They seem to have been getting
some of it into and out of bottles, in their "ozone" and
"antizone" lately; but they still know little of it: and,
certainly, I know less.
DORA. You promised not to be provoking, to-night.
L. Wait a minute. Though, quite truly, I know less of the secrets
of life than the philosophers do; I yet know one corner of ground
on which we artists can, stand, literally as "Life Guards" at bay,
as steadily as the Guards at Inkermann; however hard the
philosophers push. And you may stand with us, if once you learn to
draw nicely.
DORA. I'm sure we are all trying! but tell us where we may stand.
L. You may always stand by Form, against Force. To a painter, the
essential character of anything is the form of it, and the
philosophers cannot touch that. They come and tell you, for
instance, that there is as much heat, or motion, or calorific
energy (or whatever else they like to call it), in a tea-kettle as
in a Gier-eagle. Very good; that is so; and it is very
interesting. It requires just as much heat as will boil the
kettle, to take the Gier-eagle up to his nest; and as much more to
bring him down again on a hare or a partridge. But we painters,
acknowledging the equality and similarity of the kettle and the
bird in all scientific respects, attach, for our part, our
principal interest to the difference in their forms.
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