In the weeks following the announcement that The Savoy would soon cease publication, rumours began to circulate in the popular press that its final number would take an unusual form. In the November 28, 1896 issue of The St James’s Gazette, “The Literary World” columnist writes:

Not the most ingenious critic in quest of far-fetched comparisons has ever, we imagine, ventured to bring into comparison the careers of Mrs. Oliphant and Mr. Arthur Symons. Henceforth, however, they will have one point of likeness. Mrs. Oliphant, it is currently reported, has offered to write a whole number of “Blackwood” herself. Mr. Arthur Symons, being his own editor, is able to not only make the offer but to give it effect; and it is said that the whole of the literary contents of the next and final number of the “Savoy” will be from his pen, the illustrations being exclusively by Mr. Aubrey Beardsley. When several writers write on one subject in a magazine some people call it a “symposium.” What is the technical term when one writer writes on several subjects? (12)

The comparison of the editor of The Savoy to the author of popular novels such as Miss Marjoribanks (1866) and Phoebe, Junior (1876) might well have seemed “far-fetched.” Symons was among the most ardent devotees of the Epicurean doctrine of “art for art’s sake,” while Oliphant, with her ability to produce sentimental tales at a nearly industrial pace, was almost a by-word for middle-brow taste. But the columnist was correct about the format of The Savoy’s last number: Arthur Symons would provide all the letterpress, and Aubrey Beardsley all the art. The result was, as the article’s closing query suggests, an experiment in publishing that defied conventional definitions of what might constitute a magazine, and, in this sense, brought The Savoy to a fitting close.

The decision to feature only works by Symons and Beardsley in the final number has generally been understood to have been a costs-savings measure. Karl Beckson, for example, speculates that “probably [Leonard] Smithers could no longer pay his contributors, and perhaps Symons voluntarily provided the literary contents at considerably reduced fees” (151). Matthew Sturgis, however, argues that the decision was not necessarily motivated only by concerns for money. It might also have been a “mark of defiance” on Smithers’s part, a way of demonstrating his unflagging commitment to the magazine’s two leading lights, despite their vilification in the popular press (300). Beardsley, in particular, took to the proposition with enthusiasm, seeing in it a chance to rebuff his critics by exhibiting the full range of his abilities. In a September 1896 letter to Smithers, Beardsley concedes, “nothing else could I fear be done with the Savoy,” and promises him “some scorching drawings for No. 8” (167). Despite suffering from a particularly violent hemorrhage, the artist was good to his word, providing twelve drawings, more than he had for any issue since the first.

Published on 13 December, 1896, Volume 8 showed no decline in quantity or quality. It was, in fact, two pages longer than the preceding issue and maintained the same print run as the previous three volumes—1500 copies printed by the Chiswick Press (Nelson 297). Beardsley’s cover depicts a man in loose-fitting trousers and slippers, seated on a stool, curls of hair overflowing from an oriental headpiece. Brian Reade suggests that the figure, which appears neither conventionally masculine nor white, was “probably intended” for an illustrated edition of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, a project that Smithers had first proposed as a possible follow-up to the successful edition of The Lysistrata (1896) (357-58, fn. 442). The story of Ali Baba, a poor woodcutter who learns the secret password (“Open sesame!”) to a cave containing the loot of a fearsome band of thieves, had acquired great popularity in the nineteenth century through its addition to various translations of A Thousand and One Arabian Nights (including one published by Smithers—his first success as a publisher). The cover for Volume 8 may well have been intended for the Ali Baba project, but in the context of the magazine’s run, that is say, as the last of eight cover images that Beardsley designed for The Savoy, it marks a striking contrast with the design for the magazine’s first issue. Where the earlier design is rendered in a lush and highly detailed style reminiscent of eighteenth-century book illustration, the later is austere and economical, a simple figure rendered with quick, dexterous lines and without background. Moreover, where the earlier image is one of seductive appeal, a beautiful woman chasing a naked imp into a forest, here the male figure appears stern and disapproving, his eyes gazing across the page to the letterpress that reads “No. 8 and last.” The first cover’s sense of sexual and aesthetic possibility thus appears to have given way, a mere twelve months later, to a sense of deep ambiguity with regards to sexual and racial identity, and unease about the future.

In addition to Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Beardsley drew on several other abandoned projects for Volume 8. The caricatures of the German composers Felix Mendelssohn and Carl Maria Von Weber were originally intended to accompany a slim volume of the artist’s “table talk,” that is to say, the epigrammatic witticisms and clever observations, chiefly regarding art and literature, that punctuated the speaker’s conversation at social functions. Though the volume remained incomplete in the artist’s lifetime, John Lane gathered several examples of Beardsley’s wit for his 1904 edition of Under the Hill (portions of which had been serialized in the first two volumes of The Savoy). The aphorism referring to Weber, for example, reads: “Weber’s pianoforte pieces remind me of the beautiful glass chandeliers at the Brighton Pavilion” (63). Such memorable expressions were much valued by the dandies of the fin de siècle. They signified not only the speaker’s ability to shape their insights into perfectly formed and eminently quotable phrases, but also their desire to breech the borders between art and everyday life, making even the most mundane of occasions an aesthetic experience. Beardsley’s table talk was especially well regarded, and was perhaps second only to that of Oscar Wilde for its ability to captivate an audience.

Another project scavenged for Volume 8 was The Comedy of the Rhinegold. As noted in the Introduction to Volume 6, Beardsley was inspired by Richard Wagner’s opera Der Ring des Nibelungen, and in particular the manner in which it embodied the composer’s concept of “Gesamtkunstwerk,” that is to say, the “total work of art,” in which the various media form a unified whole (Sutton 4). Beardsley’s plan for this project was to produce a series of episodic vignettes derived from the first part of the “Ring” cycle, combining text and illustrations to recount the story of how the Nibelung Alberich steals the Rhinemaidens’ gold and acquires immense power only to have that power stolen from him. Designs intended for this project appeared in Volumes 2 and 6 of The Savoy. For Volume 8, Beardsley contributed four further drawings: the frontispiece, featuring the three Rhinemaidens rising from the water; Flosshilde, one of the Rhinemaidens; Erda, the goddess of wisdom and mother of the Valkyrs; and Alberich, the dwarf whose actions put the Ring cycle in motion. Of these, the drawing of Alberich, bound by ropes, cursing the gods for having stolen his ring, was likely particularly meaningful to Beardsley. “Alberich” is the original German name from which “Aubrey” derives. The two men also seemed to share similar fates: having achieved their ambitions against all odds, they had to watch impotently as others profited from their labour. As if to make the association complete, Beardsley gives the dwarf a distinctive nose, much like his own. As Sturgis writes: “The picture is a study of enraged frustration. Though it does not allow of a literal interpretation, it suggests something of Beardsley’s predicament: he had sacrificed much to fulfil his genius; now his illness was stealing everything” (301-02).

Although Beardsley’s failing health compelled him to recycle work he had produced for other projects, he also contributed several new designs for Volume 8. “A Répétition of Tristan and Isolde” returns to a source from which he had previously drawn in Volume 7, Wagner’s opera Tristan und Isolde (1857-59). But where the earlier design is presented as illustrating a dramatic scene from the libretto, this image is presented as a “rehearsal” (or “répétition”) of a four-bar musical phrase from the score, printed on the page facing the image. The idea that a work of art might serve as a “play” or “variation” on a musical passage is indicative of Beardsley’s interest in exploring the limits of what it means to “illustrate” a work, and recalls Walter Pater’s dictum, at the heart of so much Aesthetic thought, that “all art constantly aspires to the condition of music” (135). Volume 8 also includes caricatures of three notable literary libertines: Molière’s Don Juan; Count Valmont from Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’s Les Liaisons Dangereuse (1782); and Mrs. Pinchwife, the cross-dressing heroine of William Wycherley’s The Country Wife (1675).

Beardsley’s last contribution to the volume is, almost too aptly, “Et in Arcadia Ego,” a Latin phrase typically translated as “Even in Arcadia, I (i.e. the figure of Death), am to be found.” In Beardsley’s design, an elderly dandy pauses in his stride to contemplate the motto inscribed on a stone pedestal supporting a funereal urn. Beckson suggests that the drawing is a “pun on [the address of] Smithers’s bookshop in The Royal Arcade in Bond Street” (154), but it may reflect, too, Beardsley’s preoccupation, as his own death came closer, with how he would be remembered by the aging artists and writers who once modelled themselves on his tastes and deportment. Traversing table talk, poetry, prose fiction, folklore, opera, and even funeral statuary, the art contents for Volume 8 demonstrate not only the range of Beardsley’s interests, but also his commitment to a transmedial dialogue among the arts, and the role in which pen-and-ink drawing can play in furthering that dialogue.

The literary contents show a similar concern for diversity. The lead text for Volume 8 is a lyric poem. More than 500 lines long, written in heroic couplets (rhyming pairs of lines in iambic pentametre), “Mundi Victima” (“World’s Victim”) is one of Symons’s most ambitious poems, in both subject matter and form. The poem looks back on a failed relationship between an older man and a younger woman who has chosen to marry another, wealthier man rather than pursue her grand passion. The subject matter was familiar to Symons. In late 1893, the poet began an affair with a young dancer, to whom he referred as “Lydia” — her full name remains unknown (Beckson 100). The woman was nineteen at the time and still living with her mother while performing at the Empire, a popular music hall frequented by Symons in his capacity as a theatre critic. The relationship lasted two and a half years before Lydia’s mother apparently convinced her daughter to abandon the stage and accept an offer of marriage from an older suitor whom she did not love but who could give her a home and social standing. The psychological complexities of the relationship, and the way in which these complexities were deeply entwined with the physical and erotic aspects of their feelings for one another, inspired much of Symons’s poetry during his period, including two poems previously published in The Savoy: “The Wanderers” (Volume 1) and “New Year’s Eve” (Volume 2). In these earlier texts, the Lydia figure appears as something of a femme fatale, a woman whose conflicted sexual and emotional desires bring ruin to the male narrator, but “Mundi Victima” marks a change a tone. Rather than blame the unnamed woman, the speaker sees them both as victims of “the world’s injustice, and that old / Tyranny of dumb, rooted things, which hold / The hearts of men in a hard bondage” (18). The shift thus bears comparison to Symons’s attitude toward his magazine’s failure. Just as Symons was inclined to blame the end of The Savoy on the increasingly reactionary tastes of the English reading public, so, too, in reflecting on the end of his affair with the young dancer, the narrator of “Mundi Victima” condemns the conservative social mores of the day, the era in which “desire dare not desire relief” (15).

The other example of poetry in Volume 8 is Symons’s translation of Stéphane Mallarmé’s unfinished closet drama “Hérodiade” (1869). The Savoy had consistently championed French poetry, particularly that associated with the Symbolist movement, since its inception: Symons’s translation of Paul Verlaine’s “Mandoline” appeared in Volume 1, and Mallarmé s prose poem “The Future Phenomenon” was translated for Volume 3 by George Moore, to take two notable examples. A reworking of the Salomé myth, “Hérodiade” is considered by many critics as the exemplification of Mallarmé’s desire “to paint, not the thing, but the effect that it produces” (qtd in Fowlie 125). As Wallace Fowlie writes, “On one level of interpretation, Hérodiade is a cold virginal princess who stands aloof from the world of men, but she may also represent the poem itself, so difficult to seize and possess that the poet ultimately despairs of knowing it” (125-26). The section that Symons chose to translate for Volume 8 is a dialogue between the princess and her elderly nurse, who asks her charge for whom she keeps her beauty. Looking into a mirror, Hérodiade replies that she keeps it for herself:

I live in a monotonous land alone,
And all about me lives but in mine own
Image, the idolatrous mirror of my pride,
Mirrowing [sic] this Hérodiade diamond-eyed.
I am indeed alone, O charm and curse! (68)

Remote and inaccessible, even to herself, Hérodiade represents not only the autonomy of art, its refusal to bow to the desires of those who would possess it, or make it a mirror of their own condition, but also, and, as a tragic consequence of this autonomy, its orientation toward death. Mallarmé wrote to Symons to express his pleasure with the translation, while W.B. Yeats would later acknowledge the influence that it had on his own poetry during this period, including The Wind Among the Reeds (Beckson 156).

The Savoy’s commitments to both serialization and the aesthetic values of Naturalism are reaffirmed in the volume’s sole example of prose fiction. “The Childhood of Lucy Newcome” is a prequel to “Pages from the Life of Lucy Newcome,” which appeared in Volume 2. The two stories were imagined by Symons as forming parts of what he called a “novel à la Goncourt.” Symons’s interest in the novels of Edmond and Jules Goncourt had been signaled in his “Literary Causerie” in Volume 5, and his enthusiasm was shared by many writers in the little magazine network of the 1890s—John Gray’s appreciative essay “Les Goncourt” appeared in the inaugural issue of The Dial in 1889. The Lucy Newcome stories share a similar sensibility, taking as their source the life of Ryllis Llewellyn Hacon, or Muriel Broadent as she was known when Symons met her in the early 1890s. As noted in the Introduction to Volume 4 of The Dial (1896), Hacon was both the wife of Llewellyn Hacon, Charles Ricketts’s business partner in the Vale Press, and a popular artist’s model—she is the model for Charles Shannon’s “Delia,” the frontispiece for the fourth Dial. The instalment in Savoy Volume 8 records Lucy’s childhood experiences with death, first that of her remote but kindly mother, and then, and more devastatingly, that of her father, a man of learning and wit, who was never able to fulfill his early promise. Young Lucy, nonetheless, dotes upon him, and his death, following an accident with a mail carriage, leaves her facing an uncertain future.

“The Childhood of Lucy Newcome” exemplifies not only the Goncourts’ concern for sense perception over dramatic action, but also the sexual politics of The Savoy as a whole. Here, as in other stories published in the magazine, such as Frederick Wedmore’s “Nancy” stories (serialized in Volumes 1 and 2), or Symons’s own “Bertha at the Fair” (in Volume 3), the narrative point of view is distinctly male, casting the character of the “fallen woman” as an object of scopophilic fascination, a mystery to be investigated or a puzzle to be solved. And there is a sense, too, that while the women in these texts may be the victims of predatory men, their fate is nonetheless tied to the nature of femininity itself. As Anne Margaret Daniel notes, Lucy’s fall seems to have been determined in advance by her childhood taste in literature: she is allowed by her neglectful parents to indulge her appetite for the dreamy verse of “poetesses” such as Felicia Hemans, literature that appears to have stoked her passion for romance but left her with little knowledge of the true ways of the world. “That Lucy ended up with an illegitimate child,” writes Daniel, “because she read lady poets speaks volumes to the misogyny underlying much of male decadence” (190). A third installment of the Lucy Newcome series, entitled “The Life and Adventures of Lucy Newcome,” was found among Symons’s papers held by the Phoenix (Arizona) Public Library and the Arthur Symons Collection at Princeton. It was published in English Literature in Transition, 1880-1920, with a preface by Alan Johnson, in 1985.

Symons’s other contributions to Volume 8 are essays, each of which takes up a theme introduced in earlier issues. Much as Volume 2 used the occasion of Verlaine’s recent death to reflect on his contribution to modern poetry, and Volume 6, in a more critical spirit, commented on the funeral of the noted Pre-Raphaelite painter, John Everett Millais, Volume 8 looks back on the life of Walter Pater. A widely-revered art critic whose work was key to the development of Aestheticism, Pater had died two years previously, but his loss was a severe blow to Symons. Pater’s claim that the “first step” toward knowing an “object as in itself it really is,” is to know not the object, but “one’s own impression as it really is, to discriminate it, to realize it distinctly,” was key to Symons’s critical method, which valorized sense impressions over mere facts and physical descriptions (viii). Moreover, Pater’s support, including a very positive review of Symons’s Days and Nights (1889), his first book of poetry, had been instrumental in establishing his reputation as a writer of boundary-pushing verse (Beckson 46). “Walter Pater: Some Characteristics” seeks to repay some of this debt, offering a fulsome account of the critic’s career, with a particular emphasis on his style: “here are the simplest words, but they take colour from each other by the cunning accident of their placing in the sentence, ‘the subtle spiritual fire kindling from word to word’” (34).

Symons also returns to the genre of travel writing that he had first explored in Volume 1 with his reflections on the French coastal town of Dieppe. For Volume 8, he offers his impressions of Aran, a group of three islands off the west coast of Ireland. Symons visited the area in August 1896, while staying with Yeats in Galway. In the nineteenth century, these remote, windswept islands were rarely visited by tourists, and Symons was deeply impressed by their magical otherworldliness. “I have never believed less in the reality of the visible world,” he writes of his time in Aran, “in the importance of all we are most serious about. One seems to wash off the dust of cities, the dust of beliefs, the dust of incredulities” (79). Symons was not as given to mysticism as was Yeats, but the trip seems to have afforded him reason to think that there might, indeed, have been something to his friend’s claims, which featured often in the pages of The Savoy, about the ancient wisdom of the Celts.

Volume 8 concludes with the last of Symons’s “Literary Causeries,” the short, somewhat informal reflections on literary topics, with which he had closed each of the monthly issues. In this instance, the literary topic is The Savoy itself. Symons recounts how Leonard Smithers came to him with the idea of entering the market for quality literature and art, and how he then secured Beardsley’s services to assist with the art contents. He also reminds the reader of the magazine’s editorial policy, and his desire to promote the work of writers, particularly new writers, “from as many ‘schools’ as possible” (91)—a pointed rejoinder to those who still felt, perhaps not entirely without cause, that the magazine was chiefly a vehicle for aesthetic and decadent thought of a notably French variety. But the essay’s main focus is to address the question of why The Savoy failed. The problem, he feels, lay not with the quality of the magazine he helped produce. It was, rather, a combination of poor business acumen and, perhaps more importantly, a misplaced faith in the reading public:

Our first mistake was in giving so much for so little money; our second, in abandoning a quarterly for a monthly issue. The action of Messrs. Smith and Son in refusing to place “The Savoy” on their bookstalls, on account of the reproduction of a drawing by Blake, was another misfortune. And then, worst of all, we assumed that there were very many people in the world who really cared for art, and really for art’s sake. (2)

Reviews for the volume were not especially sympathetic to Symons’s argument. The Morning Post, for example, suggests that Symons can “hardly be surprised that the peculiar style of Art that was to be found in the magazine, such, for instance, as the pictures by Blake, had attractions for very few.” As for the final issue, the reviewer suggests that it is to Beardsley’s credit that “he has by now accustomed the public to appreciate the decorative quality that generally exists in his work, even if they cannot find satisfaction in the deformities of face and form that he is so fond of introducing” (“The Savoy”). In a similar vein, The Referee claims that the failure of The Savoy was not, as Symons claims, the result of too few people really caring for art, but just the reverse. The magazine failed, the reviewer avers, “because there are many people who really do care for art, and Mr. Symons is not the first clever young man who has mistaken affectation for fine art” (“The Round Table”). The Scotsman is more appreciative, admitting that “[t]here is something almost heroic” in the fact that Symons and Beardsley contribute all the issue’s contents, and praising the latter’s ability to make “ugliness attractive.” To Symons’s claim that the magazine was, in a sense, “too good for this world,” however, the reviewer sardonically replies: “Probably there is a corner of Orcus where the only literature to be had is supplied by magazines that could only live for a year on earth. To this pale and unsubstantial region [The Savoy] is now about to be transferred, and it only remains for criticism to wish the Happy Shades joy of their new acquaintances” (“The Magazines”).

Symons concludes his “Literary Causerie” on an optimistic note, stating that he expects to launch a new venture shortly, one that will abjure the marketplace for monthly publication. He imagines the new title will appear twice each year and will be “larger in size, better produced, and . . . cost more” (92). As noted in the General Introduction, neither this revival of The Savoy, nor another proposed by Hubert Crackanthorpe, came to fruition. Instead, Smithers, looking to recoup something of his lost investment, gathered the unsold copies of the magazine’s eight issues and had them bound as three-volume sets in blue cloth, to be sold for a retail price of one guinea. To promote the publication, the publisher asked Beardsley for a design to be used as a three-colour lithograph poster. To best represent the magazine, for what would be, in effect, its last public appearance, Beardsley chose not the design for Volume 1, sumptuous as it is, but the one for Volume 8. It is, like so many of Beardsley’s public statements, an interesting choice. Though it was produced by only two men, one contributing all the art and the other all the literature, this volume maintained The Savoy’s commitment a broad variety of genres, forms, and topics, from French Symbolism, German opera, and mystical Irish islands, to lyric poetry, eighteenth-century libertines, and Naturalist accounts of “fallen women.” The issue also embodied, perhaps more than any earlier number, The Savoy’s willingness to experiment with the critic’s expectations of what constitutes a magazine.

©2022, Christopher Keep, Associate Professor of English, Western University

Works Cited

• Beardsley, Aubrey. “Alberich” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 47. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_alberich/

• —. “Carl Maria Von Weber.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 65. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_carl/

• —. “Count Valmont.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 71. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_valmont/

• —. “Cover.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 1. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8/beardsley_cover/

• —. “Don Juan, Sganarelle, and the Beggar. From Molière’s “Don Juan.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 29. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_donjuan/

• —. “Erda.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 49. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_erda/

• —. “Et in Arcadia Ego” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 89. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_arcadia/

• —. “Felix” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 63. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_felix/

• —. “Flosshilde.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 45. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_flosshilde/

• —. “Frontispiece to ‘The Comedy of the Rhinegold.’” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 43. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_rhinegold/

• —. The Letters of Aubrey Beardsley. Edited by Henry Maas, J.L. Duncan and W.G. Good, Farleigh Dickinson UP, 1970.

• —. “Mrs. Pinchwife. From Wycherley’s Country Wife.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 31. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_pinchwife

• —. “A Répétition of Tristan and Isolde.” The Savoy, vol. 8, December 1896, p. 11. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2019. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019, https://1890s.ca/savoyv8_beardsley_repetition/

• —. Under the Hill and Other Essays in Prose and Verse. John Lane, 1904.

• Beckson, Karl. Arthur Symons: A Life. Clarendon, 1987.

• Daniel, Anne Margaret. “Arthur Symons and The Savoy.” Literary Imagination, vol. 7, no. 2, 2005, pp. 165–93.

• Fowlie, Wallace. Mallarmé. University of Chicago Press, 1962.

• “The Literary World.” St. James’s Gazette, November, 28, 1996, p. 12. British Newspaper Archive.

• Johnson, Alan. “Arthur Symons’ ‘The Life and Adventures of Lucy Newcome’: Preface and Text.” English Literature in Transition, 1880-1920, no. 4, volume 28, 1985, pp. 332-335.

• “The Magazines.” The Scotsman, 14 Dec. 1896, p. 3. British Newspaper Archive.

• Mallarmé, Stéphane. “Hérodiade.” Translated by Arthur Symons. The Savoy vol. 8, December 1896, pp. 67-68. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2020. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/savoyv8-symons-herodiade/

• Nelson, James G. Publisher to the Decadents: Leonard Smithers in the Careers of Beardsley, Wilde, Dowson. Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000.

• Pater, Walter. The Renaissance: Studies in Art and Poetry. MacMillan, 1910.

• Reade, Brian. Aubrey Beardsley. Viking, 1967.

• “The Round Table.” The Referee, 13 Dec. 1896, p. 7. British Newspaper Archive.

• “The Savoy.” Morning Post, 23 Dec. 1896, p. 3. British Newspaper Archive.

• Sturgis, Matthew. Aubrey Beardsley: A Biography. Flamingo, 1999.

• Sutton, Emma. Aubrey Beardsley and British Wagnerism in the 1890s. Oxford University Press, 2002.

• Symons, Arthur. “The Childhood of Lucy Newcome.” The Savoy vol. 8, December 1896, pp. 51-61. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2020. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/savoyv8-symons-childhood/

• — “The Isles of Aran.” The Savoy vol. 8, December 1896, pp. 73-86. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2020. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/savoyv8-symons-aran/

• —. “A Literary Causerie: By Way of Epilogue.” The Savoy vol. 8, December 1896, pp. 91-92. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2020. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/savoyv8-symons-causerie/

• —. “Mundi Victima.” The Savoy vol. 8, December 1896, pp. 13-27. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2020. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/savoyv8-symons-mundi/

• —. “Walter Pater: Some Characteristics.” The Savoy vol. 8, December 1896, pp. 33-41. Savoy Digital Edition, edited by Christopher Keep and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2018-2020. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Toronto Metropolitan University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. https://1890s.ca/savoyv8-symons-walter/