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Fig Leaf

by Ambrose Bierce

From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/ambrose-bierce_poetry

(A Definition)
An artist’s trick by which the Nude’s Protected from the eyes of prudes, Which else with their peculiar flame Might scorch the canvass in its frame, Or melt the bronze, or burn to lime The marble, in a minute’s time. For sparks are sometimes seen to dance Where falls a dame’s offended glance, And little curls of smoke to rise From fingers veiling virgin eyes.
O prudes I know you⁠—once you made Among us here a fool crusade Against some casts from the antique, Great, naked, natural and Greek, Whereto you flocked, a prurient crush, And diligently tried to blush, Half strangled in the vain attempt Till someone (may the wretch be hemped!) Depressed his lordly length of ear Your loud lubricity to hear, Then took his chisel up and dealt At Art a blow below the belt. Insulted, crimson with the shame, Her cheeks aglow, her eyes aflame, The goddess spread her pinions bright, Sprang, and the town was left in night!
Since then in vain the painter toils: His canvass still repels the oils. In vain with melancholy sighs His burin the engraver plies; Lines multiply beneath his hand⁠— Their meaning none can understand. With stubborn clay and unsubdued. The sculptor shapes his fancies crude, Unable to refine the work, And makes a god look like a Turk. To marble grown, or metal, still The monstrous image makes him ill, Till, crazed with rage, the damaged lot He breaks, or sells to Irving Scott.

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