"THAT MISS THE MANY-SPLENDOURED THING."

"No man that does not see visions will ever realize any high hope or undertake any high enterprise." -President Wilson.

WHEN Christopher Marlowe wrote and produced "The

WHEN

Tragical History of Doctor Faustus" the Elizabethan ladies and gentlemen-and undoubtedly several wide-eyed youthful admirers of the very notorious, "out-of-the-way," and rather scandalous young poet-flocked to the theatre prepared most likely to be shocked and amazed by the magic and doubtful tricks of the learned Doctor. What an opportunity for the first of the great dramatists of Elizabeth's reign! What undreamed of ideas and unheard of art the young poet could whisper in the ear of his new creation, Faustus! There are very few who have not once upon a time imagined that they grasped the enchanted scepter of gold, and have built themselves palaces and cities of crystal and, with a wave of the hand, have brought the greatest of kings to the foot of their throne, and accomplished their dream of dreams. Christopher Marlowe had already shown London his Tamberlaine-the peasant who leaves his flocks on the hills to become conqueror of the world and crosses the stage in his triumphal chariot, drawn not by horses but by captive kings (six of the greatest

monarchs of the world), beaten, harnessed, and fed on nothing save raw meat; it was an age that delighted in the impossible, an age full of the love of triumph and vast dreams-and therefore necessarily one of greatness and the actual discovery of new worlds. Without a doubt the audience at "the first performance on any stage" of "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus" came to see wonderful things, to see miracles performed, miracles, and the impossible accomplished before their very eyes, they had not come to be disappointed—and they were not! What was the trick with which the Doctor amazed them? It is January and the Duchess of Vanholt longs for "a dish of ripe grapes"-Doctor Faustus produces the grapes. To be able to eat fruit in the winter is certainly not very much of a miracle now, when one may not only eat grapes, but peaches and pears, or nearly any other fruit imaginable at Christmas time. Not so very wonderful indeed-however, the Elizabethan audience most likely looked at one another and smiled or tittered, and one gentleman, as he straightened his ruff and arranged his silver chain, probably murmured how wonderful and what an imagination young Marlowe must have, while the elderly man next him may have muttered something about it all being a little too impractical and wild for him; in fact, they would not have believed that three hundred years later we would be eating fruit in January any more than people who read about airships in the first edition of "Locksley Hall" believed that we would actually be able to fly about in aeroplanes to-day. But we do eat grapes in January, and Alfred Tennyson's prophecy has come true. If Christopher Marlowe and the other poets of his time with their love of luxury and their extravagant Elizabethan imaginations were to walk the streets of London to-day they would find that many of their wildest dreams had been made facts by men of science, and it is interesting to note that most "practical," scientific men labor during their lifetime to accomplish the fanciful ideas of the poets of a past age.

But the true dreamer not only leaves visions, unborn, for the inspiration of future ages but turns his greatest visions into facts himself. Great dreams are impractical and never to be realized? What is York Cathedral, with its windows more

beautiful than "the damask wings of butterflies," but an accomplished vision; or Notre Dame, an arrested dream turned to stone-a dream in all the glory of its angels and cynical watching gargoyles, its supreme loveliness and its doubtful grotesqueness. The impossible is never accomplished? In 1420 the cathedral at Florence was completed, but its centre remained roofless-a dome had to be built, and "the Florentine commercial houses in Germany, Burgundy, France, and England, received orders to induce all masters of importance to set out for Florence." So an assembly was opened and all the great scientists of the time set forth their ideas; one proposed a tremendous supporting pillar in the centre of the dome, another suggested several detached pillars, a third a dome of pumice stone because of its lightness, and one of the most extravagant proposals of all was as follows: "To fill the entire church with earth, in order to obtain a temporary firm support for the dome. In order that this earth should be removed all the more rapidly on the completion of the building, small silver pieces were to be mixed with it: all hands would then most readily carry it away." Wonderful idea! (Scientists were poets in those days.) But none of the plans seemed practical, no one dared to undertake the task, and the Florentine people probably gazed up at the vast unfinished space during mass and wondered if it ever would be complete, and the cardinals and priests shook their heads and went over and over the various plans time and time again; in fact, it was officially pronounced impossible. Then came a young painter -not only painter but "sculptor, and worker in bronze,”. one who had from boyhood done nothing save paint madonnas and saints and carve angels and fauns-Brunelleschi by name, who suggested a "free dome," to be erected "with the aid of a scaffolding only." Impossible! The architects, scientists— no one would listen. But Brunelleschi longed to arch a dome over the cathedral; he persisted, he reduced the enormous cost of the other plans to a small sum, but the more he proposed, the more incredible it seemed-at last as he was on the point of leaving Florence he was sent for, his plans examined once again and after much dispute the victory was his. Brunelleschi built the dome of the Florence Cathedral, and subsequently

Michael Angelo, using the same model, raised the dome of Saint Peter, one of the greatest scientific and architectural feats of all time. The impossible can be accomplished.

Yes, but in our day the impossible is impossible, you say. Of course years ago Ghiberti was both a painter and an architect, Giotto not only painted his sad, oval-faced madonnas but also built churches and wrote poetry, Michael Angelo not only built the great dome but was a sculptor, wrote poetry and painted the ceiling of the Sistine-and Leonardo not only painted the Mona Lisa but was "a poet, sculptor, anatomist, architect, engineer, mechanic, and the friend of kings and princes." But people do not do these things nowadays, you say! One looks in vain for Notre Dames and Pantheonsthis is the age of Singer Buildings, bonds, the day of the automobile, and therefore one is advised not to look for Notre Dames or Pantheons, but to conform to the ideas of the time. This is an age of reality, one must live as others, you saydreams or visions for dreams and visions are not and cannot be facts, and to dream would be merely cutting onesself off from not only science but the world. Science and art can not go hand in hand as they did once (they did indeed go hand in hand once upon a time-and surely the world is not going backwards?). We must start with facts, and therefore if we are to have a new Notre Dame it must spring like Athena, full armed from the head of Zeus, and stand before us a fact, before we can even think of Notre Dames. Of course no Notre Dame does spring, but just the same, Notre Dame or no Notre Dame, we must have facts before visions nowadays, you say. Be obedient and conform. Oh, what obedient and conforming people the majority of those who wrote for the LIT. during the seventy years or so of its life must have been! Think of all the dreamers who dreamed and went out into the worldand yet no Pantheons or Mona Lisas. That they did have real visions can be proved by looking through the bound copies of the LIT.—there they stand a silent proof, the bound confessions of lost dreamers. Perhaps they were too sure that the impossible could never be accomplished, too sure that in running one never reached the goal-perhaps they were overimpressed by the general reality of things and put aside their

visions to wait for facts to come first. It is the custom to look upon anyone who starts into life with a paint-brush or pen in his hand with as much compassion as the relatives and friends on the shore watched Columbus and his crew start to sail out over the edge of the world. It is the custom to think of them as cutting themselves off from the rest of the world, to sigh and murmur what a risk-but as a matter of fact these kind of people are running a far greater risk to themselves and others when they put aside the pen and paint-brush and "go into business."

Poor, patient Guardian Angel of the Dreamers of Great Dreams! How often has he, year after year, as he hovered after the LIT. office or sat brooding beneath his canary-colored wings seen the many dreamers handing in their infant dreams at the beginning of each month. How often must the spark of hope have burst into flame in his heart, and then how often has he gone searching among the Singer Buildings and Times Buildings looking for the smallest sprout, or in and out the galleries and "exhibitions," or stood peering among the "latest publications" and very often come away in vain. But being an Angel, I suppose he is patient.

David Hamilton.