IntentionsCYRIL (coming in through the open window from the terrace). My dear Vivian, don't coop yourself up all dayin the library. It is a perfectly lovely afternoon. The air is exquisite. There is a mist upon thewoods, like the purple bloom upon a plum. Let us go and lie on the grass and smoke cigarettes andenjoy Nature.VIVIAN. Enjoy Nature! I am glad to say that I have entirely lost that faculty. People tell us that Artmakes us love Nature more than we loved her before; that it reveals her secrets to us; and that aftera careful study of Corot and Constable we see things in her that had escaped our observation. Myown experience is that the more we study Art, the less we care for Nature. What Art really revealsto us is Nature's lack of design, her curious crudities, her extraordinary monotony, her absolutelyunfinished condition. Nature has good intentions, of course, but, as Aristotle once said, she cannotcarry them out. When I look at a landscape I cannot help seeing all its defects. It is fortunate for us, however, that Nature is so imperfect, as otherwise we should have no art at all. Art is our spiritedprotest, our gallant attempt to teach Nature her proper place. As for the infinite variety of Nature, that is a pure myth. It is not to be found in Nature herself. It resides in the imagination, or fancy, or cultivated blindness of the man who looks at her.CYRIL. Well, you need not look at the landscape. You can lie on the grass and smoke and talk.VIVIAN. But Nature is so uncomfortable. Grass is hard and lumpy and damp, and full of dreadfulblack insects. Why, even Morris's poorest workman could make you a more comfortable seat thanthe whole of Nature can. Nature pales before the furniture of 'the street which from Oxford hasborrowed its name, ' as the poet you love so much once vilely phrased it. I don't complain. IfNature had been comfortable, mankind would never have invented architecture, and I prefer housesto the open air. In a house we all feel of the proper proportions. Everything is subordinated to us, fashioned for our use and our pleasure. Egotism itself, which is so necessary to a proper sense ofhuman dignity, is entirely the result of indoor life. Out of doors one becomes abstract andimpersonal. One's individuality absolutely leaves one. And then Nature is so indifferent, sounappreciative. Whenever I am walking in the park here, I always feel that I am no more to her thanthe cattle that browse on the slope, or the burdock that blooms in the ditch. Nothing is moreevident than that Nature hates Mind. Thinking is the most unhealthy thing in the world, and peopledie of it just as they die of any other disease. Fortunately, in England at any rate, thought is notcatching. Our splendid physique as a people is entirely due to our national stupidity. I only hope weshall be able to keep this great historic bulwark of our happiness for many years to come; but I amafraid that we are beginning to be over-educated; at least everybody who is incapable of learning hastaken to teaching-that is really what our enthusiasm for education has com |