along the sea-shore, and, the forces of Saladin being in the vicinity, the army moved in such a formation as to be able to give battle at any moment. Richard thus moved slowly, but in such compact order as to arouse the admiration even of the enemy. The right column of baggage and supplies, guarded by infantry, was nearest the sea, the various corps of heavy cavalry, one behind the other, formed the central column, and on the exposed left flank was the infantry, well closed up, and “level and firm as a wall,” according to the testimony of Saracen authors. The columns were united into a narrow rectangle by the advanced and rear guards. The whole march was a running fight between untiring horse-archers and steady infantry. Only once did the column open out, and the opportunity was swiftly seized by the Saracens, yet so rapid was the rally of the crusaders that little damage was done (August 25). The latter maintained for many days an absolutely passive defence, and could not be tempted to fight; Richard and his knights made occasional charges, but quickly withdrew, and on the 7th of September this irregular skirmishing, in which the crusaders had scarcely suffered at all, culminated in the battle of Arsuf. Saladin had by now decided that the only hope of success lay in compelling the rear of the Christians’ column to halt—and thus opening a gap, should the van be still on the move. Richard, on the other hand, had prepared for action by closing up still more, and as the crusaders were now formed a simple left turn brought them into two lines of battle, infantry in first line, cavalry in second line. Near Arsuf the road entered a defile between the sea and a wooded range of hills; and from the latter the whole Moslem army suddenly burst forth. The weight of the attack fell upon the rear of Richard’s column, as Saladin desired. The column slowly continued its march, suffering heavily in horses, but otherwise unharmed. The first assault thus made no impression, but a fierce hand-to-hand combat followed, in which the Hospitallers, who formed the rear of the Christian army, were hard pressed. Their grand master, like many other subordinates in history, repeatedly begged to be allowed to charge, but Richard, who on this occasion showed the highest gift of generalship, that of feeling the pulse of the fight, waited for the favourable moment. Almost as he gave the signal for the whole line to charge, the sorely pressed Hospitallers rode out upon the enemy on their own initiative. At once the whole of the cavalry followed suit. The head (or right wing) and centre were not closely engaged, and their fleeter opponents had time to ride off, but the rear of the column carried all before it in its impetuous onset, and cut down the Saracens in great numbers. A second charge, followed by a third, dispersed the enemy in all directions. The total loss of the Saracens was more than tenfold that of the Christians, who lost but seven hundred men. The army arrived at Jaffa on the 10th of September.
See Oman, Hist. of the Art of War, ii. 303-317.
ARSURE, a village of France in the department of Jura, has some stone quarries and extensive layers of peat in its neighbourhood. Its church has a choir dating from the 11th century. Pop. 370.
ARSURES, a village of France in the department of Jura, situated on a small stream, the Lurine. It is surrounded by vineyards, from which excellent wine is produced. Pop. 233.
ART, a word in its most extended and most popular sense meaning everything which we distinguish from Nature. Art and Nature are the two most comprehensive genera of which the human mind has formed the conception. Under the genus Nature, or the genus Art, we include all the phenomena of the universe. But as our conception of Nature is indeterminate and variable, so in some degree is our conception of Art. Nor does such ambiguity arise only because some modes of thought refer a greater number of the phenomena of the universe to the genus Nature, and others a greater number to the genus Art. It arises also because we do not strictly limit the one genus by the other. The range of the phenomena to which we point, when we say Art, is never very exactly determined by the range of the other phenomena which at the same time we tacitly refer to the order of Nature. Everybody understands the general meaning of a phrase like Chaucer’s “Nature ne Art ne koude him not amende,” or Pope’s “Blest with each grace of nature and of art.” In such phrases we intend to designate familiarly as Nature all which exists independently of our study, forethought and exertion—in other words, those phenomena in ourselves or the world which we do not originate but find; and we intend to designate familiarly as Art all which we do not find but originate—or, in other words, the phenomena, which we add by study, forethought and exertion to those existing independently of us. But we do not use these designations consistently. Sometimes we draw an arbitrary line in the action of individuals and societies, and say, Here Nature ends and Art begins—such a law, such a practice, such an industry even, is natural, and such another is artificial; calling those natural which happen spontaneously and without much reflection, and the others artificial. But this line different observers draw at different places. Sometimes we adopt views which waive the distinction altogether. One such view is that wherein all phenomena are regarded as equally natural, and the idea of Nature is extended so as to include “all the powers existing in either the outer or the inner world, and everything which exists by means of those powers.” In this view Art becomes a part of Nature. It is illustrated in the familiar passage of Shakespeare, where Polixenes reminds Perdita that
“Nature is made better by no mean, |
A posthumous essay of John Stuart Mill contains a full philosophical exposition and defence of this mode of regarding the relations of Nature and Art. Defining Nature as above, and again as a “collective name for all facts, actual and possible,” that writer proceeds to say that such a definition
“is evidently inapplicable to some of the modes in which the word is familiarly employed. For example, it entirely conflicts with the common form of speech by which Nature is opposed to Art, and natural to artificial. For in the sense of the word Nature which has thus been defined, and which is the true scientific sense, Art is as much Nature as anything else; and everything which is artificial is natural—Art has no independent powers of its own: Art is but the employment of the powers of Nature for an end. Phenomena produced by human agency no less than those which, as far as we are concerned, are spontaneous, depend on the properties of the elementary forces, or of the elementary substances and their compounds. The united powers of the whole human race could not create a new property of matter in general, or of any one of its species. We can only take advantage for our purposes of the properties we find. A ship floats by the same laws of specific gravity and equilibrium as a tree uprooted by the wind and blown into the water. The corn which men raise for food grows and produces its grain by the same laws of vegetation by which the wild rose and the mountain strawberry bring forth their flowers and fruit. A house stands and holds together by the natural properties, the weight and cohesion of the materials which compose it. A steam engine works by the natural expansive force of steam, exerting a pressure upon one part of a system of arrangements, which pressure, by the mechanical properties of the lever, is transferred from that to another part, where it raises the weight or removes the obstacle brought into connexion with it. In these and all other artificial operations the office of man is, as has often been remarked, a very limited one; it consists of moving things into certain places. We move objects, and by doing this, bring some things into contact which were separate, or separate others which were in contact; and by this simple change of place, natural forces previously dormant are called into action, and produce the desired effect. Even the volition which designs, the intelligence which contrives, and the muscular force which executes these movements, are themselves powers of Nature.”
Another mode of thought, in some sort complementary to the last, is based on the analogy which the operations of forces external to a man bear to the operations of man himself. Study, forethought and exertion are assigned to Nature, and her operations are called operations of Art. This view was familiar to ancient systems of philosophy, and especially to that of the Stoics. According to the report of Cicero, Nature as conceived by Zeno was a fire, and at the same time a voluntary agent having the power or art of creating things with regularity and design (“naturam esse ignem artificiosum ad gignendum progredientem via”). To this fire not merely creative force and
