newspapers. It is, of course, a ridiculous word to apply to a work
of art. For what is morbidity but a mood of emotion or a mode of
thought that one cannot express? The public are all morbid,
because the public can never find expression for anything. The
artist is never morbid. He expresses everything. He stands
outside his subject, and through its medium produces incomparable
and artistic effects. To call an artist morbid because he deals
with morbidity as his subject-matter is as silly as if one called
Shakespeare mad because he wrote 'King Lear.'

On the whole, an artist in England gains something by being
attacked. His individuality is intensified. He becomes more
completely himself. Of course, the attacks are very gross, very
impertinent, and very contemptible. But then no artist expects
grace from the vulgar mind, or style from the suburban intellect.
Vulgarity and stupidity are two very vivid facts in modern life.
One regrets them, naturally. But there they are. They are
subjects for study, like everything else. And it is only fair to
state, with regard to modern journalists, that they always
apologise to one in private for what they have written against one
in public.

Within the last few years two other adjectives, it may be
mentioned, have been added to the very limited vocabulary of art-
abuse that is at the disposal of the public. One is the word
'unhealthy,' the other is the word 'exotic.' The latter merely
expresses the rage of the momentary mushroom against the immortal,
entrancing, and exquisitely lovely orchid. It is a tribute, but a
tribute of no importance. The word 'unhealthy,' however, admits of
analysis. It is a rather interesting word. In fact, it is so