... There were now two of us on the bench. My neighbor was leafing through a book, from whose pages a withered flower slipped unnoticed. I picked it up to give it back to him. The stranger greeted me, raised it to his withered lips, and placed it back in the mysterious book.

"This flower," I ventured to say, "is surely the symbol of some sweet, buried love? Alas! We all have a day of happiness in the past that disenchants our future."

"Are you a poet?" he replied, smiling. The thread of the conversation had taken hold: now, on what spool would it unravel?

"A poet, if it is a poet to have sought art!"

"You sought art! And did you find it?"

"Would to heaven that art were not a chimera!"

"A chimera!... and I too have sought it!" he exclaimed with the enthusiasm of genius and the emphasis of triumph.

I begged him to tell me to which optician he owed his discovery, since art had been to me what a needle is to a haystack.... 

“I had resolved,” he said, “to seek art as the Rosicrucians in the Middle Ages sought the philosopher's stone; art, that philosopher's stone of the nineteenth century!”

“One question first engaged my scholasticism. I asked myself: What is art? — Art is the science of the poet. — A definition as clear as a diamond of the finest water.

“But what are the elements of art?” The second question, which I hesitated to answer for several months—One evening, as I was digging through the dusty charnel house of a bookseller by lamplight, I unearthed a small book in a baroque and unintelligible language, its title emblazoned with an amphitheater unfurling the two words "Gott—Liebe" on a banner. A few pennies paid for this treasure. I climbed to my garret, and there, as I curiously spelled out the enigmatic book before the moonlit window, it suddenly seemed to me that the finger of God was touching the keyboard of the universal organ. Thus, buzzing moths emerge from the bosom of flowers that swoon their lips to the kisses of the night. I climbed through the window and looked down. Oh, surprise! Was I dreaming? A terrace I hadn't suspected with the sweet emanations of its orange trees, a young girl dressed in white, playing the harp, an old man dressed in black praying on his knees!

— The book fell from my hands.

THIS TEXT IS AN EXTRACT FROM THE BOOK "GASPARD DE LA NUIT" by Louis Bertrand... [EBook #17708]

HERE TRANSLATED BY JULES LETAMBOUR

 .........

Gaspard de la Nuit (originally published in 1842) combines the haunting Gothic imagery of ETA Hoffman with the colorful romantic verve of Victor Hugo. In it, you will meet Scarbo the vampire dwarf, Ondine, the faerie princess of the waters, and an unforgettable assortment of lepers, alchemists, beggars, swordsmen and ghosts.

Gaspard de la Nuit inspired Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Mallarmé, the Surrealist Movement and composer Maurice Ravel, who wrote a suite of virtuoso piano pieces patterned after it.

This new edition has been entirely retranslated by renowned poet and literary historian Donald Sidney-Fryer, the author of Songs and Sonnets Atlantean who has edited four collections of prose and poetry by Clark Ashton Smith.

In his extensive introduction and afterword, Sidney-Fryer retraces the steps in Bertrand's life, casts a new light on his works and follows the elusive Gaspard from the Three Kings of Bethlehem to Casper the Friendly Ghost.

This collection features a foreword by T.E.D. Klein and is illustrated by drawings from Bertand himself.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/927779.Gaspard_de_la_Nuit

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THIS POST DOES NOT ANSWER THE WHAT IS ART QUESTION, BUT ALSO INTRODUCES THE DREAMS, THE IMAGINATION IN MYSTICISM THAT MADE Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936) PRONOUNCE THE IMPORTANCE OF SUCH VERSUS PURE LOGIC... MYSTICISM DOES NOT MEAN A BELIEF IN GODS AND DEMONS, BUT IN THE ENTERTAINING CREATION FROM THE HUMAN MIND THEREOF... THROUGH ART.

            [G.L. INTERPRETATION OF CHESTERTON'S VIEWS]

Who is this Guy and Why Haven’t I Heard of Him?

by Dale Ahlquist

I’ve heard the question more than once. It is asked by people who have just started to discover G.K. Chesterton. They have begun reading a Chesterton book, or perhaps have seen an issue of Gilbert, or maybe they’ve only encountered a series of pithy quotations that marvelously articulate some forgotten bit of common sense. They ask the question with a mixture of wonder, gratitude and… resentment. They are amazed by what they have discovered. They are thankful to have discovered it. And they are almost angry that it has taken so long for them to make the discovery.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874-1936) cannot be summed up in one sentence. Nor in one paragraph. In fact, in spite of the fine biographies that have been written of him, he has never been captured between the covers of one book. But rather than waiting to separate the goats from the sheep, let’s just come right out and say it: G.K. Chesterton was the best writer of the 20th century. He said something about everything and he said it better than anybody else. But he was no mere wordsmith. He was very good at expressing himself, but more importantly, he had something very good to express. The reason he was the greatest writer of the 20th century was because he was also the greatest thinker of the 20th century.

Born in London, G.K. Chesterton was educated at St. Paul’s, but never went to college. He went to art school. In 1900, he was asked to contribute a few magazine articles on art criticism, and went on to become one of the most prolific writers of all time. He wrote a hundred books, contributions to 200 more, hundreds of poems, including the epic Ballad of the White Horse, five plays, five novels, and some two hundred short stories, including a popular series featuring the priest-detective, Father Brown.

In spite of his literary accomplishments, he considered himself primarily a journalist. He wrote over 4,000 newspaper essays, including 30 years worth of weekly columns for the Illustrated London News, and 13 years of weekly columns for the Daily News. He also edited his own newspaper, G.K.’s Weekly. (To put it into perspective, four thousand essays is the equivalent of writing an essay a day, every day, for 11 years. If you’re not impressed, try it some time. But they have to be good essays – all of them – as funny as they are serious, and as readable and rewarding a century after you’ve written them.)

Chesterton was equally at ease with literary and social criticism, history, politics, economics, philosophy, and theology. His style is unmistakable, always marked by humility, consistency, paradox, wit, and wonder. His writing remains as timely and as timeless today as when it first appeared, even though much of it was published in throw away papers.

This man who composed such profound and perfect lines as “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried,” stood 6’4″ and weighed about 300 pounds, usually had a cigar in his mouth, and walked around wearing a cape and a crumpled hat, tiny glasses pinched to the end of his nose, swordstick in hand, laughter blowing through his moustache. And usually had no idea where or when his next appointment was. He did much of his writing in train stations, since he usually missed the train he was supposed to catch. In one famous anecdote, he wired his wife, saying, “Am at Market Harborough. Where ought I to be?” His faithful wife, Frances, attended to all the details of his life, since he continually proved he had no way of doing it himself. She was later assisted by a secretary, Dorothy Collins, who became the couple’s surrogate daughter, and went on to become the writer’s literary executrix, continuing to make his work available after his death.

This absent-minded, overgrown elf of a man, who laughed at his own jokes and amused children at birthday parties by catching buns in his mouth, this was the man who wrote a book called The Everlasting Man, which led a young atheist named C.S. Lewis to become a Christian. This was the man who wrote a novel called The Napoleon of Notting Hill, which inspired Michael Collins to lead a movement for Irish Independence. This was the man who wrote an essay in the Illustrated London News that inspired Mohandas Gandhi to lead a movement to end British colonial rule in India. This was a man who, when commissioned to write a book on St. Thomas Aquinas, had his secretary check out a stack of books on St. Thomas from the library, opened the top book on the stack, thumbed through it, closed it, and proceeded to dictate a book on St. Thomas. Not just any book. The renowned Thomistic scholar, Ettienne Gilson, had this to say about it:

I consider it as being without possible comparison the best book ever written on St. Thomas. Nothing short of genius can account for such an achievement. Everybody will no doubt admit that it is a ‘clever’ book, but the few readers who have spent twenty or thirty years in studying St. Thomas…cannot fail to perceive that the so-called ‘wit’ of Chesterton has put their scholarship to shame. He has guessed all that which we had tried to demonstrate, and he has said all that which they were more or less clumsily attempting to express in academic formulas. Chesterton was one of the deepest thinkers who ever existed; he was deep because he was right; and he could not help being right; but he could not either help being modest and charitable, so he left it to those who could understand him to know that he was right, and deep; to the others, he apologized for being right, and he made up for being deep by being witty. That is all they can see of him.

Chesterton debated many of the celebrated intellectuals of his time: George Bernard Shaw, H.G. Wells, Bertrand Russell, Clarence Darrow. According to contemporary accounts, Chesterton usually emerged as the winner of these contests, however, the world has immortalized his opponents and forgotten Chesterton, and now we hear only one side of the argument, and we are enduring the legacies of socialism, relativism, materialism, and skepticism. Ironically, all of his opponents regarded Chesterton with the greatest affection. And George Bernard Shaw said: “The world is not thankful enough for Chesterton.”

His writing has been praised by Ernest Hemingway, Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, Jorge Luis Borges, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Karel Capek, Marshall McLuhan, Paul Claudel, Dorothy L. Sayers, Agatha Christie, Sigrid Undset, Ronald Knox, Kingsley Amis, W.H. Auden, Anthony Burgess, E.F. Schumacher, Neil Gaiman, and Orson Welles. To name a few.

T.S. Eliot said that Chesterton “deserves a permanent claim on our loyalty.”

Why haven’t you heard of him?

There are three answers to this question:

1. 1. I don’t know.
   2. You’ve been cheated.
   3. Chesterton is the most unjustly neglected writer of our time.

Perhaps it is proof that education is too important to be left to educators and that publishing is too important to be left to publishers, but there is no excuse why Chesterton is no longer taught in our schools and why his writing is not more widely reprinted and especially included in college anthologies. Well, there is an excuse. It seems that Chesterton is tough to pigeonhole, and if a writer cannot be quickly consigned to a category, or to one-word description, he risks falling through the cracks. Even if he weighs three hundred pounds.

But there is another problem. Modern thinkers and commentators and critics have found it much more convenient to ignore Chesterton rather than to engage him in an argument, because to argue with Chesterton is to lose.

Chesterton argued eloquently against all the trends that eventually took over the 20th century: materialism, scientific determinism, moral relativism, and spineless agnosticism. He also argued against both socialism and capitalism and showed why they have both been the enemies of freedom and justice in modern society.

And what did he argue for? What was it he defended? He defended “the common man” and common sense. He defended the poor. He defended the family. He defended beauty. And he defended Christianity and the Catholic Faith. These don’t play well in the classroom, in the media, or in the public arena. And that is probably why he is neglected. The modern world prefers writers who are snobs, who have exotic and bizarre ideas, who glorify decadence, who scoff at Christianity, who deny the dignity of the poor, and who think freedom means no responsibility.

But even though Chesterton is no longer taught in schools, you cannot consider yourself educated until you have thoroughly read Chesterton. And furthermore, thoroughly reading Chesterton is almost a complete education in itself. Chesterton is indeed a teacher, and the best kind. He doesn’t merely astonish you. He doesn’t just perform the wonder of making you think. He goes beyond that. He makes you laugh.

Dale Ahlquist is the president of the Society of Gilbert Keith Chesterton. Click here to learn more.

https://www.chesterton.org/who-is-this-guy/

AND THIS BRINGS US BACK TO THE QUESTION: WHAT IS ART?... 

                                                 — a diamond made of the finest water......

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