strange that Monsieur D'Aurevilly, the biographer who, in many ways,
does seem most perfectly to have understood Mr. Brummell, should
belittle to a mere phase that which was indeed the very core of his
existence. To analyse the temperament of a great artist and then to
declare that his art was but a part--a little part--of his
temperament, is a foolish proceeding. It is as though a man should say
that he finds, on analysis, 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 manie`re d'e^tre, entie`rement compose'e
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