Taste and "the Conversible World" in the Eighteenth Century

In the middle of the nineteenth century a series entitled "Afoot" appeared in the literary magazine Blackwood's (1857), describing an Englishman's travels through Europe. In one installment the narrator tells of meeting

a Yankee, who had just come from Florence the beautiful. Our friend approached him warily, and began to ask him what he had seen, what admired. Then, after a little circumlocution, he dashed at once, in medias res, by saying, "Of course, you were in raptures with the Venus de Medici?"--expecting an answer such as he would himself have given. "Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I don't care much about those stone gals," was the answer he received. Our friend collapsed. Had anyone in his presence denied the orthodoxy of St. Augustine, or abjured the Thirty-Nine Articles, there would have been more sorrow in his anger, but scarcely more indignation. The Venus de Medici--a classic chef d'oeuvre--a thing which Praxiteles might have touched with his chisel, or Pericles have looked upon, to be called a "stone gal"! Had he doubted its genuineness, or spoken of it as a specimen of secondary art, he might have been deemed critical, hypercritical; but this was a classic impiety, an irreverence, a profanity.

As if that were not enough, the Yankee's words betrayed "uncivism" and "egoism." He was undoubtedly among that type who "under their home influences, and the shadow of their own nationalities ... have no aptitude for general civism." ¹

There is of course much that is familiar in this vignette, especially the contrast between Old World sophistication and American naivete. The unflappable Yankee who is irremediably unaware and proud of it and the overly fastidious, overly aestheticized Englishman were both destined to become stock characters in novels depicting Americans abroad, and here we see an early confrontation between their rival sensibilities. Even though the Venus de Medici has now completely vanished from the modern imaginary museum of masterpieces, it was once among the most beloved, celebrated, and reproduced statues of antiquity; its repute was far beyond that of the Mona Lisa today, and from the time it was unearthed at the end of sixteenth century through the nineteenth century it was the indisputable exemplar of beauty. So it is no surprise that the Englishman, who, like all cultivated people of his day, was well versed in the world of classical antiquity, was mortified by the American's obliviousness before this "classic chef d'oeuvre"; for it revealed a man so utterly lacking in taste and sensibility that he did not have the wherewithal to know that he had been "irreverent" when he called the Venus de Medici "a stone gal."

Where this anecdote moves into less familiar territory, however, is the Englishman's characterization of the Yankee's taste as uncivic and egoistic, as provincial and narrow. His willingness to judge a total stranger, to hold him accountable to a single standard of judgment, could not be in sharper contrast to our contemporary attitudes. Today subjectivity is celebrated in the common saying that everyone is entitled to his or her opinion and taste; what is more, diversity of tastes is regarded as a measure of personal freedom and democracy. Thus, the Englishman's quickness to judge would be evidence of elitism, oppression, even cultural imperialism, and this response no longer belongs to naifs who cannot tell the difference between the most revered sculpture and stone gals; it now belongs to the sophisticated, educated, modern (and postmodern) person. Today the very idea of drawing distinctions--not only between practiced taste and first impressions but also between art and commercial entertainment, art and obscenity, high and popular culture, scholarship and propaganda, let alone between beauty and ugliness, right and wrong, excellence and mediocrity--is suspect. And since the capacity to make precisely these kinds of distinctions was once understood as the essence of...