ART AND LETTERS

In that dim and distant æon

Known as Ante-Mycenæan,

When the proud Pelasgian still

Bounded on his native hill,

And the shy Iberian dwelt

Undisturbed by conquering Celt,

Ere from out their Aryan home

Came the Lords of Greece and Rome,

Somewhere in those ancient spots

Lived a man who painted Pots —

Painted with an art defective,

Quite devoid of all perspective,

Very crude, and causing doubt

When you tried to make them out,

Men ( at least they looked like that ),

Beasts that might be dog or cat,

Pictures blue and pictures red,

All that came into his head:

Not that any tale he meant

On the Pots to represent:

Simply’ twas to make them smart,

Simply Decorative Art.

So the seasons onward hied,

And the Painter-person died —

But the Pot whereon he drew

Still survived as good as new:

Painters come and painters go,

Art remains in statu quo.

When a thousand years ( perhaps )

Had proceeded to elapse,

Out of Time’ s primeval mist

Came an Ætiologist;

He by shrewd and subtle guess

Wrote Descriptive Letterpress,

Setting forth the various causes

For the drawings on the vases,

All the motives, all the plots

Of the painter of the pots,

Entertained the nations with

Fable, Saga, Solar Myth,

Based upon ingenious shots

At the Purpose of the Pots,

Showing ages subsequent

What the painter really meant

( Which, of course, the painter hadn’ t;

He’ d have been extremely saddened

Had he seen his meanings missed

By the Ætiologist ).

Next arrives the Prone to Err

Very ancient Chronicler,

All that mythologic lore

Swallowing whole and wanting more,

Crediting what wholly lacked

All similitude of Fact,

Building on this wondrous basis

All we know of early races;

So the Past as seen by him

Furnished from its chambers dim

Hypothetical foundations

Whence succeeding generations

Built, as on a basis sure,

Branches three of Literature,

Social Systems four ( or five ),

Two Religions Primitive;

So that one may truly say

( Speaking in a general way )

All the facts and all the knowledge

Taught in School and taught in College,

All the books the printer prints —

Everything that’ s happened since —

Feels the influence of what

Once was drawn upon that Pot,

Plus the curious mental twist

Of that Ætiologist!

But the Pot that caused the trouble

Lay entombed in earth and rubble,

Left about in various places,

In the way that early races —

Hittites, Greeks, or Hottentots —

Used to leave important Pots;

Till at length, to close the list,

Came an Archæologist,

Came and dug with care and pain,

Came and found the Pot again:

Dug and delved with spade and shovel,

Made a version wholly novel

Of the Potman’ s old design

( Others none were genuine ).

Pots were in a special sense

Echt-Historisch Documents:

All who Error hope to stem

Must begin by studying them;

So the Public ( which, he said,

Had been grievously misled )

Must in all things freshly start

From his views of Ancient Art.

All ( the learned man proceeded )

Otherwise who thought than he did,

Showed a stupid, base, untrue,

Obscurantist point of view;

Men like these ( the sage would say )

Should be wholly swept away;

They, and eke the faults prodigious

Which beset their creeds religious,

Render totally impure

All their so-called Literature,

Lastly, sap to its foundation

All their boasted education,—

Just because they’ ve quite forgot

What was meant, and what was not,

By the Painter of the Pot!

Pots are long and life is fleeting;

Artists, when their subjects treating,

Should be very, very far

Carefuller than now they are.