and of an unflagging flight. A woman, long educated to sit still,

does not suddenly learn to live a momentary life without strong
momentaryresolution. She has no light achievement in limiting not

only her foresight, which must become brief, but her memory, which
must do more; for it must rather cease than become brief. Idle

memory wastes time and other things. The moments of the woman in
grey as they dropped by must needs disappear, and be simply

forgotten, as a child forgets. Idle memory, by the way, shortens
life, or shortens the sense of time, by linking the immediate past

clingingly to the present. Here may possibly be found one of the
reasons for the length of a child's time, and for the brevity of the

time that succeeds. The child lets his moments pass by and quickly
become remote through a thousand little successive oblivions. He

has not yet the languid habit of recall.
"Thou art my warrior," said Volumnia. "I holp to frame thee."

Shall a man inherit his mother's trick of speaking, or her habit and
attitude, and not suffer something, against his will, from her

bequest of weakness, and something, against his heart, from her
bequest of folly? From the legacies of an unlessoned mind, a

woman's heirs-male are not cut off in the Common Law of the
generations of mankind. Brutus knew that the valour of Portia was

settled upon his sons.
SYMMETRY AND INCIDENT

The art of Japan has none but an exterior part in the history of the
art of nations. Being in its own methods and attitude the art of

accident, it has, appropriately, an accidental value. It is of
accidental value, and not of integral necessity. The virtual

discovery of Japanese art, during the later years of the second
French Empire, caused Europe to relearn how expedient, how delicate,

and how lovely Incident may look when Symmetry has grown vulgar.
The lesson was most welcome. Japan has had her full influence.

European art has learnt the value of position and the tact of the
unique. But Japan is unlessoned, and (in all her characteristic

art) content with her own conventions; she is local, provincial,
alien, remote, capable" target="_blank" title="a.无能力的；不能的">incapable of equal companionship with a world that

has Greek art in its own history - Pericles "to its father."
Nor is it pictorial art, or decorative art only, that has been

touched by Japanese example of Incident and the Unique. Music had
attained the noblest form of symmetry in the eighteenth century, but

in music, too, symmetry had since grown dull; and momentary music,
the music of phase and of fragment, succeeded. The sense of

symmetry is strong in a complete melody - of symmetry in its most
delicate and lively and least stationary form - balance; whereas the

leit-motif is isolated. In domesticarchitecture Symmetry and
Incident make a familiar antithesis - the very commonplace of rival

methods of art. But the same antithesis exists in less obvious
forms. The poets have sought "irregular" metres. Incident hovers,

in the very act of choosing its right place, in the most modern of
modern portraits. In these we have, if not the Japanese suppression

of minor emphasis, certainly the Japanese exaggeration of major
emphasis; and with this a quickness and buoyancy. The smile, the

figure, the drapery - not yet settled from the arranging touch of a
hand, and showing its mark - the restless and unstationary foot, and

the unity of impulse that has passed everywhere like a single
breeze, all these have a life that greatly transcends the life of

Japanese art, yet has the nimble touch of Japanese incident. In
passing, a charmingcomparison may be made between such portraiture

and the aspect of an aspen or other tree of light and liberal leaf;
whether still or in motion the aspen and the free-leafed poplar have

the alertness and expectancy of flight in all their flocks of
leaves, while the oaks and elms are gathered in their station. All

this is not Japanese, but from such accident is Japanese art
inspired, with its good luck of perceptiveness.

What symmetry is to form, that is repetition in the art of ornament.
Greek art and Gothic alike have series, with repetition or counter-

change for their ruling motive. It is hardly necessary to draw the
distinction between this motive and that of the Japanese. The

Japanese motives may be defined as uniqueness and position. And
these were not known as motives of decoration before the study of

Japanese decoration. Repetition and counter-change, of course, have
their place in Japanese ornament, as in the diaper patterns for

which these people have so singular an invention, but here, too,
uniqueness and position are the principalinspiration. And it is

quite worth while, and much to the present purpose, to call
attention to the chief peculiarity of the Japanese diaper patterns,

which is INTERRUPTION. Repetition there must necessarily be in
these, but symmetry is avoided by an interruption which is, to the

Western eye, at least, perpetually and freshlyunexpected. The
place of the interruptions of lines, the variation of the place, and

the avoidance of correspondence, are precisely" target="_blank" title="ad.精确地；刻板地">precisely what makes Japanese
design of this class inimitable. Thus, even in a repeating pattern,

you have a curiously successful effect of impulse. It is as though
a separate intention" target="_blank" title="n.意图；打算；意义">intention had been formed by the designer at every angle.

Such renewed consciousness does not make for greatness. Greatness
in design has more peace than is found in the gentle abruptness of

Japanese lines, in their curious brevity. It is scarcely necessary
to say that a line, in all other schools of art, is long or short

according to its place and purpose; but only the Japanese designer
so contrives his patterns that the line is always short; and many

repeating designs are entirely composed of this various and
variously-occurring brevity, this prankish avoidance of the goal.

Moreover, the Japanese evade symmetry, in the unit of their
repeating patterns, by another simple device - that of numbers.

They make a small difference in the number of curves and of lines.
A great difference would not make the same effect of variety; it

would look too much like a contrast. For example, three rods on one
side and six on another would be something else than a mere

variation, and variety would be lost by the use of them. The
Japanese decorator will vary three in this place by two in that, and

a sense of the defeat of symmetry is immediately produced. With
more violent means the idea of symmetry would have been neither

suggested nor refuted.
Leaving mere repeating patterns and diaper designs, you find, in

Japanese compositions, complete designs in which there is no point
of symmetry. It is a balance of suspension and of antithesis.

There is no sense of lack of equilibrium, because place is, most
subtly, made to have the effect of giving or of subtracting value.

A small thing is arranged to reply to a large one, for the small
thing is placed at the precise distance that makes it a (Japanese)

equivalent. In Italy (and perhaps in other countries) the scales
commonly in use are furnished with only a single weight that

increases or diminishes in value according as you slide it nearer or
farther upon a horizontal arm. It is equivalent to so many ounces

when it is close to the upright, and to so many pounds when it hangs
from the farther end of the horizontal rod. Distance plays some

such part with the twig or the bird in the upper corner of a
Japanese composition. Its place is its significance and its value.

Such an art of position implies a great art of intervals. The
Japanese chooses a few things and leaves the space between them

free, as free as the pauses or silences in music. But as time, not
silence, is the subject, or material, of contrast in musical pauses,

so it is the measurement of space - that is, collocation - that
makes the value of empty intervals. The space between this form and

that, in a Japanese composition, is valuable because it is just so
wide and no more. And this, again, is only another way of saying

that position is the principle of this apparently wilful art.
Moreover, the alien art of Japan, in its pictorial form, has helped

to justify the more stenographic school of etching. Greatly
transcending Japanese expression, the modern etcher has undoubtedly

accepted moral support from the islands of the Japanese. He too
etches a kind of shorthand, even though his notes appeal much to the

spectator's knowledge, while the Oriental shorthand appeals to
nothing but the spectator's simple vision. Thus the two artists

work in ways dissimilar. Nevertheless, the French etcher would
never have written his signs so freely had not the Japanese so

freely drawn his own. Furthermore still, the transitory and
destructible material of Japanese art has done as much as the

multiplication of newspapers, and the discovery of processes, to
reconcile the European designer - the black and white artist - to

working for the day, the day of publication. Japan lives much of
its daily life by means of paper, painted; so does Europe by means

of paper, printed. But as we, unlike those Orientals, are a
destructive people, paper with us means short life, quick abolition,

transformation, re-appearance, a very circulation of life. This is
our present way of surviving ourselves - the new version of that

feat of life. Time was when to survive yourself meant to secure,