Earthwork out of Tuscany: Being Impressions and Translations of Maurice Hewlett — Inside the Classic

A Prefatory Apologia for Style

Hewlett's prefaces are unusually revealing. In the second edition preface, he complains that only two in a hundred readers 'knew what I was at,' and he defends his method of wrapping 'beautiful and simple things' in a 'tissue of his own conceits.' This is not mere vanity; it is a deliberate aesthetic stance. He insists that if he must 'steal a loaf of bread,' he would prefer to do so openly—a metaphor for his approach to borrowing from Tuscan culture.

The third edition preface drops the defensiveness for a wry humility: he will not 'try throwing oil upon the waters' to calm criticism. The book, he implies, must stand on its own. For a first reader, these prefaces serve as a warning and an invitation: Hewlett's prose will be dense, allusive, and self-consciously literary. The reader should expect not a straightforward travel guide but a personal, crafted impression.

The Botticelli Episode: Flesh and Philosophy

The longest excerpt presents a fictional scene involving the painter Sandro Botticelli, the poet Agnolo Poliziano, and the noblewoman Simonetta Vespucci. Hewlett's description of Simonetta is sensuous and detailed: 'a creature how delicate and gracious, with grey eyes frank and wide, and full red lips where a smile seemed always to hover.' The narrative contrasts her physical warmth with the coldness attributed to her by other women, who call her 'proud as the snow.'

Poliziano's oration, woven into the scene, argues for a Platonic conception of beauty that transcends shame. He cites Phryne and Plato's Republic to defend nudity as virtuous. This philosophical digression is typical of Hewlett's method: he embeds intellectual debate within a vivid, almost painterly tableau. The reader must navigate between the narrative's romanticism and the essayistic interludes.

The Texture of Hewlett's Prose

Hewlett's sentences are long and rhythmically complex, often piling up clauses and images. In the Botticelli scene, Simonetta's hair is described as 'a heavy wealth of red-gold hair, twisted in great coils, bound about with pearls, and smouldering like molten metal.' The simile is tactile and visual, typical of his effort to render Tuscan art and landscape in words.

He also uses archaic or elevated diction: 'obsequious speaker,' 'sovereign Beauty,' 'dubbed courtesan.' This is not accidental; the epigraph from 3 Maccabees prepares the reader for 'speech finely framed.' The prose can feel mannered, but it is consistently attentive to sensory detail. A reader should expect to slow down and savor the language, as the meaning often resides in the texture as much as the argument.

The Hybrid Genre: Impressions, Translations, and Fiction

The book's subtitle—'Impressions and Translations'—is accurate but incomplete. The excerpts show that Hewlett mixes personal essay, translated poetry (not included in the excerpts), and fictionalized historical vignettes. The Botticelli episode reads like a short story, complete with dialogue and interiority: 'He stood before her moody, disconcerted.' Yet it is framed by the author's own voice in the prefaces, which are candid about the book's reception.

This generic fluidity means the reader must be flexible. A chapter may begin as a travel description of a Tuscan hill town and shift into a meditation on Renaissance art or a translated sonnet. Hewlett does not signal these shifts clearly; he expects the reader to follow his associative logic. The book rewards those who accept its hybrid nature rather than demanding a consistent mode.

Approach Earthwork out of Tuscany as a series of linked essays and narratives rather than a systematic guide. Hewlett's voice is central: opinionated, learned, and occasionally defensive. The prefaces offer a key to his intentions, but the body of the work demands patience with its ornate style and digressions. Readers interested in the intersection of travel writing, art criticism, and literary impressionism will find much to admire, provided they accept the book on its own terms.