The Occult Revival

Author(s):  
Michael Shaw

This chapter argues that fin-de-siècle occultism was a key component of Scottish cultural revivalism in the late-Victorian period. Discussing a range of figures – including Patrick Geddes, S. L. Macgregor Mathers and John Duncan, I demonstrate that occultism supported and defined cultural nationalism in Scotland in numerous ways, as it did in Ireland. A sub-chapter focuses on Egyptomania in Scotland and I argue here that the international craze for Egypt had particular resonance in Scotland due to Scotland’s ‘Scota Pharoah’ foundation myth. I then assess key occult societies and their intersections with neo-Jacobitism, a movement that spoke well to cultural revivalists’ nostalgia for the House of Stuart. The chapter also uncovers Geddes’s plan to create a Celtic occult society, not dissimilar to W. B. Yeats’s Order of Celtic Mysteries, in Edinburgh.

Author(s):  
Michael Shaw

Fin-de-Siècle Scotland is frequently associated with the ‘kailyard’ movement and, by extension, with small towns, insularity and sentimentality. Using Scottish writers and artists’ thorough engagement with Belgian and Japanese culture as case studies, this chapter reveals how deeply international and cross-cultural Scottish writing and art was in the late-Victorian period. I argue that Scottish cultural revivalists looked to these two nations to help them build counter-hegemonic connections that allowed them to defend the value of smaller nations and traditional cultures. Part of the reason some cultural revivalists looked to Japan and Belgium specifically was that these nations’ artists offered examples of how cultural revivalist work could fuse with modernity, rather than simply reject it. I focus on examining William Sharp’s self-conscious attempts to bring the decadent energy of La Jeune Belgique into Scotland to help resist metro-centric thinking, before illustrating the marked impact of Maurice Maeterlinck on Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Margaret Macdonald. The Glasgow School played a key role nourishing Scotland’s Japanese connection, and we often find japonisme fusing with Scottish forms in their work.


Author(s):  
Michael Shaw

The introduction to this book begins by illustrating that many writers and critics in the 1890s identified an artistic and literary revival in fin-de-siècle Scotland, one that hoped to defend Scottish cultural traditions and revive Scotland’s status as an international cultural centre. Despite these statements, the period has come to be associated with insularity, anti-nationalism and sentimentality, especially in Scottish literary criticism. The introduction establishes the book’s aim: to uncover the concerns with cultural revivalism in fin-de-siècle Scotland, before going on to set up the key contexts and parameters for the book. Building on John Hutchinson’s theory of cultural nationalism, I define my terms and then introduce key political contexts, highlighting that cultural revival efforts ran alongside (and intersected with) a prominent late-Victorian political campaign to establish a Scottish Parliament. I then introduce the key artistic movements that helped support fin-de-siècle cultural revivalism – decadence and symbolism – and I discuss the ways in which they complemented the Celtic Revival.


2013 ◽  
Vol 41 (2) ◽  
pp. 311-327 ◽  
Author(s):  
Cheryl Blake Price

Gothic stories and fictionalized travel accounts featuring dangerous exotic plants appeared throughout the nineteenth century and were especially prevalent at the fin de siècle. As the century progressed and the public's fascination with these narratives grew, fictional plants underwent a narrative evolution. By the end of the Victorian period, deadly plants had been transformed from passive poisoners into active carnivores. Stories about man-eating trees, among the most popular of the deadly plant tales, reflect this narrative progression. The trope of the man-eating tree developed out of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century accounts of a much less dangerous plant: the Javanese upas. Tales about the upas described the tree as having a poisonous atmosphere which killed every living thing within a several mile radius. The existence of this plant was first reported by a Dutch surgeon named Foersch in a 1783 article published in the London Magazine, and the story was recounted several times throughout the century (“The Valley of Poison” 46). A typical account of the popular tale would highlight the exotic location and the mysterious power of the tree: Somewhere in the far recesses of Java there is, according to Foersch, a dreadful tree, the poisonous secretions of which are so virulent, that they not only kill by contact, but poison the air for several miles around, so that the greater number of those who approach the vegetable monster are killed. Nothing whatever, he tells us, can grow within several miles of the upas tree, except some little trees of the same species. For a distance of about fifteen miles round the spot, the ground is covered with the skeletons of birds, beasts, and human beings. (“The Upas Tree of Fact and Fiction” 12) Even though more credible adventurers revealed the inaccuracies of Foersch's report and thoroughly discredited the fantastic powers attributed to the upas, the story nonetheless took hold of the Victorian imagination. As a result of Foersch's widely-circulated narrative, the word “upas” was rapidly incorporated into the English lexicon; writers such as Erasmus Darwin, Thomas Carlyle, Charlotte Brontë, and Charles Dickens use the upas as a metaphor for a person, object, or idea that has a poisonous, destructive atmosphere. The upas was even a subject for nineteenth-century art, as evidenced by Francis Danby's 1820 gothic painting of a solitary upas tree in the midst of a desolate rocky landscape. Although the myth of the upas focuses on the tree's lethal powers, it is important to note that the upas is, relatively speaking, a very passive “vegetable monster.” The plant is potentially dangerous, but stationary; extremely isolated, it is only harmful to those who rashly ignore the warning signs and wander within the area of its poisonous influence. Even in these exaggerated accounts, the upas is a non-carnivorous monster that grows in a remote, uninhabited area of Java.


Author(s):  
Michael Shaw

This conclusion builds on the previous chapters of the book and highlights some key lines of continuity between the Scottish cultural revivalists of the fin de siècle and the writers of the Scottish Renaissance. By focussing on Hugh MacDiarmid, the conclusion reveals that – despite MacDiarmid’s dismissive portraits of late-Victorian Scotland – he acknowledged various debts to (and expressed admiration for) several figures discussed in this book, including William Sharp/Fiona Macleod and Patrick Geddes. The lines of continuity presented here are only indicative, but they reveal a more complex relationship between late-Victorian and Modernist cultural nationalism than some of MacDiarmid’s quotations suggest.


2021 ◽  
Vol 49 (4) ◽  
pp. 689-710
Author(s):  
Jane Desmarais

This article considers the Victorian and Edwardian vogue for setting late-Victorian decadent poetry to music. It examines the particular appeal of Ernest Dowson's and Arthur Symons's verse to the composers Cyril Scott and Frederick Delius, whose Songs of Sunset (1911) was regarded as the “quintessential expression of the fin-de-siècle spirit,” and discusses the contribution of women composers and musicians—particularly that of the Irish composer and translator Adela Maddison (1866–1929)—to the cross-continental tradition of decadent song literature and the musical legacy of decadence in the late-Victorian period and beyond.


2015 ◽  
Vol 4 (2) ◽  
pp. 113-135
Author(s):  
Lucila Mallart

This article explores the role of visuality in the identity politics of fin-de-siècle Catalonia. It engages with the recent reevaluation of the visual, both as a source for the history of modern nation-building, and as a constitutive element in the emergence of civic identities in the liberal urban environment. In doing so, it offers a reading of the mutually constitutive relationship of the built environment and the print media in late-nineteenth century Catalonia, and explores the role of this relation as the mechanism by which the so-called ‘imagined communities’ come to exist. Engaging with debates on urban planning and educational policies, it challenges established views on the interplay between tradition and modernity in modern nation-building, and reveals long-term connections between late-nineteenth-century imaginaries and early-twentieth-century beliefs and practices.


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