the rhythm of life-第12部分

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is　the　impulse。　　The　grossness　of　the　vulgarities　is　rendered　with　a

completeness　that　goes　far　to　convince　us　of　a　certain　sensitiveness

of　apprehension　in　the　designer；　and　then　again　we　get　convinced

that　real　apprehensionreal　apprehensivenesswould　not　have

insisted　upon　such　things；　could　not　have　lived　with　them　through

almost　a　whole　career。　　There　is　one　drawing　in　the　Punch　of　years

ago；　in　which　Charles　Keene　achieved　the　nastiest　thing　possible　to

even　the　invention　of　that　day。　　A　drunken　citizen；　in　the　usual

broadcloth；　has　gone　to　bed；　fully　dressed；　with　his　boots　on　and

his　umbrella　open；　and　the　joke　lies　in　the　surprise　awaiting；　when

she　awakes；　the　wife　asleep　at　his　side　in　a　night…cap。　　Every　one

who　knows　Keene's　work　can　imagine　how　the　huge　well…fed　figure　was

drawn；　and　how　the　coat　wrinkled　across　the　back；　and　how　the

bourgeois　whiskers　were　indicated。　　This　obscene　drawing　is　matched

by　many　equally　odious。　　Abject　domesticity；　ignominies　of　married

life；　of　middle…age；　of　money…making；　the　old　common　jape　against

the　mother…in…law；　ill…dressed　men　with　whiskyill…dressed　women

with　tempers；　everything　that　is　underbred　and　decivilised；

abominable　weddings：　　in　one　drawing　a　bridegroom　with　shambling

sidelong　legs　asks　his　bride　if　she　is　nervous；　she　is　a　widow；　and

she　answers；　'No；　never　was。'　　In　all　these　things　there　is　very

little　humour。　　Where　Keene　achieved　fun　was　in　the　figures　of　his

schoolboys。　　The　hint　of　tenderness　which　in　really　fine　work　could

never　be　absent　from　a　man's　thought　of　a　child　or　from　his　touch　of

one；　however　frolic　or　rowdy　the　subject　in　hand；　is　absolutely

lacking　in　Keene's　designs；　nevertheless；　we　acknowledge　that　here

is　humour。　　It　is　also　in　some　of　his　clerical　figures　when　they　are

not　caricatures；　and　certainly　in　'Robert；'　the　City　waiter　of

Punch。　　But　so　irresistible　is　the　derision　of　the　woman　that　all

Charles　Keene's　persistent　sense　of　vulgarity　is　intent　centrally

upon　her。　　Never　for　any　grace　gone　astray　is　she　bantered；　never

for　the　social　extravagances；　for　prattle；　or　for　beloved　dress；　but

always　for　her　jealousy；　and　for　the　repulsive　person　of　the　man

upon　whom　she　spies　and　in　whom　she　vindicates　her　ignoble　rights。

If　this　is　the　shopkeeper　the　possession　of　whom　is　her　boast；　what

then　is　she？



This　great　immorality；　centring　in　the　irreproachable　days　of　the

Exhibition　of　1851；　or　thereaboutsthe　pleasure　in　this　particular

form　of　human　disgracehas　passed；　leaving　one　trace　only：　　the

habit　by　which　some　men　reproach　a　silly　woman　through　her　sex；

whereas　a　silly　man　is　not　reproached　through　his　sex。　　But　the

vulgarity　of　which　I　have　written　here　was　distinctively　English

the　most　English　thing　that　England　had　in　days　when　she　bragged　of

many　anotherand　it　was　not　able　to　survive　an　increased　commerce

of　manners　and　letters　with　France。　　It　was　the　chief　immorality

destroyed　by　French　fiction。











End