the detailed drawings, which
illustrate portions isolated from their connexions and relationships.
The first are retained in the office for reference, and copies are only
sent out to the men who have to assemble or erect and complete
mechanisms. The second are distributed to the several shops and
departments where sectional portions are being prepared, as pattern
shop, smithy, turnery, machine shop, &c. General drawings are, as a
rule, drawn to a small scale, ranging say from 1/8 in. to 1 in. to the
foot; but details are either to actual size, or to a large scale, as
from 1-1/2 in. to the foot or 3 in. or 6 in. to the foot.
A large number of minutiae are omitted from general drawings, but in the
detailed ones that are sent into the shops nothing is apparently too
trivial for insertion. In this respect, however, there is much
difference observable in the practice of different firms, and in the
best practice of the present compared with that of former years. In the
detailed drawings issued by many firms now, every tiny element and
section is not only drawn to actual size, but also fully dimensioned,
and the material to be used is specified in every case. This practice
largely adds to the work of the drawing-office staff, but it pays.
The present tendency therefore is to throw more responsibility than of
old on the drawing-office staff, in harmony with the tendency towards
greater centralization of authority. Much of detail that was formerly
left to the decision of foremen and skilled hands is now determined by
the drawing-office staff. Heterogeneity in details is thus avoided, and
the drawings reflect accurately and fully the past as well as the
present practice of the firm. To so great an extent is this the case
that the preparation of the tools, appliances, templets, jigs and
fixtures used in the shops is often now not permitted to be undertaken
until proper drawings have been prepared for them, though formerly the
foreman's own hand sketches generally sufficed. The practice of turret
work has been contributory to this result. In many establishments now
the designing of shop tools and fixtures is done in a department of the
office specially set apart for that kind of work.
The growing specialization of the engineer's work is reflected in the
drawing office. Specialists are sought after, and receive the highest
rates of pay. A man is required to be an expert in some one branch, as
electric cranes or hydraulic machines, steel works plant, lathes, or
heavy or light machine tools. The days are past in which all-round men
were in request. In those firms which manufacture a large range of
machinery, the drawing-office staff is separated into departments, each
under its own chief, and there is seldom any transference of men from
one to another.
Although in the majority of instances designs and drawings are completed
before the manufacture is undertaken, exceptions to this rule occur in
connexion with the work of standardizing machines and motors, for
repetitive and interchangeable manufacture on a large scale. Here it is
so essential to secure the most minute economies in manufacture that the
first articles made are of a more or less experimental character. Only
after no further improvement seems for the time being possible are the
drawings made or completed for standard use and reference. In some
modern shops even standardized drawings are scarcely used, but their
place is taken by the templets, jigs and fixtures which are employed by
the workmen as their sole guides in machining and assembling parts. By
the employment of these aids locations and dimensions are embodied and
fixed absolutely for any number of similar parts; reference to drawings
thus becomes unnecessary, and they therefore fall into disuse.
The mechanical work of the drawing office is confined strictly to
orthographic projections and sections of objects. Perspective views are
of no value, though occasionally an object is sketched roughly in
perspective as an aid to the rapid grasp of an idea. Drawings involve
plans, elevations, and sectional views, in vertical and angular
relations.
There are a good many conventionalities adopted which have no
correspondences in fact, with the object of saving the draughtsman's
time; or else, as in the case of superposition of plans and sections, to
show in one view what would otherwise require two drawings. Among the
convenient conventionalities are the indications of toothed wheels by
their pitch lines only, of screws by parallel lines and by diagonal
shade lines; and of rivets, bolts and studs by their centres only. The
adoption of this practice never leads to error.
In the preliminary preparation of drawings in pencil no distinction is
made between full or unbroken lines, and dotted or centre lines, and the
actual outlines of the objects. These differences are made when the
inking-in is being done. Indian or Chinese ink is used, because it does
not run when colours are applied. There are conventional colours used to
indicate different materials. But colouring is not adopted so much as
formerly, because of the practice of making sun prints instead of the
more expensive tracings for the multiplication of drawings. When
tracings are coloured the colour is applied on the back instead of on
the side where the ink lines are drawn.
The economical importance of the printing department of the drawing
office cannot be overestimated. Before its introduction drawings could
only be reproduced by laborious tracing on paper or cloth, the first
being flimsy, the second especially liable to absorb grease from the
hands of the workmen. By the sun copying processes (see SUN COPYING) any
number of prints can be taken from a single tracing. But even the fickle
sun is being displaced by electricity, so that prints can be made by
night as well as day, on cloudy days as well as on bright ones. Twenty
minutes of bright sunshine is required for a print, but the electric
light produces the same result within five minutes. Prints are blue,
white or brown. The advantage of white is that they can be coloured. But
the majority are blue (white lines on blue ground). All can be had on
stout, thin or medium paper.
An innovation in drawing-office equipment is that of vertical boards,
displacing horizontal or sloping ones. They have the advantage that the
draughtsman is able to avoid a bending posture at his work. The
objection on the ground that the tee-square must be held up constantly
with one hand is overcome by supporting and balancing it with cords and
weights. (J. G. H.)
DRAWING AND QUARTERING, part of the penalty anciently ordained in
England for treason. Until 1870 the full punishment for the crime was
that the culprit be dragged on a hurdle to the place of execution; that
he be hanged by the neck but not till he was dead; that he should be
disembowelled or drawn and his entrails burned before his eyes; that his
head be cut off and his body divided into four parts or quartered. This
brutal penalty was first inflicted in 1284 on the Welsh prince David,
and on Sir William Wallace a few years later. In Richard III.'s reign
one Collingbourne, for writing the famous couplet "The Cat, the Rat and
Lovel the Dog, Rule all England under the Hog," was executed on Tower
Hill. Stow says, "After having been hanged, he was cut down immediately
and his entrails were then extracted and thrown into the fire, and all
this was so speedily done that when the executioners pulled out his
heart he spoke and said 'Jesus, Jesus.'" Edward Marcus Despard and his
six accomplices were in 1803 hanged, drawn and quartered for conspiring
to assassinate George III. The sentence was last passed (though not
carried out) upon the Fenians Burke and O'Brien in 1867. There is a
tradition that Harrison the regicide, after being disembowelled, rose
and boxed the ears of the executioner.
DRAWING-ROOM (a shortened form of "with-drawing room," the longer form
being usual in the 16th and 17th centuries), the English name generally
employed for a room used in a dwelling-house for the reception of
company. It originated in the setting apart of such a room, as the more
private and exclusive preserve of the ladies of the household, to which
they withdrew from the dining-room. The term "drawing-room" is also used
in a special sense of the formal receptions or "courts" held by the
British sovereign or his representative, at which ladies are presented,
as distinguished from a "levee," at which men are presented.
DRAYTON, MICHAEL (1563-1631), English poet, was born at Hartshill, near
Atherstone, in Warwickshire in 1563. Even in childhood it was his great
ambition to excel in writing verses. At the age of ten he was sent as
page into some great family, and a little later he is supposed to have
studied for some time at Oxford. Sir Henry Goodere of Powlesworth became
his patron, and introduced him to the countess of Bedford, and for
several years he was esquire to Sir Walter Aston. How the early part of
his life was spent, however, we possess no means of ascertaining. It has
been surmised that he served in the army abroad. In 1590 he seems to
have come up to London, and to have settled there.
In 1591 he produced his first book, _The Harmony of the Church_, a
volume of spiritual poems, dedicated to Lady Devereux. The best piece in
this is a version of the Song of Solomon, executed with considerable
richness of expression. A singular and now incomprehensible fate befell
the book; with the exception of forty copies, seized by the archbishop
of Canterbury, the whole edition was destroyed by public order. It is
probable that he had come up to town laden with poetic writings, for he
published a vast amount within the next few years. In 1593 appeared
_Idea: The Shepherd's Garland_, a collection of nine pastorals, in which
he celebrated his own love-sorrows under the poetic name of Rowland. The
circumstances of this passion appear more distinctly in the cycle of 64
sonnets, published in 1594, under the title of _Idea's Mirror_, by which
we learn that the lady lived by the river Ankor in Warwickshire. It
appears that he failed to win his "Idea," and lived and died a bachelor.
In 1593 appeared the first of Drayton's historical poems, _The Legend of
Piers Gaveston_, and the next year saw the publication of _Matilda_, an
epical poem in rhyme royal. It was about this time, too, that he brought
out _Endimion and Phoebe_, a volume which he never republished, but
which contains some interesting autobiographical matter, and
acknowledgments of literary help from Lodge, if not from Spenser and
Daniel also. In his _Fig for Momus_, Lodge has reciprocated these
friendly courtesies. In 1596 Drayton published his long and important
poem of _Mortimerades_, which deals with the Wars of the Roses, and is a
very serious production in _ottava rima_. He afterwards enlarged and
modified this poem, and republished it in 1603 under the title of _The
Barons' Wars_. In 1596 also appeared another historical poem, _The
Legend of Robert, Duke of Normandy_, with which _Piers Gaveston_ was
reprinted. In 1597 appeared _England's Heroical Epistles_, a series of
historical studies, in imitation of those of Ovid. These last poems,
written in the heroic couplet, contain some of the finest passages in
Drayton's writings.
With the year 1597 the first half of the poet's literary life closes. He
had become famous by this rapid production of volumes, and he rested on
his oars. It would seem that he was much favoured at the court of
Elizabeth, and he hoped that it would be the same with her successor.
But when, in 1603, he addressed a poem of compliment to James I., on his
accession, it was ridiculed, and his services rudely rejected. His
bitterness of spirit found expression in a satire, _The Owl_, which he
printed in 1604, although he had no talent in this kind of composition.
Not much more entertaining was his scriptural narrative of _Moses in a
Map of his Miracles_, a sort of epic in heroics printed the same year.
In 1605 Drayton reprinted his most important works, that is to say, his
historical poems and the _Idea_, in a single volume which ran through
eight editions during his lifetime. He also collected his smaller
pieces, hitherto unedited, in a volume undated, but probably published
in 1605, under the title of _Poems Lyric and Pastoral_; these consisted
of odes, eclogues, and a fantastic satire called _The Man in the Moon_.
Some of the odes are extremely spirited. In this volume he printed for
the first time the famous _Ballad of Agincourt_.
He had adopted as early as 1598 the extraordinary resolution of
celebrating all the points of topographical or antiquarian interest in
the island of Great Britain, and on this laborious work he was engaged
for many years. At last, in 1613, the first part of this vast work was
published under the title of _Poly-Olbion_, eighteen books being
produced, to which the learned Selden supplied notes. The success of
this great work, which has since become so famous, was very small at
first, and not until 1622 did Drayton succeed in finding a publisher
willing to undertake the risk of bringing out twelve more books in a
second part. This completed the survey of England, and the poet, who had
hoped "to crown Scotland with flowers," and arrive at last at the
Orcades, never crossed the Tweed. In 1627 he published another of his
miscellaneous volumes, and this contains some of his most characteristic
and exquisite writing. It consists of the following pieces: _The Battle
of Agincourt_, an historical poem in _ottava rima_ (not to be confused
with his ballad on the same subject), and _The Miseries of Queen
Margaret_, written in the same verse and manner; _Nimphidia, the Court
of Faery_, a most joyous and graceful little epic of fairyland; _The
Quest of Cinthia_ and _The Shepherd's Sirena_, two lyrical pastorals;
and finally _The Moon Calf_, a sort of satire. Of these _Nimphidia_ is
perhaps the best thing Drayton ever wrote, except his famous ballad on
the battle of Agincourt; it is quite unique of its kind and full of rare
fantastic fancy.
The last of Drayton's voluminous publications was _The Muses' Elizium_
in 1630. He died in London on the 23rd of December 1631, was buried in
Westminster Abbey, and had a monument placed over him by the countess of
Dorset, with memorial lines attributed to Ben Jonson. Of the particulars
of Drayton's life we know almost nothing but what he himself tells us;
he enjoyed the friendship of some of the best men of the age. He
corresponded familiarly with Drummond; Ben Jonson, William Browne,
George Wither and others were among his friends. There is a tradition
that he was a friend of Shakespeare, supported by a statement of John
Ward, once vicar of Stratford-on-Avon, that "Shakespear, Drayton and Ben
Jonson had a merry meeting, and it seems, drank too hard, for Shakespear
died of a feavour there contracted." In one of his poems, an "elegy" or
epistle to Mr Henry Reynolds, he has left some valuable criticisms on
poets whom he had known. He was even engaged in the labour of the
dramatists; at least he had a share, with Munday, Chettle and Wilson, in
writing _Sir John Oldcastle_, which was printed in 1600. That he was a
restless and discontented, as well as a worthy, man may be gathered from
his own admissions.
The works of Drayton are bulky, and, in spite of the high place that he
holds in critical esteem, it cannot be pretended that he is much read.
For this his ponderous style is much to blame. The _Poly-Olbion_, the
most famous but far from the most successful of his writings, is tedious
and barren in the extreme. It was, he tells us, a "Herculean toil" to
him to compose it, and we are conscious of the effort. The metre in
which it is composed, a couplet of alexandrines, like the French
classical measure, is wholly unsuited to the English language, and
becomes excessively wearisome to the reader, who forgets the learning
and ingenuity of the poet in labouring through the harsh and overgrown
lines. His historical poems, which he was constantly rewriting and
improving, are much more interesting, and often rise to a true poetic
eloquence. His pastorals are brilliant, but overladen with colour and
sweet to insipidity. He is, with the one magnificent exception of "Since
there's no help, come let us kiss and part," which was first printed in
1619, an indifferent sonneteer. The poet with whom it is most natural to
compare him is Daniel; he is more rough and vigorous, more varied and
more daring than the latter, but Daniel surpasses him in grace, delicacy
and judgment. In their elegies and epistles, however, the two writers
frequently resemble each other. Drayton, however, approaches the very
first poets of the Elizabethan era in his charming _Nimphidia_, a poem
which inspired Herrick with his sweet fairy fancies and stands alone of
its kind in English literature; while some of his odes and lyrics are
inspired by noble feeling and virile imagination.
In 1748 a folio edition of Drayton's complete works was published
under the editorial supervision of William Oldys, and again in 1753
there appeared an issue in four volumes. But these were very
unintelligently and inaccurately prepared. A complete edition of
Drayton's works with variant readings was projected by Richard Hooper
in 1876, but was never carried to a conclusion; a volume of
selections, edited by A. H. Bullen, appeared in 1883. See especially
Oliver Elton, _Michael Drayton_ (1906). (E. G.)
DREAM (from a root _dreug_, connected with Germ. _trugen_, to deceive),
the state of consciousness during sleep; it may also be defined as a
hallucination or illusion peculiarly associated with the condition of
sleep, but not necessarily confined to that state. In sleep the
withdrawal of the mind from the external world is more complete and the
objectivity of the dream images is usually unquestioned, whereas in the
waking state the hallucination is usually recognized as such; we may,
however, be conscious that we are dreaming, and thus in a measure be
aware of the hallucinatory character of our percepts. The physiological
nature of sleep (q.v.; see also MUSCLE AND NERVE) and of dreaming is
obscure. As a rule the control over the voluntary muscles in dreams is
slight; the sleep-walker is the exception and not the rule, and the
motor activity represented in the dream is seldom realized in practice,
largely, no doubt, because we are ignorant, under these circumstances,
of the spatial relations of our bodies. Among the psychological problems
raised by dreams are the condition of attention, which is variously
regarded as altogether absent or as fixed, the extent of mental control,
and the relation of ideas and motor impulses. There is present in all
dreams a certain amount of dissociation of consciousness, or of
obstructed association, which may manifest itself in the preliminary
stage of drowsiness by such phenomena as the apparent transformation or
inversion of the words of a book. We may distinguish two types of
dreams, (a) representative or centrally initiated, (b) presentative or
due to the stimulation of the end organs of sense. In both cases, the
dream having once been initiated, we are concerned with a process of
reasoning, i.e. the combination of ideas suggested by resemblances or
other associative elements. The false reasoning of dreams is due in the
first place to the absence, to a large extent, of the memory elements on
which our ordinary reasoning depends, and, secondly, to the absence of
sensory elements.
_Objectivity of Dreams._--In waking life we distinguish ideas or mental
images from real objects by the fact that we are able under normal
circumstances to dismiss the former at will. In sleep, on the other
hand, we have, in the first place, no real objects with which to compare
the images, which therefore take on a character of reality comparable to
the hallucination of waking life; moreover, powers of visualization and
other faculties are enhanced in sleep, so that the strength of dream
images considerably exceeds those of the mental images of the ordinary
man; changes in powers of attention, volition and memory help to
increase the hallucinatory force of the dream. In the second place, the
ideas of our dreams are presented in the form of images, which we are
unable to dismiss; we therefore mistake them for realities, exactly as
the sufferer from delirium tremens in waking life is apt to regard his
phantoms as real.
_Relations of Dreaming and Sleep._--It has been maintained by Hamilton
and others (see below, Modern Views) that dreams invariably accompany
sleep, and that we always find ourselves dreaming when we are awakened.
But even if it were true that dreams were invariably experienced at the
moment of waking, this would not by any means establish the invariable
concomitance of dreams and sleep of all sorts; at most it would show
that imperfect sleep is a condition of dreaming; in the same way, dreams
before wakening, known to have taken place either from the recollection
of the dreamer or from the observation of another person, may clearly be
due to imperfect wakening, followed by a deepening of sleep. It is,
however, by no means true that awakening from sleep is invariably
accompanied by a dream; in considering the question it must be
recollected that it is complicated by the common experience of very
rapid forgetfulness of even a vivid and complicated dream, only the fact
of having dreamt remaining in the memory; it is clear that amnesia may
go so far that even the fact of dreaming may be forgotten. On the whole,
however, there appear to be no good grounds for the assertion that we
always dream when we are asleep. On the other hand, there is no proof
that partial awakening is a necessary condition of dreaming.
_Representative Dreams._--Centrally initiated dreams may be due to a
kind of automatic excitation of the cerebral regions, especially in the
case of those clearly arising from the occupations or sensations of the
day or the hours immediately preceding the dream. To the same cause we
may attribute the recalling of images apparently long since forgotten.
Some of these revivals of memory may be due to the fact that links of
association which are insufficient to restore an idea to consciousness
in the waking state may suffice to do so in sleep. Just as a good
visualizer in his waking moments may call up an object never clearly
seen and yet distinguish the parts, so in sleep, as L. F. A. Maury
(1817-1892) and others have shown, an image may be more distinct in a
dream than it was when originally presented (see also below, Memory).
_Presentative Dreams._--The dreams due to real sensations, more or less
metamorphosed, may arise (a) from the states of the internal organs, (b)
from muscular states, (c) from subjective sensations due to the
circulation, &c., or (d) from the ordinary cause of the action of
external stimuli on the organs of sense.
(a) The state of the stomach, heart, &c., has long been recognized as
important in the causation of dreams (see below, Classical Views). The
common sensation of flying seems to be due in many cases to the
disturbance of these organs setting up sensations resembling those felt
in rapidly ascending or descending, as in a swing or a lift. Indigestion
is a frequent cause of nightmare--the term given to oppressive and
horrible dreams--and bodily discomfort is sometimes translated into the
moral region, giving rise to the dream that a murder has been committed.
(b) Dreams of flying, &c., have also been attributed to the condition of
the muscles during sleep; W. Wundt remarks that the movements of the
body, such as breathing, extensions of the limbs and so on, must give
rise to dream fancies; the awkward position of the limbs may also excite
images. (c) Especially important, probably, for the dreams of the early
part of the night are the retinal conditions to which are due the
_illusions hypnagogiques_ of the preliminary drowsy stage; but probably
Ladd goes too far in maintaining that entoptic stimuli, either intra- or
extra-organic in origin, condition all dreams. _Illusions
hypnagogiques_, termed popularly "faces in the dark," of which Maury has
given a full account, are the not uncommon sensations experienced,
usually visual and seen with both open and closed eyes, in the interval
between retiring to rest and actually falling asleep; they are
comparable to the crystal-gazing visions of waking moments; though
mainly visual they may also affect other senses. Besides the eye the ear
may supply material for dreams, when the circulation of the blood
suggests rushing waters or similar ideas. (d) It is a matter of common
observation that the temperature of the surface of the body determines
in many cases the character of the dreams, the real circumstances, as
might be expected from the general character of the dream state, being
exaggerated. In the same way the pressure of bed-clothes, obstruction of
the supply of air, &c., may serve as the starting-point of dreams. The
common dream of being unclothed may perhaps be due to this cause, the
sensations associated with clothing being absent or so far modified as
to be unrecognizable. In the same way the absence of foot-gear may
account for some dreams of flying. It is possible to test the influence
of external stimuli by direct experiment; Maury made a number of trials
with the aid of an assistant.
_Rapidity of Dreams._--It has often been asserted that we dream with
extreme rapidity; but this statement is by no means borne out by
experiment. In a trial recorded by J. Claviere the beginning of the
dream was accurately fixed by the sounding of an alarm clock, which
rang, then was silent for 22 seconds, and then began to ring
continuously; the dream scene was in a theatre, and he found by actual
trial that the time required in ordinary life for the performance of the
scenes during the interval of silence was about the same as in ordinary
life. Spontaneous dreams seem to show a different state of things; it
must be remembered that (1) dreams are commonly a succession of images,
the number of which cannot be legitimately compared with the number of
extra-organic stimuli which would correspond to them in ordinary life;
the real comparison is with mental images; and (2) the rapidity of
association varies enormously in ordinary waking life. No proof,
therefore, that some dreams are slow can show that this mentation in
others is not extremely rapid. The most commonly quoted case is one of
Maury's; a bed-pole fell on his neck, and (so it is stated) he dreamt
of the French Revolution, the scenes culminating in the fall of the
guillotine on his neck; this has been held to show that (1) dreams are
extremely rapid; and (2) we construct a dream story leading up to the
external stimulus which is assumed to have originated the dream. But
Maury's dream was not recorded till many years after it had occurred;
there is nothing to show that the dream, in this as in other similar
cases, was not in progress when the bed-pole fell, which thus by mere
coincidence would have intervened at the psychological moment; Maury's
memory on waking may have been to some extent hallucinatory. But there
are records of waking states, not necessarily abnormal, in which
time-perception is disturbed and brief incidents seem interminably long;
on the other hand, it appears from the experiences of persons recovered
from drowning that there is great rapidity of ideation before the
extinction of consciousness; the same rapidity of thought has been
observed in a fall from a bicycle.
_Reason in Dreams._--Studies of dreams of normal individuals based on
large collections of instances are singularly few in number; such as
there are indicate great variations in the source of dream thoughts and
images, in the coherence of the dream, and in the powers of memory. In
ordinary life attention dominates the images presented; in dreams
heterogeneous and disconnected elements are often combined; a
resemblance need not even have been consciously recognized for the mind
to combine two impressions in a dream; for example, an aching tooth may
(according to the dream) be extracted, and found to resemble rocks on
the sea-shore, which had not struck the waking mind as in any way like
teeth. Incongruence and incoherence are not, however, a necessary
characteristic of dreams, and individuals are found whose dream ideas
and scenes show a power of reasoning and orderliness equal to that of a
scene imagined or experienced in ordinary life. In some cases the
reasoning power may attain a higher level than that of the ordinary
conscious life. In a well-authenticated case Professor Hilprecht was
able in a dream to solve a difficulty connected with two Babylonian
inscriptions, which had not previously been recognized as complementary
to each other; a point of peculiar interest is the dramatic form in
which the information came to him--an old Babylonian priest appeared in
his dream and gave him the clue to the problem (see also below,
Personality).
_Memory in Dreams._--Although prima facie the dream memory is
fragmentary and far less complete than the waking memory, it is by no
means uncommon to find a revival in sleep of early, apparently quite
forgotten, experiences: more striking is the recollection in dreams of
matters never supraliminally (see SUBLIMINAL SELF) apperceived at all.
The relation between the memory in dreams and in the hypnotic trance is
curious: suggestions given in the trance may be accepted and then
forgotten or never remembered in ordinary life; this does not prevent
them from reappearing occasionally in dreams; conversely dreams
forgotten in ordinary life may be remembered in the hypnotic trance.
These dream memories of other states of consciousness suggest that
dreams are sometimes the product of a deeper stratum of the personality
than comes into play in ordinary waking life. It must be remembered in
this connexion that we judge of our dream consciousness by our waking
recollections, not directly, and our recollection of our dreams is
extraordinarily fragmentary; we do not know how far our dream memory
really extends. Connected with memory of other states is the question of
memory in dreams of previous dream states; occasionally a separate chain
of memory, analogous to a secondary personality, seems to be formed. We
may be also conscious that we have been dreaming, and subsequently,
without intermediate waking, relate as a dream the dream previously
experienced. In spite of the irrationality of dreams in general, it by
no means follows that the earlier and later portions of a dream do not
cohere; we may interpolate an episode and again take up the first
motive, exactly as happens in real life. The strength of the dream
memory is shown by the recurrence of images in dreams; a picture, the
page of a book, or other image may be reproduced before our eyes several
times in the course of a dream without the slightest alteration,
although the waking consciousness would be quite incapable of such a
feat of visualizing. In this connexion may be mentioned the phenomenon
of redreaming; the same dream may recur either on the same or on
different nights; this seems to be in many cases pathological or due to
drugs, but may also occur under normal conditions.
_Personality._--As a rule the personality of the dreamer is unchanged;
but it also happens that the confusion of identity observed with regard
to other objects embraces the dreamer himself; he imagines himself to be
some one else; he is alternately actor and observer; he may see himself
playing a part or may divest himself of his body and wander
incorporeally. Ordinary dreams, however, do not go beyond a splitting of
personality; we hold conversations, and are intensely surprised at the
utterances of a dream figure, which, however, is merely an _alter ego_.
As in the case of Hilprecht (see above) the information given by another
part of the personality may not only appear but actually be novel.
_Supernormal Dreams._--In addition to dreams in which there is a revival
of memory or a rise into consciousness of facts previously only
subliminally cognized, a certain number of dreams are on record in which
telepathy (q.v.) seems to play a part; much of the evidence is, however,
discounted by the possibility of hallucinatory memory. Another class of
dreams (prodromic) is that in which the abnormal bodily states of the
dreamer are brought to his knowledge in sleep, sometimes in a symbolical
form; thus a dream of battle or sanguinary conflict may presage a
haemorrhage. The increased power of suggestion which is the normal
accompaniment of the hypnotic trance may make its appearance in dreams,
and exercise either a curative influence or act capriciously in
producing hysteria and the tropic changes known as "stigmata." We may
meet with various forms of hyperaesthesia in dreams; quite apart from
the recovery of sight by those who have lost it wholly or in part (see
below, Dreams of the Blind), we find that the powers of the senses may
undergo an intensification, and, e.g., the power of appreciating music
be enormously enhanced in persons usually indifferent to it. Mention
must also be made of the experience of R. L. Stevenson, who tells in
_Across the Plains_ how by self-suggestion he was able to secure from
his dreams the motives of some of his best romances.
_Voluntary Action in Dreams._--Connected with dreams voluntarily
influenced is the question of how far dreams once initiated are
modifiable at the will of the dreamer. Some few observers, like F. W. H.
Myers and Dr F. van Eeden, record that they can at longer or shorter
intervals control their actions in their dreams, though usually to a
less extent than their imagined actions in waking life. Dr van Eeden,
for example, tells us that he has what he calls a "clear dream" once a
month and is able to predetermine what he will do when he becomes aware
that he is dreaming.
_Dreams of Children._--Opinions differ widely as to the age at which
children begin to dream; G. Compayre maintains that dreaming has been
observed in the fourth month, but reflex action is always a possible
explanation of the observed facts. S. de Sanctis found that in boys of
eleven only one out of eight said that he dreamt seldom, as against four
out of seven at the age of six; but we cannot exclude the possibility
that dreams were frequent but forgotten. If correct, the observation
suggests that dreams appear comparatively late. Individual cases of
dreaming, or possibly of waking hallucination, are known as early as the
age of two and a half years; according to de Sanctis dreams occur before
the fifth year, but are seldom remembered; as a rule the conscious dream
age begins with the fourth year; speech or movement, however, in earlier
years, though they may be attributed to reflex action, are more probably
due to dreams.
_Dreams of the Old._--In normal individuals above the age of sixty-five
de Sanctis found dreams were rare; atmospheric influences seem to be
important elements in causing them; memory of them is weak; they are
emotionally poor, and deal with long past scenes.
_Dreams of Adults._--Any attempt to record or influence our dreams may
be complicated by (a) direct suggestion, leading to the production of
the phenomena for which we are looking, and (b) indirect suggestion
leading to the more lively recollection of dreams in general and of
certain dreams in particular. Consequently it cannot be assumed that the
facts thus ascertained represent the normal conditions. According to F.
Heerwagen's statistics women sleep more lightly and dream more than men;
the frequency of dreams is proportional to their vividness; women who
dream sleep longer than those who do not; dreams tend to become less
frequent with advancing age. The total number of remembered dreams
varies considerably with different observers, some attaining an average
of ten per night. The senses mainly active in dreams are, according to
one set of experiments, vision in 60%, hearing in 5%, taste in 3%, and
smell in 1.5%, where the dreamers had looked at coloured papers before
falling asleep; when taste or smell had been stimulated, the visual
dreams fell to about 50%, and the sense stimulated was active twice as
often as it would otherwise be; dreams in which motion was a prominent
feature were 10% of the former class, 14% and 18% of the two latter.
Experiments by J. Mourly Vold show even more distinctly the influence of
suggestion both as to the form, visual or otherwise, and the content
(colours and forms of objects) of dreams. According to most observers
dreams are most vivid and frequent between the ages of 20 and 25, but H.
Maudsley puts the maximum between 30 and 35. De Sanctis got replies from
165 men and 55 women: the proportion between the sexes closely agrees
with the results attained by Heerwagen and M. W. Calkins; 13% of men and
33% of women said they always dreamt, 27% and 45% often, 50% and 13%
rarely, and the remainder (precisely the same percentage for men and
women--9.09) either did not dream or did not remember that they dreamt.
Nearly twice as many women as men had vivid dreams; in the matter of
complication of the dream experiences the sexes are about equal; daily
life supplies more material in the dreams of men; nearly twice as many
women as men remember their dreams clearly, a fact which hangs together
to some extent with the vividness of the dreams, though it by no means
follows that a vivid dream is well remembered. There are great
variations in the emotional character of dreams; some observers report
twice as many unpleasant dreams as the reverse; in other cases the
emotions seem to be absent; others again have none but pleasing dreams.
Individual experience also varies very largely as to the time when most
dreams are experienced; in some cases the great majority are subsequent
to 6.30 A.M.; others find that quite half occur before 4.0 A.M.
_Dreams of the Neuropathic, Insane, Idiots, &c._--Much attention has
been given to the dreams of hysterical subjects. It appears that their
dreams are specially liable to exercise an influence over their waking
life, perhaps because they do not distinguish them, any more than their
waking hallucinations, from reality. P. Janet maintains that the cause
of hysteria may be sought in a dream. The dreams of the hysterical have
a tendency to recur. Epileptic subjects dream less than the hysterical,
and their dreams are seldom of a terrifying nature; certain dreams seem
to take the place of an epileptic attack. Dreaming seems to be rare in
idiots. De Sanctis divides paranoiacs into three classes: (a) those with
systematized delusions, (b) those with frequent hallucinations, and (c)
degenerates;--the dreams of the first class resemble their delusions;
the second class is distinguished by the complexity of its dreams; the
third by their vividness, by their delusions of megalomania, and by
their influence on daily life. Alcoholic subjects have vivid and
terrifying dreams, characterized by the frequent appearance of animals
in them, and delirium tremens may originate during sleep.
_Dreams of the Blind, Deaf, &c._--As regards visual dreams the blind
fall into three classes--(1) those who are blind from birth or become
blind before the age of five; (2) those who become blind at the
"critical age" from five to seven; (3) those who become blind after the
age of seven. The dreams of the first class are non-visual; but in the
dreams of Helen Keller there are traces of a visual content; the second
class sometimes has visual dreams; the third class does not differ from
normal persons, though visual dreams may fade away after many years of
blindness. In the case of the partially blind the clearness of vision in
a dream exceeds that of normal life when the partial loss of sight
occurred in the sixth or later years. The education of Helen Keller is
interesting from another point of view; after losing the senses of sight
and hearing in infancy she began her education at seven years and was
able to articulate at eleven; it is recorded that she "talked" in her
dreams soon after. This accords with the experience of normal
individuals who acquire a foreign language. Her extraordinary memory
enables her to recall faintly some traces of the sunlit period of her
life, but they hardly affect her dreams, so far as can be judged. The
dreams of the blind, according to the records of F. Hitschmann, present
some peculiarities; animals as well as man speak; toothache and bodily
pains are perceived as such; impersonal dreaming, taking the form of a
drama or reading aloud, is found; and he had a strong tendency to
reproduce or create verse.
_Dreams of Animals._--We are naturally reduced to inference in dealing
with animals as with very young children; but various observations seem
to show that dreams are common in older dogs, especially after hunting
expeditions; in young dogs sleep seems to be quieter; dogs accustomed to
the chase seem to dream more than other kinds.
_Dreams among the Non-European Peoples._--In the lower stages of culture
the dream is regarded as no less real and its personages as no less
objective than those of the ordinary waking life; this is due in the
main to the habit of mind of such peoples (see ANIMISM), but possibly in
some measure also to the occurrence of veridical dreams (see TELEPATHY).
In either case the savage explanation is animistic, and animism is
commonly assumed to have been developed very largely as a result of
theorising dreams. Two explanations of a dream are found among the lower
races: (1) that the soul of the dreamer goes out, and visits his
friends, living or dead, his old haunts or unfamiliar scenes and so on;
or (2) that the souls of the dead and others come to visit him, either
of their own motion or at divine command. In either of the latter cases
or at a higher stage of culture when the dream is regarded as god-sent,
though no longer explained in terms of animism, it is often regarded as
oracular (see ORACLE), the explanation being sometimes symbolical,
sometimes simple.
There are two classes of dreams which have a special importance in the
lower cultures: (1) the dream or vision of the initiation fast; and (2)
the dream caused by the process known as incubation, which is often
analogous to the initiation fast. In many parts of North America the
individual Indian acquires a tutelary spirit, known as _manito_ or
_nagual_, by his initiation dream or vision; the idea being perhaps that
the spirit by the act of appearing shows its subjection to the will of
the man. Similarly, the magician acquires his familiar in North America,
Australia and elsewhere by dreaming of an animal. Incubation consists in
retiring to sleep in a temple, sometimes on the top of a mountain or
other unusual spot, in order to obtain a revelation through a dream.
Fasting, continence and other observances are frequently prescribed as
preliminaries. Certain classes of dreams have, especially in the middle
ages, been attributed to the influence of evil spirits (see DEMONOLOGY).
_Classical and Medieval Views of Dreams._--Side by side with the
prevalent animistic view of dreams we find in antiquity and among the
semi-civilized attempts at philosophical or physiological explanations
of dreams. Democritus, from whom the Epicureans derived their theory,
held the cause of them to be the simulacra or phantasms of corporeal
objects which are constantly floating about the atmosphere and attack
the soul in sleep--a view hardly distinguishable from animism.
Aristotle, however, refers them to the impressions left by objects seen
with the eyes of the body; he further remarks on the exaggeration of
slight stimuli when they are incorporated into a dream; a small sound
becomes a noise like thunder. Plato, too, connects dreaming with the
normal waking operations of the mind; Pliny, on the other hand, admits
this only for dreams which take place after meals, the remainder being
supernatural. Cicero, however, takes the view that they are simply
natural occurrences no more and no less than the mental operations and
sensations of the waking state. The pathological side of dreams
attracted the notice of physicians. Hippocrates was disposed to admit
that some dreams might be divine, but held that others were premonitory
of diseased states of the body. Galen took the same view in some of his
speculations.
Symbolical interpretations are combined with pathological no less than
animistic interpretations of dreams; they are also extremely common
among the lower classes in Europe at the present day, but in this case
no consistent explanation of their importance for the divination of
future events is usually discoverable. Among the Greeks Plato in the
_Timaeus_ (ch. xlvi, xlvii) explains dreams as prophetic visions
received by the lower appetitive soul through the liver; their
interpretation requires intelligence. The Stoics seem to have held that
dreams may be a divine revelation and more than one volume on the
interpretation of dreams has come down to us, the most important being
perhaps the [Greek: Oneirokritika] of Daldianus Artemidorus. We find
parallels to this in a Mussulman work by Gabdorrachaman, translated by
Pierre Vattier under the name of _Onirocrite mussulman_, and in the
numerous books on the interpretation of dreams which circulate at the
present day. In Siam dream books are found (_Intern. Archiv fur Anthr._
viii 150); one of the functions of the Australian medicine man is to
decide how a dream is to be interpreted.
_Modern Views._--The doctrine of Descartes that existence depended upon
thought naturally led his followers to maintain that the mind is always
thinking and consequently that dreaming is continuous. Locke replied to
this that men are not always conscious of dreaming, and it is hard to be
conceived that the soul of the sleeping man should this moment be
thinking, while the soul of the waking man cannot recollect in the next
moment a jot of all those thoughts. That we always dream was maintained
by Leibnitz, Kant, Sir W. Hamilton and others; the latter refutes the
argument of Locke by the just observation that the somnambulist has
certainly been conscious, but fails to recall the fact when he returns
to the normal state.
It has been commonly held by metaphysicians that the nature of dreams is
explained by the suspension of volition during sleep; Dugald Stewart
asserts that it is not wholly dormant but loses its hold on the
faculties, and he thus accounts for the incoherence of dreams and the
apparent reality of dream images.
Cudworth, from the orderly sequence of dream combinations and their
novelty, argues that the state arises, not from any "fortuitous dancings
of the spirits," but from the "phantastical power of the soul."
According to K. A. Scherner, dreaming is a decentralization of the
movement of life; the ego becomes purely receptive and is merely the
point around which the peripheral life plays in perfect freedom. Hobbes
held that dreams all proceed from the agitation of the inward parts of a
man's body, which, owing to their connexion with the brain, serve to
keep the latter in motion. For Schopenhauer the cause of dreams is the
stimulation of the brain by the internal regions of the organism through
the sympathetic nervous system. These impressions the mind afterwards
works up into quasi-realities by means of its forms of space, time,
causality, &c.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.--For full lists of books and articles see J. M. Baldwin's
_Dictionary of Philosophy_, bibliography volume (1906), and S. de
Sanctis, _I Sogni_, also translated in German with additions as _Die
Traume_. Important works are--Binz, _Uber den Traum_, Giessler _Aus den
Tiefen des Traumlebens_, Maury, _Le Sommeil et les reves_, Radestock,
_Schlaf und Traum_, Tessie, _Les Reves_, Spitta, _Schlaf und
Traumzustande_. For super-normal dreams see F. W. H. Myers, _Human
Personality_, vol i, and _Proc S P R_ viii 362. For voluntary dreams see
_Proc. S P R_ iv 241, xvii. 112. On prophetic dreams see _Monist_, xi
161, _Bull. Soc. Anth._ (Paris, 1901), 196, (1902), 228, _Rev. de
synthese historique_ (1901), 151, &c. On incubation see Deubner, _De
incubatione_, Maury, La Magie. On the dreams of American Indians see
_Handbook of American Indians_ (Washington, 1907), s v "Dreams" and
"Manito." On the interpretation of dreams see Freud, _Die Traumdeutung_.
Other works are F. Greenwood, _Imagination in Dreams_, Hutchinson,
_Dreams and their Meanings_. (N. W. T.)
DREDGE AND DREDGING. The word "dredge" is used in two senses. (1) From
Mid. Eng. _dragie_, through Fr. _dragee_, from Gr. [Greek: tragemata],
sweetmeats, it means a confection of sugar formed with seeds, bits of
spice or medicinal agents. The word in this sense is obsolete, but
survives in "dredger," a box with a perforated top used for sprinkling
such a sugar-mixture, flour or other powdered substance. "Dredge" is
also a local term for a mixed crop of oats and barley sown together
("maslin" or "meslin," cf. Fr. _dragee_), and in mining is applied to
ore of a mixed value. (2) Connected with "drag," or at least derived
from the same root, dredge or dredger is a mechanical appliance for
collecting together and drawing to the surface ("dredging") objects and
material from the beds of rivers or the bottom of the sea. In the
following account the operations of dredging in this sense are discussed
(1) as involved in hydraulic engineering, (2) in connexion with the work
of the naturalist in marine biology.