lysis, that
gunpowder is composed of potassium chloride (let me say), nitrate
and power of explosion. Dandyism is ever the outcome of a carefully
cultivated temperament, not part of the temperament itself. That maniere
d'etre, entierement composee de nuances, was not more, as the writer
seems to have supposed, than attributory to Mr. Brummell's art. Nor is
it even peculiar to dandies. All delicate spirits, to whatever art they
turn, even if they turn to no art, assume an oblique attitude towards
life. Of all dandies, Mr. Brummell did most steadfastly maintain this
attitude. Like the single-minded artist that he was, he turned full and
square towards his art and looked life straight in the face out of the
corners of his eyes.

It is not hard to see how, in the effort to give Mr. Brummell his due
place in history, Monsieur D'Aurevilly came to grief. It is but strange
that he should have fallen into a rather obvious trap. Surely he should
have perceived that, so long as Civilisation compels her children to
wear clothes, the thoughtless multitude will never acknowledge dandyism
to be an art. If considerations of modesty or hygiene compelled every
one to stain canvas or chip marble every morning, painting and sculpture
would in like manner be despised. Now, as these considerations do compel
every one to envelop himself in things made of cloth and linen, this
common duty is confounded with that fair procedure, elaborate of many
thoughts, in whose accord the fop accomplishes his toilet, each morning
afresh, Aurora speeding on to gild his mirror. Not until nudity be
popular will the art of costume be really acknowledged. Nor even then
will it be approved. Communities are ever jealous (quite naturally) of
the artist who works for his own pleasure, not for theirs--more jealous
by far of him whose energy is spent only upon the glorification of
himself alone. Carlyle speaks of dandyism as a survival of 'the primeval
superstition, self-worship.' 'La vanite,' are almost the first words of
Monsieur D'Aurevilly, 'c'est un sentiment contre lequel tout le monde
est impitoyable.' Few remember that the dandy's vanity is far different
from the crude conceit of the merely handsome man. Dandyism is, after
all, one of the decorative arts. A fine ground to work upon is its first
postulate. And the dandy cares for his physical endowments only in so
far as they are susceptible of fine results. They are just so much to
him as to the decorative art