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against her child。 Her power； her intimacy； her opportunity； that should
be her accusers； are held to excuse her。 She gains the most slovenly of
indulgences and the grossest compassion； on the vulgar grounds that her
crime was easy。
Lawless and vain art of a certain kind is apt to claim to…day； by the
way； some such fondling as a heroine of the dock receives from common
opinion。 The vain artist had all the opportunities of the situation。 He
was master of his own purpose； such as it was； it was his secret； and the
public was not privy to his artistic conscience。 He does violence to the
obligations of which he is aware； and which the world does not know very
explicitly。 Nothing is easier。 Or he is lawless in a more literal sense；
but only hopes the world will believe that he has a whole code of his own
making。 It would； nevertheless； be less unworthy to break obvious rules
obviously in the obvious face of the public； and to abide the common
rebuke。
It has just been said that a park is by no means necessary for the
preparation of a country solitude。 Indeed； to make those far and wide
and long approaches and avenues to peace seems to be a denial of the
accessibility of what should be so simple。 A step； a pace or so aside； is
enough to lead thither。
A park insists too much； and； besides； does not insist very sincerely。
In order to fulfil the apparent professions and to keep the published
promise of a park； the owner thereof should be a lover of long seclusion or
of a very life of loneliness。 He should have gained the state of
solitariness which is a condition of life quite unlike any other。 The
traveller who may have gone astray in countries where an almost life…long
solitude is possible knows how invincibly apart are the lonely figures he
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has seen in desert places there。 Their loneliness is broken by his passage；
it is true； but hardly so to them。 They look at him； but they are not aware
that he looks at them。 Nay； they look at him as though they were
invisible。 Their un…self…consciousness is absolute； it is in the wild degree。
They are solitaries； body and soul； even when they are curious； and turn to
watch the passer…by； they are essentially alone。 Now； no one ever found
that attitude in a squire's figure； or that look in any country gentleman's
eyes。 The squire is not a life…long solitary。 He never bore himself as
though he were invisible。 He never had the impersonal ways of a
herdsman in the remoter Apennines； with a blind； blank hut in the rocks
for his dwelling。 Millet would not even have taken him as a model for a
solitary in the briefer and milder sylvan solitudes of France。 And yet
nothing but a life…long； habitual； and wild solitariness would be quite
proportionate to a park of any magnitude。
If there is a look of human eyes that tells of perpetual loneliness； so
there is also the familiar look that is the sign of perpetual crowds。 It is
the London expression； and； in its way； the Paris expression。 It is the
quickly caught； though not interested； look； the dull but ready glance of
those who do not know of their forfeited place apart； who have neither the
open secret nor the close； no reserve； no need of refuge； no flight nor
impulse of flight； no moods but what they may brave out in the street； no
hope of news from solitary counsels。
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THE LADY OF THE LYRICS
She is eclipsed； or gone； or in hiding。 But the sixteenth century took
her for granted as the object of song； she was a class； a state； a sex。 It
was scarcely necessary to waste the lyrist's time… …time that went so gaily
to metre as not to brook delaysin making her out too clearly。 She had
no more of what later times call individuality than has the rose； her rival；
her foil when she was kinder； her superior when she was cruel； her ever
fresh and ever conventional paragon。 She needed not to be devised or
divined； she was ready。 A merry heart goes all the day； the lyrist's never
grew weary。 Honest men never grow tired of bread or of any other daily
things whereof the sweetness is in their own simplicity。
The lady of the lyrics was not loved in mortal earnest； and her
punishment now and then for her ingratitude was to be told that she was
loved in jest。 She did not love； her fancy was fickle； she was not moved
by long service； which； by the way； was evidently to be taken for granted
precisely like the whole long past of a dream。 She had not a good temper。
When the poet groans it seems that she has laughed at him； when he flouts
her； we may understand that she has chidden her lyrist in no temperate
terms。 In doing this she has sinned not so much against him as against
Love。 With that she is perpetually reproved。 The lyrist complains to
Love； pities Love for her scorning； and threatens to go away with Love；
who is on his side。 The sweetest verse is tuned to love when the loved
one proves worthy。
There is no record of success for this policy。 She goes on dancing or
scolding； as the case may be； and the lyrist goes on boasting of his
constancy； or suddenly renounces it for a day。 The situation has variants；
but no surprise or ending。 The lover's convention is explicit enough； but
it might puzzle a reader to account for the lady's。 Pride in her beauty； at
any rate； is herspride so great that she cannot bring herself to perceive
the shortness of her day。 She is so unobservant as to need to be told that
life is brief； and youth briefer than life； that the rose fades； and so forth。
Now we need not assume that the lady of the lyrics ever lived。 But
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taking her as the perfectly unanimous conception of the lyrists； how is it
she did not discover these things unaided？ Why does the lover invariably
imagine her with a mind intensely irritable under his own praise and
poetry？ Obviously we cannot have her explanation of any of these
matters。 Why do the poets so much lament the absence of truth in one
whose truth would be of little moment？ And why was the convention so
pleasant； among all others； as to occupy a whole age nay； two great ages…
…of literature？
Music seems to be principally answerable。 For the lyrics of the lady
are 〃words for music〃 by a great majority。 There is hardly a single poem
in the Elizabethan Song…books； properly so named； that has what would in
our day be called a tone of sentiment。 Music had not then the tone
herself； she was ingenious； and so must the words be。 She had the air of
epigram； and an accurately definite limit。 So； too； the lady of the lyrics；
who might be called the lady of the stanzas； so strictly does she go by
measure。 When she is quarrelsome； it is but fuguishness； when she
dances； she does it by a canon。 She could not but be perverse； merrily
sung to such grave notes。
So fixed was the law of this perversity that none in the song…books is
allowed to be kind enough for a 〃melody；〃 except one lady only。 She may
thus derogate； for the exceedingly Elizabethan reason that she is 〃brown。〃
She is brown and kind； and a 〃sad flower；〃 but the song made for her
would have been too insipid； apparently； without an antithesis。 The fair
one is warned that her disdain makes her even less lovely than the brown。
Fair as a lily； hard to please； easily angry； ungrateful for innumerable
verses； uncertain with the regularity of the madrigal； and in