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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:05 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:05 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13852-0.txt b/13852-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bfb8775 --- /dev/null +++ b/13852-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3054 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13852 *** + +LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT + +With Detailed Instructions for Collecting a Complete Library of +English Literature + +by + +ARNOLD BENNETT + +1913 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I + THE AIM + + CHAPTER II + YOUR PARTICULAR CASE + + CHAPTER III + WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC + + CHAPTER IV + WHERE TO BEGIN + + CHAPTER V + HOW TO READ A CLASSIC + + CHAPTER VI + THE QUESTION OF STYLE + + CHAPTER VII + WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR + + CHAPTER VIII + SYSTEM IN READING + + CHAPTER IX + VERSE + + CHAPTER X + BROAD COUNSELS + + CHAPTER XI + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I + + CHAPTER XII + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II + + CHAPTER XIII + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III + + CHAPTER XIV + MENTAL STOCKTAKING + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE AIM + + +At the beginning a misconception must be removed from the path. +Many people, if not most, look on literary taste as an elegant +accomplishment, by acquiring which they will complete themselves, and +make themselves finally fit as members of a correct society. They are +secretly ashamed of their ignorance of literature, in the same way +as they would be ashamed of their ignorance of etiquette at a high +entertainment, or of their inability to ride a horse if suddenly +called upon to do so. There are certain things that a man ought to +know, or to know about, and literature is one of them: such is their +idea. They have learnt to dress themselves with propriety, and to +behave with propriety on all occasions; they are fairly "up" in the +questions of the day; by industry and enterprise they are succeeding +in their vocations; it behoves them, then, not to forget that +an acquaintance with literature is an indispensable part of a +self-respecting man's personal baggage. Painting doesn't matter; music +doesn't matter very much. But "everyone is supposed to know" about +literature. Then, literature is such a charming distraction! Literary +taste thus serves two purposes: as a certificate of correct culture +and as a private pastime. A young professor of mathematics, immense +at mathematics and games, dangerous at chess, capable of Haydn on the +violin, once said to me, after listening to some chat on books, "Yes, +I must take up literature." As though saying: "I was rather forgetting +literature. However, I've polished off all these other things. I'll +have a shy at literature now." + +This attitude, or any attitude which resembles it, is wrong. To him +who really comprehends what literature is, and what the function of +literature is, this attitude is simply ludicrous. It is also fatal +to the formation of literary taste. People who regard literary taste +simply as an accomplishment, and literature simply as a distraction, +will never truly succeed either in acquiring the accomplishment or in +using it half-acquired as a distraction; though the one is the most +perfect of distractions, and though the other is unsurpassed by any +other accomplishment in elegance or in power to impress the universal +snobbery of civilised mankind. Literature, instead of being an +accessory, is the fundamental _sine qua non_ of complete living. I am +extremely anxious to avoid rhetorical exaggerations. I do not think I +am guilty of one in asserting that he who has not been "presented +to the freedom" of literature has not wakened up out of his prenatal +sleep. He is merely not born. He can't see; he can't hear; he can't +feel, in any full sense. He can only eat his dinner. What more than +anything else annoys people who know the true function of literature, +and have profited thereby, is the spectacle of so many thousands of +individuals going about under the delusion that they are alive, when, +as a fact, they are no nearer being alive than a bear in winter. + +I will tell you what literature is! No--I only wish I could. But I +can't. No one can. Gleams can be thrown on the secret, inklings given, +but no more. I will try to give you an inkling. And, to do so, I will +take you back into your own history, or forward into it. That evening +when you went for a walk with your faithful friend, the friend from +whom you hid nothing--or almost nothing ...! You were, in truth, +somewhat inclined to hide from him the particular matter which +monopolised your mind that evening, but somehow you contrived to get +on to it, drawn by an overpowering fascination. And as your faithful +friend was sympathetic and discreet, and flattered you by a respectful +curiosity, you proceeded further and further into the said matter, +growing more and more confidential, until at last you cried out, in a +terrific whisper: "My boy, she is simply miraculous!" At that moment +you were in the domain of literature. + +Let me explain. Of course, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, +she was not miraculous. Your faithful friend had never noticed that +she was miraculous, nor had about forty thousand other fairly keen +observers. She was just a girl. Troy had not been burnt for her. A +girl cannot be called a miracle. If a girl is to be called a miracle, +then you might call pretty nearly anything a miracle.... That is +just it: you might. You can. You ought. Amid all the miracles of +the universe you had just wakened up to one. You were full of your +discovery. You were under a divine impulsion to impart that discovery. +You had a strong sense of the marvellous beauty of something, and you +had to share it. You were in a passion about something, and you had +to vent yourself on somebody. You were drawn towards the whole of the +rest of the human race. Mark the effect of your mood and utterance +on your faithful friend. He knew that she was not a miracle. No other +person could have made him believe that she was a miracle. But you, by +the force and sincerity of your own vision of her, and by the fervour +of your desire to make him participate in your vision, did for quite +a long time cause him to feel that he had been blind to the miracle of +that girl. + +You were producing literature. You were alive. Your eyes were +unlidded, your ears were unstopped, to some part of the beauty and the +strangeness of the world; and a strong instinct within you forced you +to tell someone. It was not enough for you that you saw and heard. +Others had to see and hear. Others had to be wakened up. And they +were! It is quite possible--I am not quite sure--that your faithful +friend the very next day, or the next month, looked at some other +girl, and suddenly saw that she, too, was miraculous! The influence of +literature! + +The makers of literature are those who have seen and felt the +miraculous interestingness of the universe. And the greatest makers +of literature are those whose vision has been the widest, and whose +feeling has been the most intense. Your own fragment of insight was +accidental, and perhaps temporary. _Their_ lives are one long ecstasy +of denying that the world is a dull place. Is it nothing to you to +learn to understand that the world is not a dull place? Is it nothing +to you to be led out of the tunnel on to the hillside, to have all +your senses quickened, to be invigorated by the true savour of life, +to feel your heart beating under that correct necktie of yours? These +makers of literature render you their equals. + +The aim of literary study is not to amuse the hours of leisure; it is +to awake oneself, it is to be alive, to intensify one's capacity for +pleasure, for sympathy, and for comprehension. It is not to affect one +hour, but twenty-four hours. It is to change utterly one's relations +with the world. An understanding appreciation of literature means an +understanding appreciation of the world, and it means nothing else. +Not isolated and unconnected parts of life, but all of life, brought +together and correlated in a synthetic map! The spirit of literature +is unifying; it joins the candle and the star, and by the magic of an +image shows that the beauty of the greater is in the less. And, not +content with the disclosure of beauty and the bringing together of all +things whatever within its focus, it enforces a moral wisdom by the +tracing everywhere of cause and effect. It consoles doubly--by the +revelation of unsuspected loveliness, and by the proof that our lot +is the common lot. It is the supreme cry of the discoverer, offering +sympathy and asking for it in a single gesture. In attending a +University Extension Lecture on the sources of Shakespeare's plots, +or in studying the researches of George Saintsbury into the origins +of English prosody, or in weighing the evidence for and against the +assertion that Rousseau was a scoundrel, one is apt to forget what +literature really is and is for. It is well to remind ourselves that +literature is first and last a means of life, and that the enterprise +of forming one's literary taste is an enterprise of learning how best +to use this means of life. People who don't want to live, people who +would sooner hibernate than feel intensely, will be wise to eschew +literature. They had better, to quote from the finest passage in a +fine poem, "sit around and eat blackberries." The sight of a "common +bush afire with God" might upset their nerves. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +YOUR PARTICULAR CASE + + +The attitude of the average decent person towards the classics of his +own tongue is one of distrust--I had almost said, of fear. I will not +take the case of Shakespeare, for Shakespeare is "taught" in schools; +that is to say, the Board of Education and all authorities pedagogic +bind themselves together in a determined effort to make every boy in +the land a lifelong enemy of Shakespeare. (It is a mercy they don't +"teach" Blake.) I will take, for an example, Sir Thomas Browne, as +to whom the average person has no offensive juvenile memories. He is +bound to have read somewhere that the style of Sir Thomas Browne is +unsurpassed by anything in English literature. One day he sees the +_Religio Medici_ in a shop-window (or, rather, outside a shop-window, +for he would hesitate about entering a bookshop), and he buys it, by +way of a mild experiment. He does not expect to be enchanted by it; +a profound instinct tells him that Sir Thomas Browne is "not in his +line"; and in the result he is even less enchanted than he expected to +be. He reads the introduction, and he glances at the first page or two +of the work. He sees nothing but words. The work makes no appeal +to him whatever. He is surrounded by trees, and cannot perceive the +forest. He puts the book away. If Sir Thomas Browne is mentioned, he +will say, "Yes, very fine!" with a feeling of pride that he has at any +rate bought and inspected Sir Thomas Browne. Deep in his heart is a +suspicion that people who get enthusiastic about Sir Thomas Browne +are vain and conceited _poseurs_. After a year or so, when he has +recovered from the discouragement caused by Sir Thomas Browne, he may, +if he is young and hopeful, repeat the experiment with Congreve +or Addison. Same sequel! And so on for perhaps a decade, until his +commerce with the classics finally expires! That, magazines and newish +fiction apart, is the literary history of the average decent person. + +And even your case, though you are genuinely preoccupied with thoughts +of literature, bears certain disturbing resemblances to the drab +case of the average person. You do not approach the classics with +gusto--anyhow, not with the same gusto as you would approach a new +novel by a modern author who had taken your fancy. You never murmured +to yourself, when reading Gibbon's _Decline and Fall_ in bed: "Well, +I really must read one more chapter before I go to sleep!" Speaking +generally, the classics do not afford you a pleasure commensurate with +their renown. You peruse them with a sense of duty, a sense of doing +the right thing, a sense of "improving yourself," rather than with a +sense of gladness. You do not smack your lips; you say: "That is +good for me." You make little plans for reading, and then you invent +excuses for breaking the plans. Something new, something which is not +a classic, will surely draw you away from a classic. It is all very +well for you to pretend to agree with the verdict of the elect that +_Clarissa Harlowe_ is one of the greatest novels in the world--a new +Kipling, or even a new number of a magazine, will cause you to neglect +_Clarissa Harlowe_, just as though Kipling, etc., could not be kept +for a few days without turning sour! So that you have to ordain rules +for yourself, as: "I will not read anything else until I have read +Richardson, or Gibbon, for an hour each day." Thus proving that you +regard a classic as a pill, the swallowing of which merits jam! And +the more modern a classic is, the more it resembles the stuff of the +year and the less it resembles the classics of the centuries, the more +easy and enticing do you find that classic. Hence you are glad that +George Eliot, the Brontës, Thackeray, are considered as classics, +because you really _do_ enjoy them. Your sentiments concerning them +approach your sentiments concerning a "rattling good story" in a +magazine. + +I may have exaggerated--or, on the other hand, I may have +understated--the unsatisfactory characteristics of your particular +case, but it is probable that in the mirror I hold up you recognise +the rough outlines of your likeness. You do not care to admit it; but +it is so. You are not content with yourself. The desire to be more +truly literary persists in you. You feel that there is something wrong +in you, but you cannot put your finger on the spot. Further, you feel +that you are a bit of a sham. Something within you continually +forces you to exhibit for the classics an enthusiasm which you do +not sincerely feel. You even try to persuade yourself that you are +enjoying a book, when the next moment you drop it in the middle and +forget to resume it. You occasionally buy classical works, and do not +read them at all; you practically decide that it is enough to possess +them, and that the mere possession of them gives you a _cachet_. The +truth is, you are a sham. And your soul is a sea of uneasy remorse. +You reflect: "According to what Matthew Arnold says, I ought to be +perfectly mad about Wordsworth's _Prelude_. And I am not. Why am I +not? Have I got to be learned, to undertake a vast course of study, in +order to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's _Prelude_? Or am I born +without the faculty of pure taste in literature, despite my vague +longings? I do wish I could smack my lips over Wordsworth's _Prelude_ +as I did over that splendid story by H.G. Wells, _The Country of the +Blind_, in the _Strand Magazine_!".... Yes, I am convinced that in +your dissatisfied, your diviner moments, you address yourself in these +terms. I am convinced that I have diagnosed your symptoms. + +Now the enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an agreeable +one; if it is not agreeable it cannot succeed. But this does not imply +that it is an easy or a brief one. The enterprise of beating Colonel +Bogey at golf is an agreeable one, but it means honest and regular +work. A fact to be borne in mind always! You are certainly not +going to realise your ambition--and so great, so influential an +ambition!--by spasmodic and half-hearted effort. You must begin by +making up your mind adequately. You must rise to the height of the +affair. You must approach a grand undertaking in the grand manner. You +ought to mark the day in the calendar as a solemnity. Human nature is +weak, and has need of tricky aids, even in the pursuit of happiness. +Time will be necessary to you, and time regularly and sacredly set +apart. Many people affirm that they cannot be regular, that regularity +numbs them. I think this is true of a very few people, and that in +the rest the objection to regularity is merely an attempt to excuse +idleness. I am inclined to think that you personally are capable of +regularity. And I am sure that if you firmly and constantly devote +certain specific hours on certain specific days of the week to this +business of forming your literary taste, you will arrive at the goal +much sooner. The simple act of resolution will help you. This is the +first preliminary. + +The second preliminary is to surround yourself with books, to create +for yourself a bookish atmosphere. The merely physical side of books +is important--more important than it may seem to the inexperienced. +Theoretically (save for works of reference), a student has need for +but one book at a time. Theoretically, an amateur of literature might +develop his taste by expending sixpence a week, or a penny a day, in +one sixpenny edition of a classic after another sixpenny edition of a +classic, and he might store his library in a hat-box or a biscuit-tin. +But in practice he would have to be a monster of resolution to succeed +in such conditions. The eye must be flattered; the hand must be +flattered; the sense of owning must be flattered. Sacrifices must +be made for the acquisition of literature. That which has cost a +sacrifice is always endeared. A detailed scheme of buying books +will come later, in the light of further knowledge. For the present, +buy--buy whatever has received the _imprimatur_ of critical authority. +Buy without any immediate reference to what you will read. Buy! +Surround yourself with volumes, as handsome as you can afford. And +for reading, all that I will now particularly enjoin is a general and +inclusive tasting, in order to attain a sort of familiarity with the +look of "literature in all its branches." A turning over of the pages +of a volume of Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_, the +third for preference, may be suggested as an admirable and a diverting +exercise. You might mark the authors that flash an appeal to you. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC + + +The large majority of our fellow-citizens care as much about +literature as they care about aeroplanes or the programme of the +Legislature. They do not ignore it; they are not quite indifferent to +it. But their interest in it is faint and perfunctory; or, if their +interest happens to be violent, it is spasmodic. Ask the two hundred +thousand persons whose enthusiasm made the vogue of a popular novel +ten years ago what they think of that novel now, and you will gather +that they have utterly forgotten it, and that they would no more dream +of reading it again than of reading Bishop Stubbs's _Select Charters_. +Probably if they did read it again they would not enjoy it--not +because the said novel is a whit worse now than it was ten years ago; +not because their taste has improved--but because they have not had +sufficient practice to be able to rely on their taste as a means of +permanent pleasure. They simply don't know from one day to the next +what will please them. + +In the face of this one may ask: Why does the great and universal +fame of classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of +classical authors is entirely independent of the majority. Do you +suppose that if the fame of Shakespeare depended on the man in the +street it would survive a fortnight? The fame of classical authors is +originally made, and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when +a first-class author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, +the majority have never appreciated him so sincerely as they have +appreciated second-rate men. He has always been reinforced by the +ardour of the passionate few. And in the case of an author who has +emerged into glory after his death the happy sequel has been due +solely to the obstinate perseverance of the few. They could not leave +him alone; they would not. They kept on savouring him, and talking +about him, and buying him, and they generally behaved with such eager +zeal, and they were so authoritative and sure of themselves, that +at last the majority grew accustomed to the sound of his name and +placidly agreed to the proposition that he was a genius; the majority +really did not care very much either way. + +And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius is kept +alive from one generation to another. These few are always at work. +They are always rediscovering genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm +are exhaustless, so that there is little chance of genius being +ignored. And, moreover, they are always working either for or against +the verdicts of the majority. The majority can make a reputation, but +it is too careless to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few +agree with the majority in a particular instance, they will frequently +remind the majority that such and such a reputation has been made, +and the majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By the way, we must +not forget that such and such a reputation exists." Without that +persistent memory-jogging the reputation would quickly fall into the +oblivion which is death. The passionate few only have their way by +reason of the fact that they are genuinely interested in literature, +that literature matters to them. They conquer by their obstinacy +alone, by their eternal repetition of the same statements. Do you +suppose they could prove to the man in the street that Shakespeare was +a great artist? The said man would not even understand the terms they +employed. But when he is told ten thousand times, and generation +after generation, that Shakespeare was a great artist, the said +man believes--not by reason, but by faith. And he too repeats that +Shakespeare was a great artist, and he buys the complete works of +Shakespeare and puts them on his shelves, and he goes to see the +marvellous stage-effects which accompany _King Lear_ or _Hamlet_, and +comes back religiously convinced that Shakespeare was a great artist. +All because the passionate few could not keep their admiration of +Shakespeare to themselves. This is not cynicism; but truth. And it +is important that those who wish to form their literary taste should +grasp it. + +What causes the passionate few to make such a fuss about literature? +There can be only one reply. They find a keen and lasting pleasure +in literature. They enjoy literature as some men enjoy beer. The +recurrence of this pleasure naturally keeps their interest in +literature very much alive. They are for ever making new researches, +for ever practising on themselves. They learn to understand +themselves. They learn to know what they want. Their taste becomes +surer and surer as their experience lengthens. They do not enjoy +to-day what will seem tedious to them to-morrow. When they find a book +tedious, no amount of popular clatter will persuade them that it is +pleasurable; and when they find it pleasurable no chill silence of the +street-crowds will affect their conviction that the book is good and +permanent. They have faith in themselves. What are the qualities in a +book which give keen and lasting pleasure to the passionate few? +This is a question so difficult that it has never yet been completely +answered. You may talk lightly about truth, insight, knowledge, +wisdom, humour, and beauty. But these comfortable words do not really +carry you very far, for each of them has to be defined, especially the +first and last. It is all very well for Keats in his airy manner to +assert that beauty is truth, truth beauty, and that that is all he +knows or needs to know. I, for one, need to know a lot more. And I +never shall know. Nobody, not even Hazlitt nor Sainte-Beuve, has ever +finally explained why he thought a book beautiful. I take the first +fine lines that come to hand-- + + The woods of Arcady are dead, + And over is their antique joy-- + +and I say that those lines are beautiful, because they give me +pleasure. But why? No answer! I only know that the passionate few +will, broadly, agree with me in deriving this mysterious pleasure from +those lines. I am only convinced that the liveliness of our pleasure +in those and many other lines by the same author will ultimately cause +the majority to believe, by faith, that W.B. Yeats is a genius. The +one reassuring aspect of the literary affair is that the passionate +few are passionate about the same things. A continuance of interest +does, in actual practice, lead ultimately to the same judgments. There +is only the difference in width of interest. Some of the passionate +few lack catholicity, or, rather, the whole of their interest is +confined to one narrow channel; they have none left over. These men +help specially to vitalise the reputations of the narrower geniuses: +such as Crashaw. But their active predilections never contradict the +general verdict of the passionate few; rather they reinforce it. + +A classic is a work which gives pleasure to the minority which is +intensely and permanently interested in literature. It lives on +because the minority, eager to renew the sensation of pleasure, is +eternally curious and is therefore engaged in an eternal process of +rediscovery. A classic does not survive for any ethical reason. It +does not survive because it conforms to certain canons, or because +neglect would not kill it. It survives because it is a source of +pleasure, and because the passionate few can no more neglect it than +a bee can neglect a flower. The passionate few do not read "the right +things" because they are right. That is to put the cart before the +horse. "The right things" are the right things solely because the +passionate few _like_ reading them. Hence--and I now arrive at my +point--the one primary essential to literary taste is a hot interest +in literature. If you have that, all the rest will come. It matters +nothing that at present you fail to find pleasure in certain classics. +The driving impulse of your interest will force you to acquire +experience, and experience will teach you the use of the means of +pleasure. You do not know the secret ways of yourself: that is all. A +continuance of interest must inevitably bring you to the keenest +joys. But, of course, experience may be acquired judiciously or +injudiciously, just as Putney may be reached _via_ Walham Green or +_via_ St. Petersburg. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +WHERE TO BEGIN + + +I wish particularly that my readers should not be intimidated by the +apparent vastness and complexity of this enterprise of forming the +literary taste. It is not so vast nor so complex as it looks. There +is no need whatever for the inexperienced enthusiast to confuse and +frighten himself with thoughts of "literature in all its branches." +Experts and pedagogues (chiefly pedagogues) have, for the purpose of +convenience, split literature up into divisions and sub-divisions--such +as prose and poetry; or imaginative, philosophic, historical; or +elegiac, heroic, lyric; or religious and profane, etc., _ad infinitum_. +But the greater truth is that literature is all one--and indivisible. +The idea of the unity of literature should be well planted and fostered +in the head. All literature is the expression of feeling, of passion, +of emotion, caused by a sensation of the interestingness of life. What +drives a historian to write history? Nothing but the overwhelming +impression made upon him by the survey of past times. He is forced +into an attempt to reconstitute the picture for others. If hitherto +you have failed to perceive that a historian is a being in strong +emotion, trying to convey his emotion to others, read the passage in +the _Memoirs_ of Gibbon, in which he describes how he finished the +_Decline and Fall_. You will probably never again look upon the +_Decline and Fall_ as a "dry" work. + +What applies to history applies to the other "dry" branches. Even +Johnson's Dictionary is packed with emotion. Read the last paragraph +of the preface to it: "In this work, when it shall be found that +much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that much likewise is +performed.... It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to +observe that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have +only failed in an attempt which no human powers have hitherto +completed...." And so on to the close: "I have protracted my work +till most of those whom I wish to please have sunk into the grave, and +success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I therefore dismiss it with +frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or +from praise." Yes, tranquillity; but not frigid! The whole passage, +one of the finest in English prose, is marked by the heat of emotion. +You may discover the same quality in such books as Spencer's _First +Principles_. You may discover it everywhere in literature, from the +cold fire of Pope's irony to the blasting temperatures of Swinburne. +Literature does not begin till emotion has begun. + +There is even no essential, definable difference between those two +great branches, prose and poetry. For prose may have rhythm. All +that can be said is that verse will scan, while prose will not. The +difference is purely formal. Very few poets have succeeded in being so +poetical as Isaiah, Sir Thomas Browne, and Ruskin have been in +prose. It can only be stated that, as a rule, writers have shown an +instinctive tendency to choose verse for the expression of the very +highest emotion. The supreme literature is in verse, but the finest +achievements in prose approach so nearly to the finest achievements in +verse that it is ill work deciding between them. In the sense in which +poetry is best understood, all literature is poetry--or is, at +any rate, poetical in quality. Macaulay's ill-informed and unjust +denunciations live because his genuine emotion made them into poetry, +while his _Lays of Ancient Rome_ are dead because they are not the +expression of a genuine emotion. As the literary taste develops, this +quality of emotion, restrained or loosed, will be more and more widely +perceived at large in literature. It is the quality that must be +looked for. It is the quality that unifies literature (and all the +arts). + +It is not merely useless, it is harmful, for you to map out literature +into divisions and branches, with different laws, rules, or canons. +The first thing is to obtain some possession of literature. When +you have actually felt some of the emotion which great writers have +striven to impart to you, and when your emotions become so numerous +and puzzling that you feel the need of arranging them and calling them +by names, then--and not before--you can begin to study what has been +attempted in the way of classifying and ticketing literature. Manuals +and treatises are excellent things in their kind, but they are simply +dead weight at the start. You can only acquire really useful +general ideas by first acquiring particular ideas, and putting those +particular ideas together. You cannot make bricks without straw. +Do not worry about literature in the abstract, about theories as to +literature. Get at it. Get hold of literature in the concrete as a dog +gets hold of a bone. If you ask me where you ought to begin, I shall +gaze at you as I might gaze at the faithful animal if he inquired +which end of the bone he ought to attack. It doesn't matter in the +slightest degree where you begin. Begin wherever the fancy takes you +to begin. Literature is a whole. + +There is only one restriction for you. You must begin with an +acknowledged classic; you must eschew modern works. The reason for +this does not imply any depreciation of the present age at the expense +of past ages. Indeed, it is important, if you wish ultimately to have +a wide, catholic taste, to guard against the too common assumption +that nothing modern will stand comparison with the classics. In every +age there have been people to sigh: "Ah, yes. Fifty years ago we had +a few great writers. But they are all dead, and no young ones are +arising to take their place." This attitude of mind is deplorable, if +not silly, and is a certain proof of narrow taste. It is a surety that +in 1959 gloomy and egregious persons will be saying: "Ah, yes. At +the beginning of the century there were great poets like Swinburne, +Meredith, Francis Thompson, and Yeats. Great novelists like Hardy and +Conrad. Great historians like Stubbs and Maitland, etc., etc. But they +are all dead now, and whom have we to take their place?" It is not +until an age has receded into history, and all its mediocrity has +dropped away from it, that we can see it as it is--as a group of men +of genius. We forget the immense amount of twaddle that the great +epochs produced. The total amount of fine literature created in a +given period of time differs from epoch to epoch, but it does not +differ much. And we may be perfectly sure that our own age will make a +favourable impression upon that excellent judge, posterity. Therefore, +beware of disparaging the present in your own mind. While temporarily +ignoring it, dwell upon the idea that its chaff contains about as much +wheat as any similar quantity of chaff has contained wheat. + +The reason why you must avoid modern works at the beginning is simply +that you are not in a position to choose among modern works. Nobody +at all is quite in a position to choose with certainty among modern +works. To sift the wheat from the chaff is a process that takes an +exceedingly long time. Modern works have to pass before the bar of the +taste of successive generations. Whereas, with classics, which have +been through the ordeal, almost the reverse is the case. _Your taste +has to pass before the bar of the classics_. That is the point. If you +differ with a classic, it is you who are wrong, and not the book. If +you differ with a modern work, you may be wrong or you may be +right, but no judge is authoritative enough to decide. Your taste is +unformed. It needs guidance, and it needs authoritative guidance. Into +the business of forming literary taste faith enters. You probably will +not specially care for a particular classic at first. If you did care +for it at first, your taste, so far as that classic is concerned, +would be formed, and our hypothesis is that your taste is not formed. +How are you to arrive at the stage of caring for it? Chiefly, of +course, by examining it and honestly trying to understand it. But this +process is materially helped by an act of faith, by the frame of mind +which says: "I know on the highest authority that this thing is fine, +that it is capable of giving me pleasure. Hence I am determined to +find pleasure in it." Believe me that faith counts enormously in +the development of that wide taste which is the instrument of wide +pleasures. But it must be faith founded on unassailable authority. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +HOW TO READ A CLASSIC + + +Let us begin experimental reading with Charles Lamb. I choose Lamb for +various reasons: He is a great writer, wide in his appeal, of a highly +sympathetic temperament; and his finest achievements are simple and +very short. Moreover, he may usefully lead to other and more complex +matters, as will appear later. Now, your natural tendency will be to +think of Charles Lamb as a book, because he has arrived at the +stage of being a classic. Charles Lamb was a man, not a book. It is +extremely important that the beginner in literary study should always +form an idea of the man behind the book. The book is nothing but the +expression of the man. The book is nothing but the man trying to talk +to you, trying to impart to you some of his feelings. An experienced +student will divine the man from the book, will understand the man by +the book, as is, of course, logically proper. But the beginner will do +well to aid himself in understanding the book by means of independent +information about the man. He will thus at once relate the book to +something human, and strengthen in his mind the essential notion of +the connection between literature and life. The earliest literature +was delivered orally direct by the artist to the recipient. In some +respects this arrangement was ideal. Changes in the constitution of +society have rendered it impossible. Nevertheless, we can still, by +the exercise of the imagination, hear mentally the accents of the +artist speaking to us. We must so exercise our imagination as to feel +the man behind the book. + +Some biographical information about Lamb should be acquired. There are +excellent short biographies of him by Canon Ainger in the _Dictionary +of National Biography_, in Chambers's _Encyclopædia_, and in +Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_. If you have none of +these (but you ought to have the last), there are Mr. E.V. Lucas's +exhaustive _Life_ (Methuen, 7s. 6d.), and, cheaper, Mr. Walter +Jerrold's _Lamb_ (Bell and Sons, 1s.); also introductory studies +prefixed to various editions of Lamb's works. Indeed, the facilities +for collecting materials for a picture of Charles Lamb as a human +being are prodigious. When you have made for yourself such a picture, +read the _Essays of Elia_ the light of it. I will choose one of the +most celebrated, _Dream Children: A Reverie_. At this point, kindly +put my book down, and read _Dream Children_. Do not say to yourself +that you will read it later, but read it now. When you have read it, +you may proceed to my next paragraph. + +You are to consider _Dream Children_ as a human document. Lamb was +nearing fifty when he wrote it. You can see, especially from the last +line, that the death of his elder brother, John Lamb, was fresh and +heavy on his mind. You will recollect that in youth he had had +a disappointing love-affair with a girl named Ann Simmons, who +afterwards married a man named Bartrum. You will know that one of the +influences of his childhood was his grandmother Field, housekeeper +of Blakesware House, in Hertfordshire, at which mansion he sometimes +spent his holidays. You will know that he was a bachelor, living with +his sister Mary, who was subject to homicidal mania. And you will +see in this essay, primarily, a supreme expression of the increasing +loneliness of his life. He constructed all that preliminary tableau of +paternal pleasure in order to bring home to you in the most poignant +way his feeling of the solitude of his existence, his sense of all +that he had missed and lost in the world. The key of the essay is one +of profound sadness. But note that he makes his sadness beautiful; +or, rather, he shows the beauty that resides in sadness. You watch him +sitting there in his "bachelor arm-chair," and you say to yourself: +"Yes, it was sad, but it was somehow beautiful." When you have said +that to yourself, Charles Lamb, so far as you are concerned, has +accomplished his chief aim in writing the essay. How exactly he +produces his effect can never be fully explained. But one reason of +his success is certainly his regard for truth. He does not falsely +idealise his brother, nor the relations between them. He does not say, +as a sentimentalist would have said, "Not the slightest cloud ever +darkened our relations;" nor does he exaggerate his solitude. Being +a sane man, he has too much common-sense to assemble all his woes at +once. He might have told you that Bridget was a homicidal maniac; +what he does tell you is that she was faithful. Another reason of his +success is his continual regard for beautiful things and fine actions, +as illustrated in the major characteristics of his grandmother and his +brother, and in the detailed description of Blakesware House and the +gardens thereof. + +Then, subordinate to the main purpose, part of the machinery of the +main purpose, is the picture of the children--real children until the +moment when they fade away. The traits of childhood are accurately and +humorously put in again and again: "Here John smiled, as much as to +say, 'That would be foolish indeed.'" "Here little Alice spread +her hands." "Here Alice's little right foot played an involuntary +movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted." "Here John +expanded all his eyebrows, and tried to look courageous." "Here John +slily deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes." "Here the +children fell a-crying ... and prayed me to tell them some stories +about their pretty dead mother." And the exquisite: "Here Alice put +out one of her dear mother's looks, too tender to be upbraiding." +Incidentally, while preparing his ultimate solemn effect, Lamb has +inspired you with a new, intensified vision of the wistful beauty of +children--their imitativeness, their facile and generous emotions, +their anxiety to be correct, their ingenuous haste to escape from +grief into joy. You can see these children almost as clearly and as +tenderly as Lamb saw them. For days afterwards you will not be able to +look upon a child without recalling Lamb's portrayal of the grace of +childhood. He will have shared with you his perception of beauty. If +you possess children, he will have renewed for you the charm which +custom does very decidedly stale. It is further to be noticed that the +measure of his success in picturing the children is the measure of his +success in his main effect. The more real they seem, the more touching +is the revelation of the fact that they do not exist, and never have +existed. And if you were moved by the reference to their "pretty dead +mother," you will be still more moved when you learn that the girl who +would have been their mother is not dead and is not Lamb's. + +As, having read the essay, you reflect upon it, you will see how its +emotional power over you has sprung from the sincere and unexaggerated +expression of actual emotions exactly remembered by someone who had an +eye always open for beauty, who was, indeed, obsessed by beauty. The +beauty of old houses and gardens and aged virtuous characters, the +beauty of children, the beauty of companionships, the softening beauty +of dreams in an arm-chair--all these are brought together and mingled +with the grief and regret which were the origin of the mood. Why is +_Dream Children_ a classic? It is a classic because it transmits to +you, as to generations before you, distinguished emotion, because it +makes you respond to the throb of life more intensely, more justly, +and more nobly. And it is capable of doing this because Charles Lamb +had a very distinguished, a very sensitive, and a very honest mind. +His emotions were noble. He felt so keenly that he was obliged to find +relief in imparting his emotions. And his mental processes were so +sincere that he could neither exaggerate nor diminish the truth. If +he had lacked any one of these three qualities, his appeal would have +been narrowed and weakened, and he would not have become a classic. +Either his feelings would have been deficient in supreme beauty, +and therefore less worthy to be imparted, or he would not have had +sufficient force to impart them; or his honesty would not have been +equal to the strain of imparting them accurately. In any case, he +would not have set up in you that vibration which we call pleasure, +and which is super-eminently caused by vitalising participation in +high emotion. As Lamb sat in his bachelor arm-chair, with his brother +in the grave, and the faithful homicidal maniac by his side, he +really did think to himself, "This is beautiful. Sorrow is beautiful. +Disappointment is beautiful. Life is beautiful. _I must tell them_. I +must make them understand." Because he still makes you understand he +is a classic. And now I seem to hear you say, "But what about Lamb's +famous literary style? Where does that come in?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE QUESTION OF STYLE + + +In discussing the value of particular books, I have heard people +say--people who were timid about expressing their views of literature +in the presence of literary men: "It may be bad from a literary point +of view, but there are very good things in it." Or: "I dare say +the style is very bad, but really the book is very interesting and +suggestive." Or: "I'm not an expert, and so I never bother my head +about good style. All I ask for is good matter. And when I have got +it, critics may say what they like about the book." And many other +similar remarks, all showing that in the minds of the speakers +there existed a notion that style is something supplementary to, +and distinguishable from, matter; a sort of notion that a writer who +wanted to be classical had first to find and arrange his matter, and +then dress it up elegantly in a costume of style, in order to please +beings called literary critics. + +This is a misapprehension. Style cannot be distinguished from matter. +When a writer conceives an idea he conceives it in a form of words. +That form of words constitutes his style, and it is absolutely +governed by the idea. The idea can only exist in words, and it can +only exist in one form of words. You cannot say exactly the same thing +in two different ways. Slightly alter the expression, and you slightly +alter the idea. Surely it is obvious that the expression cannot +be altered without altering the thing expressed! A writer, having +conceived and expressed an idea, may, and probably will, "polish it +up." But what does he polish up? To say that he polishes up his +style is merely to say that he is polishing up his idea, that he has +discovered faults or imperfections in his idea, and is perfecting it. +An idea exists in proportion as it is expressed; it exists when it +is expressed, and not before. It expresses itself. A clear idea is +expressed clearly, and a vague idea vaguely. You need but take your +own case and your own speech. For just as science is the development +of common-sense, so is literature the development of common daily +speech. The difference between science and common-sense is simply one +of degree; similarly with speech and literature. Well, when you "know +what you think," you succeed in saying what you think, in making +yourself understood. When you "don't know what to think," +your expressive tongue halts. And note how in daily life the +characteristics of your style follow your mood; how tender it is when +you are tender, how violent when you are violent. You have said to +yourself in moments of emotion: "If only I could write--," etc. You +were wrong. You ought to have said: "If only I could _think_--on this +high plane." When you have thought clearly you have never had any +difficulty in saying what you thought, though you may occasionally +have had some difficulty in keeping it to yourself. And when you +cannot express yourself, depend upon it that you have nothing precise +to express, and that what incommodes you is not the vain desire to +express, but the vain desire to _think_ more clearly. All this just to +illustrate how style and matter are co-existent, and inseparable, and +alike. + +You cannot have good matter with bad style. Examine the point more +closely. A man wishes to convey a fine idea to you. He employs a form +of words. That form of words is his style. Having read, you say: "Yes, +this idea is fine." The writer has therefore achieved his end. But in +what imaginable circumstances can you say: "Yes, this idea is fine, +but the style is not fine"? The sole medium of communication between +you and the author has been the form of words. The fine idea has +reached you. How? In the words, by the words. Hence the fineness must +be in the words. You may say, superiorly: "He has expressed himself +clumsily, but I can _see_ what he means." By what light? By something +in the words, in the style. That something is fine. Moreover, if the +style is clumsy, are you sure that you can see what he means? You +cannot be quite sure. And at any rate, you cannot see distinctly. +The "matter" is what actually reaches you, and it must necessarily be +affected by the style. + +Still further to comprehend what style is, let me ask you to think +of a writer's style exactly as you would think of the gestures and +manners of an acquaintance. You know the man whose demeanour is +"always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do you know that his +passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, but +important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or +the whitening of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other +words, his demeanour, fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man +who is always "smoothly polite and agreeable," but who affects you +unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? Because he is +tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is +not real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but +who, nevertheless, impresses you with a sense of dignity and force. +Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so forth _is_ dignity. +You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively guess to be +affectionate--because there is "something in his tone" or "something +in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming +to be contrary to the character, is really in accord with it. The +demeanour never contradicts the character. It is one part of the +character that contradicts another part of the character. For, after +all, the blunt man _is_ blunt, and the awkward man _is_ awkward, and +these characteristics are defects. The demeanour merely expresses +them. The two men would be better if, while conserving their good +qualities, they had the superficial attributes of smoothness and +agreeableness possessed by the gentleman who is unpleasant to you. And +as regards this latter, it is not his superficial attributes which are +unpleasant to you; but his other qualities. In the end the character +is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a consequence of the +character and resembles the character. So with style and matter. +You may argue that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his +tenderness. I do not think so. For his churlishness is really +very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, though a moment's +tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is +churlish, and much more often than he is tender. His demeanour is +merely just to his character. So, when a writer annoys you for ten +pages and then enchants you for ten lines, you must not explode +against his style. You must not say that his style won't let his +matter "come out." You must remember the churlish, tender man. The +more you reflect, the more clearly you will see that faults and +excellences of style are faults and excellences of matter itself. + +One of the most striking illustrations of this neglected truth is +Thomas Carlyle. How often has it been said that Carlyle's matter +is marred by the harshness and the eccentricities of his style? But +Carlyle's matter is harsh and eccentric to precisely the same degree +as his style is harsh and eccentric. Carlyle was harsh and eccentric. +His behaviour was frequently ridiculous, if it were not abominable. +His judgments were often extremely bizarre. When you read one of +Carlyle's fierce diatribes, you say to yourself: "This is splendid. +The man's enthusiasm for justice and truth is glorious." But you also +say: "He is a little unjust and a little untruthful. He goes too far. +He lashes too hard." These things are not the style; they are the +matter. And when, as in his greatest moments, he is emotional and +restrained at once, you say: "This is the real Carlyle." Kindly notice +how perfect the style has become! No harshnesses or eccentricities +now! And if that particular matter is the "real" Carlyle, then that +particular style is Carlyle's "real" style. But when you say "real" +you would more properly say "best." "This is the best Carlyle." If +Carlyle had always been at his best he would have counted among the +supreme geniuses of the world. But he was a mixture. His style is the +expression of the mixture. The faults are only in the style because +they are in the matter. + +You will find that, in classical literature, the style always follows +the mood of the matter. Thus, Charles Lamb's essay on _Dream Children_ +begins quite simply, in a calm, narrative manner, enlivened by a +certain quippishness concerning the children. The style is grave when +great-grandmother Field is the subject, and when the author passes +to a rather elaborate impression of the picturesque old mansion it +becomes as it were consciously beautiful. This beauty is intensified +in the description of the still more beautiful garden. But the real +dividing point of the essay occurs when Lamb approaches his elder +brother. He unmistakably marks the point with the phrase: "_Then, in +somewhat a more heightened tone_, I told how," etc. Henceforward the +style increases in fervour and in solemnity until the culmination of +the essay is reached: "And while I stood gazing, both the children +gradually grew fainter to my view, receding and still receding till +nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost +distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the +effects of speech...." Throughout, the style is governed by the +matter. "Well," you say, "of course it is. It couldn't be otherwise. +If it were otherwise it would be ridiculous. A man who made love as +though he were preaching a sermon, or a man who preached a sermon as +though he were teasing schoolboys, or a man who described a death as +though he were describing a practical joke, must necessarily be either +an ass or a lunatic." Just so. You have put it in a nutshell. You have +disposed of the problem of style so far as it can be disposed of. + +But what do those people mean who say: "I read such and such an author +for the beauty of his style alone"? Personally, I do not clearly know +what they mean (and I have never been able to get them to explain), +unless they mean that they read for the beauty of sound alone. When +you read a book there are only three things of which you may be +conscious: (1) The significance of the words, which is inseparably +bound up with the thought. (2) The look of the printed words on the +page--I do not suppose that anybody reads any author for the visual +beauty of the words on the page. (3) The sound of the words, either +actually uttered or imagined by the brain to be uttered. Now it is +indubitable that words differ in beauty of sound. To my mind one +of the most beautiful words in the English language is "pavement." +Enunciate it, study its sound, and see what you think. It is also +indubitable that certain combinations of words have a more beautiful +sound than certain other combinations. Thus Tennyson held that the +most beautiful line he ever wrote was: + + The mellow ouzel fluting in the elm. + +Perhaps, as sound, it was. Assuredly it makes a beautiful succession +of sounds, and recalls the bird-sounds which it is intended to +describe. But does it live in the memory as one of the rare great +Tennysonian lines? It does not. It has charm, but the charm is merely +curious or pretty. A whole poem composed of lines with no better +recommendation than that line has would remain merely curious or +pretty. It would not permanently interest. It would be as insipid as a +pretty woman who had nothing behind her prettiness. It would not live. +One may remark in this connection how the merely verbal felicities of +Tennyson have lost our esteem. Who will now proclaim the _Idylls of +the King_ as a masterpiece? Of the thousands of lines written by +him which please the ear, only those survive of which the matter is +charged with emotion. No! As regards the man who professes to read an +author "for his style alone," I am inclined to think either that he +will soon get sick of that author, or that he is deceiving himself and +means the author's general temperament--not the author's verbal style, +but a peculiar quality which runs through all the matter written by +the author. Just as one may like a man for something which is always +coming out of him, which one cannot define, and which is of the very +essence of the man. + +In judging the style of an author, you must employ the same canons +as you use in judging men. If you do this you will not be tempted +to attach importance to trifles that are negligible. There can be no +lasting friendship without respect. If an author's style is such +that you cannot _respect_ it, then you may be sure that, despite +any present pleasure which you may obtain from that author, there is +something wrong with his matter, and that the pleasure will soon cloy. +You must examine your sentiments towards an author. If when you have +read an author you are pleased, without being conscious of aught but +his mellifluousness, just conceive what your feelings would be after +spending a month's holiday with a merely mellifluous man. If an +author's style has pleased you, but done nothing except make you +giggle, then reflect upon the ultimate tediousness of the man who can +do nothing but jest. On the other hand, if you are impressed by what +an author has said to you, but are aware of verbal clumsinesses in his +work, you need worry about his "bad style" exactly as much and exactly +as little as you would worry about the manners of a kindhearted, +keen-brained friend who was dangerous to carpets with a tea-cup in his +hand. The friend's antics in a drawing-room are somewhat regrettable, +but you would not say of him that his manners were bad. Again, if +an author's style dazzles you instantly and blinds you to everything +except its brilliant self, ask your soul, before you begin to admire +his matter, what would be your final opinion of a man who at the first +meeting fired his personality into you like a broadside. Reflect +that, as a rule, the people whom you have come to esteem communicated +themselves to you gradually, that they did not begin the entertainment +with fireworks. In short, look at literature as you would look at +life, and you cannot fail to perceive that, essentially, the style +is the man. Decidedly you will never assert that you care nothing for +style, that your enjoyment of an author's matter is unaffected by his +style. And you will never assert, either, that style alone suffices +for you. + +If you are undecided upon a question of style, whether leaning to +the favourable or to the unfavourable, the most prudent course is to +forget that literary style exists. For, indeed, as style is understood +by most people who have not analysed their impressions under the +influence of literature, there _is_ no such thing as literary style. +You cannot divide literature into two elements and say: This is matter +and that style. Further, the significance and the worth of +literature are to be comprehended and assessed in the same way as the +significance and the worth of any other phenomenon: by the exercise +of common-sense. Common-sense will tell you that nobody, not even a +genius, can be simultaneously vulgar and distinguished, or beautiful +and ugly, or precise and vague, or tender and harsh. And common-sense +will therefore tell you that to try to set up vital contradictions +between matter and style is absurd. When there is a superficial +contradiction, one of the two mutually-contradicting qualities is of +far less importance than the other. If you refer literature to the +standards of life, common-sense will at once decide which quality +should count heaviest in your esteem. You will be in no danger of +weighing a mere maladroitness of manner against a fine trait of +character, or of letting a graceful deportment blind you to a +fundamental vacuity. When in doubt, ignore style, and think of the +matter as you would think of an individual. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR + + +Having disposed, so far as is possible and necessary, of that +formidable question of style, let us now return to Charles Lamb, whose +essay on _Dream Children_ was the originating cause of our inquiry +into style. As we have made a beginning of Lamb, it will be well to +make an end of him. In the preliminary stages of literary culture, +nothing is more helpful, in the way of kindling an interest and +keeping it well alight, than to specialise for a time on one author, +and particularly on an author so frankly and curiously "human" as +Lamb is. I do not mean that you should imprison yourself with Lamb's +complete works for three months, and read nothing else. I mean that +you should regularly devote a proportion of your learned leisure to +the study of Lamb until you are acquainted with all that is important +in his work and about his work. (You may buy the complete works in +prose and verse of Charles and Mary Lamb, edited by that unsurpassed +expert Mr. Thomas Hutchison, and published by the Oxford University +Press, in two volumes for four shillings the pair!) There is no reason +why you should not become a modest specialist in Lamb. He is the very +man for you; neither voluminous, nor difficult, nor uncomfortably +lofty; always either amusing or touching; and--most important--himself +passionately addicted to literature. You cannot like Lamb without +liking literature in general. And you cannot read Lamb without +learning about literature in general; for books were his hobby, and he +was a critic of the first rank. His letters are full of literariness. +You will naturally read his letters; you should not only be infinitely +diverted by them (there are no better epistles), but you should +receive from them much light on the works. + +It is a course of study that I am suggesting to you. It means a +certain amount of sustained effort. It means slightly more resolution, +more pertinacity, and more expenditure of brain-tissue than are +required for reading a newspaper. It means, in fact, "work." Perhaps +you did not bargain for work when you joined me. But I do not think +that the literary taste can be satisfactorily formed unless one is +prepared to put one's back into the affair. And I may prophesy to +you, by way of encouragement, that, in addition to the advantages of +familiarity with masterpieces, of increased literary knowledge, and +of a wide introduction to the true bookish atmosphere and "feel" of +things, which you will derive from a comprehensive study of Charles +Lamb, you will also be conscious of a moral advantage--the very +important and very inspiring advantage of really "knowing something +about something." You will have achieved a definite step; you will be +proudly aware that you have put yourself in a position to judge as an +expert whatever you may hear or read in the future concerning Charles +Lamb. This legitimate pride and sense of accomplishment will stimulate +you to go on further; it will generate steam. I consider that this +indirect moral advantage even outweighs, for the moment, the direct +literary advantages. + +Now, I shall not shut my eyes to a possible result of your diligent +intercourse with Charles Lamb. It is possible that you may be +disappointed with him. It is--shall I say?--almost probable that you +will be disappointed with him, at any rate partially. You will have +expected more joy in him than you have received. I have referred in +a previous chapter to the feeling of disappointment which often comes +from first contacts with the classics. The neophyte is apt to find +them--I may as well out with the word--dull. You may have found Lamb +less diverting, less interesting, than you hoped. You may have had +to whip yourself up again and again to the effort of reading him. In +brief, Lamb has not, for you, justified his terrific reputation. If +a classic is a classic because it gives _pleasure_ to succeeding +generations of the people who are most keenly interested in +literature, and if Lamb frequently strikes you as dull, then evidently +there is something wrong. The difficulty must be fairly fronted, +and the fronting of it brings us to the very core of the business of +actually forming the taste. If your taste were classical you would +discover in Lamb a continual fascination; whereas what you in fact do +discover in Lamb is a not unpleasant flatness, enlivened by a vague +humour and an occasional pathos. You ought, according to theory, to be +enthusiastic; but you are apathetic, or, at best, half-hearted. There +is a gulf. How to cross it? + +To cross it needs time and needs trouble. The following considerations +may aid. In the first place, we have to remember that, in coming +into the society of the classics in general and of Charles Lamb in +particular, we are coming into the society of a mental superior. What +happens usually in such a case? We can judge by recalling what happens +when we are in the society of a mental inferior. We say things of +which he misses the import; we joke, and he does not smile; what makes +him laugh loudly seems to us horseplay or childish; he is blind to +beauties which ravish us; he is ecstatic over what strikes us as +crude; and his profound truths are for us trite commonplaces. His +perceptions are relatively coarse; our perceptions are relatively +subtle. We try to make him understand, to make him see, and if he is +aware of his inferiority we may have some success. But if he is not +aware of his inferiority, we soon hold our tongues and leave him alone +in his self-satisfaction, convinced that there is nothing to be done +with him. Every one of us has been through this experience with a +mental inferior, for there is always a mental inferior handy, just +as there is always a being more unhappy than we are. In approaching a +classic, the true wisdom is to place ourselves in the position of the +mental inferior, aware of mental inferiority, humbly stripping off all +conceit, anxious to rise out of that inferiority. Recollect that +we always regard as quite hopeless the mental inferior who does +not suspect his own inferiority. Our attitude towards Lamb must be: +"Charles Lamb was a greater man than I am, cleverer, sharper, subtler, +finer, intellectually more powerful, and with keener eyes for beauty. +I must brace myself to follow his lead." Our attitude must resemble +that of one who cocks his ear and listens with all his soul for a +distant sound. + +To catch the sound we really must listen. That is to say, we must read +carefully, with our faculties on the watch. We must read slowly and +perseveringly. A classic has to be wooed and is worth the wooing. +Further, we must disdain no assistance. I am not in favour of studying +criticism of classics before the classics themselves. My notion is to +study the work and the biography of a classical writer together, and +then to read criticism afterwards. I think that in reprints of the +classics the customary "critical introduction" ought to be put at +the end, and not at the beginning, of the book. The classic should +be allowed to make his own impression, however faint, on the virginal +mind of the reader. But afterwards let explanatory criticism be read +as much as you please. Explanatory criticism is very useful; nearly +as useful as pondering for oneself on what one has read! Explanatory +criticism may throw one single gleam that lights up the entire +subject. + +My second consideration (in aid of crossing the gulf) touches the +quality of the pleasure to be derived from a classic. It is never a +violent pleasure. It is subtle, and it will wax in intensity, but +the idea of violence is foreign to it. The artistic pleasures of +an uncultivated mind are generally violent. They proceed from +exaggeration in treatment, from a lack of balance, from attaching too +great an importance to one aspect (usually superficial), while quite +ignoring another. They are gross, like the joy of Worcester sauce on +the palate. Now, if there is one point common to all classics, it is +the absence of exaggeration. The balanced sanity of a great mind makes +impossible exaggeration, and, therefore, distortion. The beauty of a +classic is not at all apt to knock you down. It will steal over you, +rather. Many serious students are, I am convinced, discouraged in the +early stages because they are expecting a wrong kind of pleasure. They +have abandoned Worcester sauce, and they miss it. They miss the coarse +_tang_. They must realise that indulgence in the _tang_ means the +sure and total loss of sensitiveness--sensitiveness even to the _tang_ +itself. They cannot have crudeness and fineness together. They must +choose, remembering that while crudeness kills pleasure, fineness ever +intensifies it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SYSTEM IN HEADING + + +You have now definitely set sail on the sea of literature. You are +afloat, and your anchor is up. I think I have given adequate warning +of the dangers and disappointments which await the unwary and the +sanguine. The enterprise in which you are engaged is not facile, nor +is it short. I think I have sufficiently predicted that you will +have your hours of woe, during which you may be inclined to send to +perdition all writers, together with the inventor of printing. But if +you have become really friendly with Lamb; if you know Lamb, or even +half of him; if you have formed an image of him in your mind, and can, +as it were, hear him brilliantly stuttering while you read his essays +or letters, then certainly you are in a fit condition to proceed and +you want to know in which direction you are to proceed. Yes, I have +caught your terrified and protesting whisper: "I hope to heaven he +isn't going to prescribe a Course of English Literature, because I +feel I shall never be able to do it!" I am not. If your object in life +was to be a University Extension Lecturer in English literature, +then I should prescribe something drastic and desolating. But as your +object, so far as I am concerned, is simply to obtain the highest and +most tonic form of artistic pleasure of which you are capable, I shall +not prescribe any regular course. Nay, I shall venture to dissuade +you from any regular course. No man, and assuredly no beginner, can +possibly pursue a historical course of literature without wasting a +lot of weary time in acquiring mere knowledge which will yield neither +pleasure nor advantage. In the choice of reading the individual must +count; caprice must count, for caprice is often the truest index to +the individuality. Stand defiantly on your own feet, and do not excuse +yourself to yourself. You do not exist in order to honour literature +by becoming an encyclopædia of literature. Literature exists for your +service. Wherever you happen to be, that, for you, is the centre of +literature. + +Still, for your own sake you must confine yourself for a long time +to recognised classics, for reasons already explained. And though you +should not follow a course, you must have a system or principle. Your +native sagacity will tell you that caprice, left quite unfettered, +will end by being quite ridiculous. The system which I recommend is +embodied in this counsel: Let one thing lead to another. In the sea of +literature every part communicates with every other part; there are no +land-locked lakes. It was with an eye to this system that I originally +recommended you to start with Lamb. Lamb, if you are his intimate, has +already brought you into relations with a number of other prominent +writers with whom you can in turn be intimate, and who will be +particularly useful to you. Among these are Wordsworth, Coleridge, +Southey, Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt. You cannot know Lamb without knowing +these men, and some of them are of the highest importance. From the +circle of Lamb's own work you may go off at a tangent at various +points, according to your inclination. If, for instance, you are drawn +towards poetry, you cannot, in all English literature, make a better +start than with Wordsworth. And Wordsworth will send you backwards +to a comprehension of the poets against whose influence Wordsworth +fought. When you have understood Wordsworth's and Coleridge's _Lyrical +Ballads_, and Wordsworth's defence of them, you will be in a position +to judge poetry in general. If, again, your mind hankers after an +earlier and more romantic literature, Lamb's _Specimens of English +Dramatic Poets Contemporary with Shakspere_ has already, in an +enchanting fashion, piloted you into a vast gulf of "the sea which is +Shakspere." + +Again, in Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt you will discover essayists inferior +only to Lamb himself, and critics perhaps not inferior. Hazlitt +is unsurpassed as a critic. His judgments are convincing and his +enthusiasm of the most catching nature. Having arrived at Hazlitt or +Leigh Hunt, you can branch off once more at any one of ten thousand +points into still wider circles. And thus you may continue up and down +the centuries as far as you like, yea, even to Chaucer. If you chance +to read Hazlitt on _Chaucer and Spenser_, you will probably put +your hat on instantly and go out and buy these authors; such is his +communicating fire! I need not particularise further. Commencing with +Lamb, and allowing one thing to lead to another, you cannot fail to be +more and more impressed by the peculiar suitability to your needs of +the Lamb entourage and the Lamb period. For Lamb lived in a time of +universal rebirth in English literature. Wordsworth and Coleridge +were re-creating poetry; Scott was re-creating the novel; Lamb was +re-creating the human document; and Hazlitt, Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, +and others were re-creating criticism. Sparks are flying all about the +place, and it will be not less than a miracle if something combustible +and indestructible in you does not take fire. + +I have only one cautionary word to utter. You may be saying to +yourself: "So long as I stick to classics I cannot go wrong." You can +go wrong. You can, while reading naught but very fine stuff, commit +the grave error of reading too much of one kind of stuff. Now there +are two kinds, and only two kinds. These two kinds are not prose and +poetry, nor are they divided the one from the other by any differences +of form or of subject. They are the inspiring kind and the informing +kind. No other genuine division exists in literature. Emerson, I +think, first clearly stated it. His terms were the literature of +"power" and the literature of "knowledge." In nearly all great +literature the two qualities are to be found in company, but one +usually predominates over the other. An example of the exclusively +inspiring kind is Coleridge's _Kubla Khan_. I cannot recall any +first-class example of the purely informing kind. The nearest approach +to it that I can name is Spencer's _First Principles_, which, however, +is at least once highly inspiring. An example in which the inspiring +quality predominates is _Ivanhoe_; and an example in which the +informing quality predominates is Hazlitt's essays on Shakespeare's +characters. You must avoid giving undue preference to the kind in +which the inspiring quality predominates or to the kind in which the +informing quality predominates. Too much of the one is enervating; too +much of the other is desiccating. If you stick exclusively to the +one you may become a mere debauchee of the emotions; if you stick +exclusively to the other you may cease to live in any full sense. I do +not say that you should hold the balance exactly even between the two +kinds. Your taste will come into the scale. What I say is that neither +kind must be neglected. + +Lamb is an instance of a great writer whom anybody can understand and +whom a majority of those who interest themselves in literature can +more or less appreciate. He makes no excessive demand either on the +intellect or on the faculty of sympathetic emotion. On both sides of +Lamb, however, there lie literatures more difficult, more recondite. +The "knowledge" side need not detain us here; it can be mastered by +concentration and perseverance. But the "power" side, which comprises +the supreme productions of genius, demands special consideration. +You may have arrived at the point of keenly enjoying Lamb and yet be +entirely unable to "see anything in" such writings as _Kubla Khan_ or +Milton's _Comus_; and as for _Hamlet_ you may see nothing in it but a +sanguinary tale "full of quotations." Nevertheless it is the supreme +productions which are capable of yielding the supreme pleasures, and +which _will_ yield the supreme pleasures when the pass-key to them +has been acquired. This pass-key is a comprehension of the nature of +poetry. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +VERSE + + +There is a word, a "name of fear," which rouses terror in the heart +of the vast educated majority of the English-speaking race. The +most valiant will fly at the mere utterance of that word. The most +broad-minded will put their backs up against it. The most rash will +not dare to affront it. I myself have seen it empty buildings that had +been full; and I know that it will scatter a crowd more quickly than +a hose-pipe, hornets, or the rumour of plague. Even to murmur it is +to incur solitude, probably disdain, and possibly starvation, as +historical examples show. That word is "poetry." + +The profound objection of the average man to poetry can scarcely +be exaggerated. And when I say the average man, I do not mean the +"average sensual man"--any man who gets on to the top of the omnibus; +I mean the average lettered man, the average man who does care a +little for books and enjoys reading, and knows the classics by name +and the popular writers by having read them. I am convinced that not +one man in ten who reads, reads poetry--at any rate, knowingly. I +am convinced, further, that not one man in ten who goes so far as +knowingly to _buy_ poetry ever reads it. You will find everywhere men +who read very widely in prose, but who will say quite callously, +"No, I never read poetry." If the sales of modern poetry, distinctly +labelled as such, were to cease entirely to-morrow not a publisher +would fail; scarcely a publisher would be affected; and not a poet +would die--for I do not believe that a single modern English poet +is living to-day on the current proceeds of his verse. For a country +which possesses the greatest poetical literature in the world this +condition of affairs is at least odd. What makes it odder is that, +occasionally, very occasionally, the average lettered man will have +a fit of idolatry for a fine poet, buying his books in tens of +thousands, and bestowing upon him immense riches. As with Tennyson. +And what makes it odder still is that, after all, the average lettered +man does not truly dislike poetry; he only dislikes it when it takes +a certain form. He will read poetry and enjoy it, provided he is not +aware that it is poetry. Poetry can exist authentically either in +prose or in verse. Give him poetry concealed in prose and there is a +chance that, taken off his guard, he will appreciate it. But show him +a page of verse, and he will be ready to send for a policeman. The +reason of this is that, though poetry may come to pass either in prose +or in verse, it does actually happen far more frequently in verse than +in prose; nearly all the very greatest poetry is in verse; verse is +identified with the very greatest poetry, and the very greatest poetry +can only be understood and savoured by people who have put themselves +through a considerable mental discipline. To others it is an +exasperating weariness. Hence chiefly the fearful prejudice of the +average lettered man against the mere form of verse. + +The formation of literary taste cannot be completed until that +prejudice has been conquered. My very difficult task is to suggest +a method of conquering it. I address myself exclusively to the large +class of people who, if they are honest, will declare that, while they +enjoy novels, essays, and history, they cannot "stand" verse. The case +is extremely delicate, like all nervous cases. It is useless to employ +the arts of reasoning, for the matter has got beyond logic; it is +instinctive. Perfectly futile to assure you that verse will yield a +higher percentage of pleasure than prose! You will reply: "We believe +you, but that doesn't help us." Therefore I shall not argue. I shall +venture to prescribe a curative treatment (doctors do not argue); and +I beg you to follow it exactly, keeping your nerve and your calm. Loss +of self-control might lead to panic, and panic would be fatal. + +First: Forget as completely as you can all your present notions about +the nature of verse and poetry. Take a sponge and wipe the slate of +your mind. In particular, do not harass yourself by thoughts of metre +and verse forms. Second: Read William Hazlitt's essay "On Poetry in +General." This essay is the first in the book entitled _Lectures on +the English Poets_. It can be bought in various forms. I think +the cheapest satisfactory edition is in Routledge's "New Universal +Library" (price 1s. net). I might have composed an essay of my own on +the real harmless nature of poetry in general, but it could only have +been an echo and a deterioration of Hazlitt's. He has put the truth +about poetry in a way as interesting, clear, and reassuring as anyone +is ever likely to put it. I do not expect, however, that you will +instantly gather the full message and enthusiasm of the essay. It +will probably seem to you not to "hang together." Still, it will leave +bright bits of ideas in your mind. Third: After a week's interval read +the essay again. On a second perusal it will appear more persuasive to +you. + +Fourth: Open the Bible and read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. It +is the chapter which begins, "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," and +ends, "They shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not +faint." This chapter will doubtless be more or less familiar to you. +It cannot fail (whatever your particular _ism_) to impress you, to +generate in your mind sensations which you recognise to be of a lofty +and unusual order, and which you will admit to be pleasurable. You +will probably agree that the result of reading this chapter (even if +your particular _ism_ is opposed to its authority) is finer than the +result of reading a short story in a magazine or even an essay by +Charles Lamb. Now the pleasurable sensations induced by the fortieth +chapter of Isaiah are among the sensations usually induced by +high-class poetry. The writer of it was a very great poet, and what +he wrote is a very great poem. Fifth: After having read it, go back to +Hazlitt, and see if you can find anything in Hazlitt's lecture which +throws light on the psychology of your own emotions upon reading +Isaiah. + +Sixth: The next step is into unmistakable verse. It is to read one of +Wordsworth's short narrative poems, _The Brothers_. There are editions +of Wordsworth at a shilling, but I should advise the "Golden Treasury" +Wordsworth (2s. 6d. net), because it contains the famous essay by +Matthew Arnold, who made the selection. I want you to read this poem +aloud. You will probably have to hide yourself somewhere in order to +do so, for, of course, you would not, as yet, care to be overheard +spouting poetry. Be good enough to forget that _The Brothers_ is +poetry. _The Brothers_ is a short story, with a plain, clear plot. +Read it as such. Read it simply for the story. It is very important +at this critical stage that you should not embarrass your mind with +preoccupations as to the _form_ in which Wordsworth has told his +story. Wordsworth's object was to tell a story as well as he could: +just that. In reading aloud do not pay any more attention to the metre +than you feel naturally inclined to pay. After a few lines the metre +will present itself to you. Do not worry as to what kind of metre it +is. When you have finished the perusal, examine your sensations.... + +Your sensations after reading this poem, and perhaps one or two other +narrative poems of Wordsworth, such as _Michael_, will be different +from the sensations produced in you by reading an ordinary, or even a +very extraordinary, short story in prose. They may not be so sharp, so +clear and piquant, but they will probably be, in their mysteriousness +and their vagueness, more impressive. I do not say that they will be +diverting. I do not go so far as to say that they will strike you as +pleasing sensations. (Be it remembered that I am addressing myself +to an imaginary tyro in poetry.) I would qualify them as being +"disturbing." Well, to disturb the spirit is one of the greatest aims +of art. And a disturbance of spirit is one of the finest pleasures +that a highly-organised man can enjoy. But this truth can only be +really learnt by the repetitions of experience. As an aid to the more +exhaustive examination of your feelings under Wordsworth, in order +that you may better understand what he was trying to effect in you, +and the means which he employed, I must direct you to Wordsworth +himself. Wordsworth, in addition to being a poet, was unsurpassed as a +critic of poetry. What Hazlitt does for poetry in the way of creating +enthusiasm Wordsworth does in the way of philosophic explanation. And +Wordsworth's explanations of the theory and practice of poetry are +written for the plain man. They pass the comprehension of nobody, and +their direct, unassuming, and calm simplicity is extremely persuasive. +Wordsworth's chief essays in throwing light on himself are the +"Advertisement," "Preface," and "Appendix" to _Lyrical Ballads_; the +letters to Lady Beaumont and "the Friend" and the "Preface" to the +Poems dated 1815. All this matter is strangely interesting and of +immense educational value. It is the first-class expert talking at +ease about his subject. The essays relating to _Lyrical Ballads_ will +be the most useful for you. You will discover these precious documents +in a volume entitled _Wordsworth's Literary Criticism_ (published by +Henry Frowde, 2s. 6d.), edited by that distinguished Wordsworthian +Mr. Nowell C. Smith. It is essential that the student of poetry should +become possessed, honestly or dishonestly, either of this volume or +of the matter which it contains. There is, by the way, a volume of +Wordsworth's prose in the Scott Library (1s.). Those who have not +read Wordsworth on poetry can have no idea of the naïve charm and the +helpful radiance of his expounding. I feel that I cannot too strongly +press Wordsworth's criticism upon you. + +Between Wordsworth and Hazlitt you will learn all that it behoves you +to know of the nature, the aims, and the results of poetry. It is no +part of my scheme to dot the "i's" and cross the "t's" of Wordsworth +and Hazlitt. I best fulfil my purpose in urgently referring you to +them. I have only a single point of my own to make--a psychological +detail. One of the main obstacles to the cultivation of poetry in the +average sensible man is an absurdly inflated notion of the ridiculous. +At the bottom of that man's mind is the idea that poetry is "silly." +He also finds it exaggerated and artificial; but these two accusations +against poetry can be satisfactorily answered. The charge of +silliness, of being ridiculous, however, cannot be refuted by +argument. There is no logical answer to a guffaw. This sense of the +ridiculous is merely a bad, infantile habit, in itself grotesquely +ridiculous. You may see it particularly in the theatre. Not the +greatest dramatist, not the greatest composer, not the greatest actor +can prevent an audience from laughing uproariously at a tragic moment +if a cat walks across the stage. But why ruin the scene by laughter? +Simply because the majority of any audience is artistically childish. +This sense of the ridiculous can only be crushed by the exercise of +moral force. It can only be cowed. If you are inclined to laugh when a +poet expresses himself more powerfully than you express yourself, when +a poet talks about feelings which are not usually mentioned in daily +papers, when a poet uses words and images which lie outside your +vocabulary and range of thought, then you had better take yourself in +hand. You have to decide whether you will be on the side of the angels +or on the side of the nincompoops. There is no surer sign of imperfect +development than the impulse to snigger at what is unusual, naïve, or +exuberant. And if you choose to do so, you can detect the cat walking +across the stage in the sublimest passages of literature. But more +advanced souls will grieve for you. + +The study of Wordsworth's criticism makes the seventh step in my +course of treatment. The eighth is to return to those poems of +Wordsworth's which you have already perused, and read them again in +the full light of the author's defence and explanation. Read as much +Wordsworth as you find you can assimilate, but do not attempt either +of his long poems. The time, however, is now come for a long poem. +I began by advising narrative poetry for the neophyte, and I shall +persevere with the prescription. I mean narrative poetry in the +restricted sense; for epic poetry is narrative. _Paradise Lost_ is +narrative; so is _The Prelude_. I suggest neither of these great +works. My choice falls on Elizabeth Browning's _Aurora Leigh_. If you +once work yourself "into" this poem, interesting yourself primarily +(as with Wordsworth) in the events of the story, and not allowing +yourself to be obsessed by the fact that what you are reading is +"poetry"--if you do this, you are not likely to leave it unfinished. +And before you reach the end you will have encountered _en route_ +pretty nearly all the moods of poetry that exist: tragic, humorous, +ironic, elegiac, lyric--everything. You will have a comprehensive +acquaintance with a poet's mind. I guarantee that you will come safely +through if you treat the work as a novel. For a novel it effectively +is, and a better one than any written by Charlotte Brontë or George +Eliot. In reading, it would be well to mark, or take note of, the +passages which give you the most pleasure, and then to compare these +passages with the passages selected for praise by some authoritative +critic. _Aurora Leigh_ can be got in the "Temple Classics" (1s. 6d.), +or in the "Canterbury Poets" (1s.). The indispensable biographical +information about Mrs. Browning can be obtained from Mr. J.H. Ingram's +short Life of her in the "Eminent Women" Series (1s. 6d.), or from +_Robert Browning_, by William Sharp ("Great Writers" Series, 1s.). + +This accomplished, you may begin to choose your poets. Going back +to Hazlitt, you will see that he deals with, among others, Chaucer, +Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Chatterton, Burns, and +the Lake School. You might select one of these, and read under his +guidance. Said Wordsworth: "I was impressed by the conviction that +there were four English poets whom I must have continually before me +as examples--Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, and Milton." (A word to +the wise!) Wordsworth makes a fifth to these four. Concurrently with +the careful, enthusiastic study of one of the undisputed classics, +modern verse should be read. (I beg you to accept the following +statement: that if the study of classical poetry inspires you with a +distaste for modern poetry, then there is something seriously wrong +in the method of your development.) You may at this stage (and not +before) commence an inquiry into questions of rhythm, verse-structure, +and rhyme. There is, I believe, no good, concise, cheap handbook to +English prosody; yet such a manual is greatly needed. The only one +with which I am acquainted is Tom Hood the younger's _Rules of Rhyme: +A Guide to English Versification_. Again, the introduction to Walker's +_Rhyming Dictionary_ gives a fairly clear elementary account of the +subject. Ruskin also has written an excellent essay on verse-rhythms. +With a manual in front of you, you can acquire in a couple of hours a +knowledge of the formal principles in which the music of English verse +is rooted. The business is trifling. But the business of appreciating +the inmost spirit of the greatest verse is tremendous and lifelong. It +is not something that can be "got up." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +BROAD COUNSELS + + +I have now set down what appear to me to be the necessary +considerations, recommendations, exhortations, and dehortations in aid +of this delicate and arduous enterprise of forming the literary taste. +I have dealt with the theory of literature, with the psychology of the +author, and--quite as important--with the psychology of the reader. +I have tried to explain the author to the reader and the reader to +himself. To go into further detail would be to exceed my original +intention, with no hope of ever bringing the constantly-enlarging +scheme to a logical conclusion. My aim is not to provide a map, but a +compass--two very different instruments. In the way of general advice +it remains for me only to put before you three counsels which apply +more broadly than any I have yet offered to the business of reading. + +You have within yourself a touchstone by which finally you can, and +you must, test every book that your brain is capable of comprehending. +Does the book seem to you to be sincere and true? If it does, then you +need not worry about your immediate feelings, or the possible future +consequences of the book. You will ultimately like the book, and you +will be justified in liking it. Honesty, in literature as in life, +is the quality that counts first and counts last. But beware of your +immediate feelings. Truth is not always pleasant. The first glimpse +of truth is, indeed, usually so disconcerting as to be positively +unpleasant, and our impulse is to tell it to go away, for we will have +no truck with it. If a book arouses your genuine contempt, you may +dismiss it from your mind. Take heed, however, lest you confuse +contempt with anger. If a book really moves you to anger, the chances +are that it is a good book. Most good books have begun by causing +anger which disguised itself as contempt. Demanding honesty from your +authors, you must see that you render it yourself. And to be honest +with oneself is not so simple as it appears. One's sensations and +one's sentiments must be examined with detachment. When you have +violently flung down a book, listen whether you can hear a faint voice +saying within you: "It's true, though!" And if you catch the whisper, +better yield to it as quickly as you can. For sooner or later the +voice will win. Similarly, when you are hugging a book, keep your +ear cocked for the secret warning: "Yes, but it isn't true." For bad +books, by flattering you, by caressing, by appealing to the weak or +the base in you, will often persuade you what fine and splendid books +they are. (Of course, I use the word "true" in a wide and essential +significance. I do not necessarily mean true to literal fact; I +mean true to the plane of experience in which the book moves. The +truthfulness of _Ivanhoe_, for example, cannot be estimated by +the same standards as the truthfulness of Stubbs's _Constitutional +History_.) In reading a book, a sincere questioning of oneself, "Is it +true?" and a loyal abiding by the answer, will help more surely than +any other process of ratiocination to form the taste. I will not +assert that this question and answer are all-sufficient. A true book +is not always great. But a great book is never untrue. + +My second counsel is: In your reading you must have in view some +definite aim--some aim other than the wish to derive pleasure. I +conceive that to give pleasure is the highest end of any work of art, +because the pleasure procured from any art is tonic, and transforms +the life into which it enters. But the maximum of pleasure can only +be obtained by regular effort, and regular effort implies the +organisation of that effort. Open-air walking is a glorious exercise; +it is the walking itself which is glorious. Nevertheless, when setting +out for walking exercise, the sane man generally has a subsidiary aim +in view. He says to himself either that he will reach a given point, +or that he will progress at a given speed for a given distance, or +that he will remain on his feet for a given time. He organises his +effort, partly in order that he may combine some other advantage with +the advantage of walking, but principally in order to be sure that +the effort shall be an adequate effort. The same with reading. Your +paramount aim in poring over literature is to enjoy, but you will not +fully achieve that aim unless you have also a subsidiary aim which +necessitates the measurement of your energy. Your subsidiary aim may +be æsthetic, moral, political, religious, scientific, erudite; you +may devote yourself to a man, a topic, an epoch, a nation, a branch of +literature, an idea--you have the widest latitude in the choice of +an objective; but a definite objective you must have. In my earlier +remarks as to method in reading, I advocated, without insisting on, +regular hours for study. But I both advocate and insist on the fixing +of a date for the accomplishment of an allotted task. As an instance, +it is not enough to say: "I will inform myself completely as to the +Lake School." It is necessary to say: "I will inform myself completely +as to the Lake School before I am a year older." Without this +precautionary steeling of the resolution the risk of a humiliating +collapse into futility is enormously magnified. + +My third counsel is: Buy a library. It is obvious that you cannot +read unless you have books. I began by urging the constant purchase +of books--any books of approved quality, without reference to their +immediate bearing upon your particular case. The moment has now come +to inform you plainly that a bookman is, amongst other things, a man +who possesses many books. A man who does not possess many books is +not a bookman. For years literary authorities have been favouring +the literary public with wondrously selected lists of "the best +books"--the best novels, the best histories, the best poems, the best +works of philosophy--or the hundred best or the fifty best of all +sorts. The fatal disadvantage of such lists is that they leave out +large quantities of literature which is admittedly first-class. The +bookman cannot content himself with a selected library. He wants, as a +minimum, a library reasonably complete in all departments. With such a +basis acquired, he can afterwards wander into those special byways +of book-buying which happen to suit his special predilections. Every +Englishman who is interested in any branch of his native literature, +and who respects himself, ought to own a comprehensive and inclusive +library of English literature, in comely and adequate editions. You +may suppose that this counsel is a counsel of perfection. It is +not. Mark Pattison laid down a rule that he who desired the name +of book-lover must spend five per cent. of his income on books. The +proposal does not seem extravagant, but even on a smaller percentage +than five the average reader of these pages may become the owner, in +a comparatively short space of time, of a reasonably complete English +library, by which I mean a library containing the complete works +of the supreme geniuses, representative important works of all the +first-class men in all departments, and specimen works of all the +men of the second rank whose reputation is really a living reputation +to-day. The scheme for a library, which I now present, begins before +Chaucer and ends with George Gissing, and I am fairly sure that the +majority of people will be startled at the total inexpensiveness of +it. So far as I am aware, no such scheme has ever been printed before. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I + +[For much counsel and correction in the matter of editions and prices +I am indebted to my old and valued friend, Charles Young, head of the +firm of Lamley & Co., booksellers, South Kensington.] + + +For the purposes of book-buying, I divide English literature, not +strictly into historical epochs, but into three periods which, +while scarcely arbitrary from the historical point of view, have +nevertheless been calculated according to the space which they will +occupy on the shelves and to the demands which they will make on the +purse: + +I. From the beginning to John Dryden, or roughly, to the end of the +seventeenth century. + +II. From William Congreve to Jane Austen, or roughly, the eighteenth +century. + +III. From Sir Walter Scott to the last deceased author who is +recognised as a classic, or roughly, the nineteenth century. + +Period III. will bulk the largest and cost the most; not necessarily +because it contains more absolutely great books than the other periods +(though in my opinion it _does_), but because it is nearest to us, and +therefore fullest of interest for us. + +I have not confined my choice to books of purely literary +interest--that is to say, to works which are primarily works of +literary art. Literature is the vehicle of philosophy, science, +morals, religion, and history; and a library which aspires to be +complete must comprise, in addition to imaginative works, all these +branches of intellectual activity. Comprising all these branches, it +cannot avoid comprising works of which the purely literary interest is +almost nil. + +On the other hand, I have excluded from consideration:-- + +i. Works whose sole importance is that they form a link in the chain +of development. For example, nearly all the productions of authors +between Chaucer and the beginning of the Elizabethan period, such as +Gower, Hoccleve, and Skelton, whose works, for sufficient reason, are +read only by professors and students who mean to be professors. + +ii. Works not originally written in English, such as the works of +that very great philosopher Roger Bacon, of whom this isle ought to be +prouder than it is. To this rule, however, I have been constrained +to make a few exceptions. Sir Thomas More's _Utopia_ was written +in Latin, but one does not easily conceive a library to be complete +without it. And could one exclude Sir Isaac Newton's _Principia_, the +masterpiece of the greatest physicist that the world has ever +seen? The law of gravity ought to have, and does have, a powerful +sentimental interest for us. + +iii. Translations from foreign literature into English. + + +Here, then, are the lists for the first period: + + + PROSE WRITERS £ s. d. + + Bede, _Ecclesiastical History_: Temple + Classics. 0 1 6 + + Sir Thomas Malory, _Morte d'Arthur_: + Everyman's Library (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Sir Thomas More, _Utopia_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + George Cavendish, _Life of Cardinal + Wolsey_: New Universal Library. 0 1 0 + + Richard Hakluyt, _Voyages_: Everyman's + Library (8 vols.) 0 8 0 + + Richard Hooker, _Ecclesiastical Polity_: + Everyman's Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Francis Bacon, _Works_: Newnes's Thinpaper + Classics. 0 2 0 + + Thomas Dekker, _Gull's Horn-Book_: King's + Classics. 0 1 6 + + Lord Herbert of Cherbury, _Autobiography_: + Scott Library. 0 1 0 + + John Selden, _Table-Talk_: New Universal + Library. 0 1 0 + + Thomas Hobbes, _Leviathan_: New Universal + Library. 0 1 0 + + James Howell, _Familiar Letters_: Temple + Classics (3 vols.) 0 4 6 + + Sir Thomas Browne, _Religio Medici_, etc.: + Everyman's Library. 0 1 0 + + Jeremy Taylor, _Holy Living and Holy + Dying_: Temple Classics (3 vols.) 0 4 6 + + Izaak Walton, _Compleat Angler_: Everyman's + Library. 0 1 0 + + John Bunyan, _Pilgrim's Progress_: + World's Classics. 0 1 0 + + Sir William Temple, _Essay on Gardens + of Epicurus_: King's Classics. 0 1 6 + + John Evelyn, _Diary_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Pepys, _Diary_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + _________ + £2 1 6 + + +The principal omission from the above list is _The Paston Letters_, +which I should probably have included had the enterprise of publishers +been sufficient to put an edition on the market at a cheap price. +Other omissions include the works of Caxton and Wyclif, and such +books as Camden's _Britannia_, Ascham's _Schoolmaster_, and Fuller's +_Worthies_, whose lack of first-rate value as literature is not +adequately compensated by their historical interest. As to the Bible, +in the first place it is a translation, and in the second I assume +that you already possess a copy. + + + POETS £ s. d. + + _Beowulf_, Routledge's London Library 0 2 6 + + GEOFFREY CHAUCER, _Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + Nicolas Udall, _Ralph Roister-Doister_: + Temple Dramatists 0 1 0 + + EDMUND SPENSER, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + + Thomas Lodge, _Rosalynde_: Caxton Series 0 1 0 + + Robert Greene, _Tragical Reign of Selimus_: + Temple Dramatists 0 1 0 + + Michael Drayton, _Poems_: Newnes's Pocket + Classics 0 8 6 + + CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, _Works_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, _Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + Thomas Campion, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Ben Jonson, _Plays_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + John Donne, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + John Webster, Cyril Tourneur, _Plays_: + Mermaid Series 0 2 6 + + Philip Massinger, _Plays_: Cunningham + Edition 0 3 6 + + Beaumont and Fletcher, _Plays_: a Selection + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + John Ford, _Plays_: Mermaid Series 0 2 6 + + George Herbert, _The Temple_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + ROBERT HERRICK, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Edmund Waller, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Sir John Suckling, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Abraham Cowley, _English Poems_: Cambridge + University Press 0 4 6 + + Richard Crashaw, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Henry Vaughan, _Poems_: Methuen's + Little Library 0 1 6 + + Samuel Butler, _Hudibras_: Cambridge + University Press 0 4 6 + + JOHN MILTON, _Poetical Works_: Oxford + Cheap Edition 0 2 0 + + JOHN MILTON, _Select Prose Works_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Andrew Marvell, _Poems_: Methuen's Little + Library 0 1 6 + + John Dryden, _Poetical Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + [Thomas Percy], _Reliques of Ancient + English Poetry_: Everyman's Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Spenser" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Jonson" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Shakspere" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + _________ + £3 7 6 + + +There were a number of brilliant minor writers in the seventeenth +century whose best work, often trifling in bulk, either scarcely +merits the acquisition of a separate volume for each author, or cannot +be obtained at all in a modern edition. Such authors, however, may not +be utterly neglected in the formation of a library. It is to meet this +difficulty that I have included the last three volumes on the above +list. Professor Arber's anthologies are full of rare pieces, and +comprise admirable specimens of the verse of Samuel Daniel, Giles +Fletcher, Countess of Pembroke, James I., George Peele, Sir Walter +Raleigh, Thomas Sackville, Sir Philip Sidney, Drummond of Hawthornden, +Thomas Heywood, George Wither, Sir Henry Wotton, Sir William Davenant, +Thomas Randolph, Frances Quarles, James Shirley, and other greater and +lesser poets. + +I have included all the important Elizabethan dramatists except John +Marston, all the editions of whose works, according to my researches, +are out of print. + +In the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods talent was so extraordinarily +plentiful that the standard of excellence is quite properly raised, +and certain authors are thus relegated to the third, or excluded, +class who in a less fertile period would have counted as at least +second-class. + + + SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD. £ s. d. + + 19 prose authors in 36 volumes costing 2 1 6 + 29 poets in 36 " " 3 7 6 + __ __ _________ + 48 72 £5 9 0 + + +In addition, scores of authors of genuine interest are represented in +the anthologies. + +The prices given are gross, and in many instances there is a 25 +per cent. discount to come off. All the volumes can be procured +immediately at any bookseller's. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II + + +After dealing with the formation of a library of authors up to John +Dryden, I must logically arrange next a scheme for the period covered +roughly by the eighteenth century. There is, however, no reason why +the student in quest of a library should follow the chronological +order. Indeed, I should advise him to attack the nineteenth century +before the eighteenth, for the reason that, unless his taste +happens to be peculiarly "Augustan," he will obtain a more immediate +satisfaction and profit from his acquisitions in the nineteenth +century than in the eighteenth. There is in eighteenth-century +literature a considerable proportion of what I may term "unattractive +excellence," which one must have for the purposes of completeness, +but which may await actual perusal until more pressing and more human +books have been read. I have particularly in mind the philosophical +authors of the century. + + + PROSE WRITERS. £ s. d. + + JOHN LOCKE, _Philosophical Works_: Bohn's + Edition (2 vols.) 0 7 0 + + SIR ISAAC NEWTON, _Principia_ (sections 1, + 2, and 3): Macmillans 0 12 0 + + Gilbert Burnet, _History of His Own Time_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + William Wycherley, _Best Plays_: Mermaid + Series 0 2 6 + + WILLIAM CONGREVE, _Best Plays_: Mermaid + Series 0 2 6 + + Jonathan Swift, _Tale of a Tub_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Jonathan Swift, _Gulliver's Travels_: + Temple Classics 0 1 6 + + DANIEL DEFOE, _Robinson Crusoe_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + DANIEL DEFOE, _Journal of the Plague + Year_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Joseph Addison, Sir Richard Steele, + _Essays_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + William Law, _Serious Call_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Lady Mary W. Montagu, _Letters_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + George Berkeley, _Principles of Human + Knowledge_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + SAMUEL RICHARDSON, _Clarissa_ (abridged): + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + John Wesley, _Journal_: Everyman's + Library (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Tom Jones_: Routledge's + Edition 0 2 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Amelia_: Routledge's + Edition 0 2 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Joseph Andrews_: + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + David Hume, _Essays_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + LAURENCE STERNE, _Tristram Shandy_: + World's Classics 0 1 0 + + LAURENCE STERNE, _Sentimental Journey_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Horace Walpole, _Castle of Otranto_: King's + Classics 0 1 6 + + Tobias Smollett, _Humphrey Clinker_: + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + Tobias Smollett, _Travels through France + and Italy_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + ADAM SMITH, _Wealth of Nations_: World's + Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Johnson, _Lives of the Poets_: + World's Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Johnson, _Rasselas_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + JAMES BOSWELL, _Life of Johnson_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Oliver Goldsmith, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + + Henry Mackenzie, _The Man of Feeling_: + Cassell's National Library 0 0 6 + + Sir Joshua Reynolds, _Discourses on Art_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Edmund Burke, _Reflections on the French + Revolution_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Edmund Burke, _Thoughts on the Present + Discontents_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + EDWARD GIBBON, _Decline and Fall of the + Roman Empire_: World's Classics + (7 vols.) 0 7 0 + + Thomas Paine, _Rights of Man_: Watts + and Co.'s Edition 0 1 0 + + RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, _Plays_: + World's Classics 0 1 0 + + Fanny Burney, _Evelina_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Gilbert White, _Natural History of Selborne_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Arthur Young, _Travels in France_: York + Library 0 2 0 + + Mungo Park, _Travels_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Jeremy Bentham, _Introduction to the + Principles of Morals_: Clarendon + Press 0 6 6 + + THOMAS ROBERT MALTHUS, _Essay on the + Principle of Population_: Ward, + Lock's Edition 0 3 0 + + William Godwin, _Caleb Williams_: + Newnes's Edition 0 1 0 + + Maria Edgeworth, _Helen_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Edition 0 2 6 + + JANE AUSTEN, _Novels_: Nelson's New + Century Library (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + James Morier, _Hadji Baba_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Novels 0 2 6 + __________ + £5 1 0 + + +The principal omissions here are Jeremy Collier, whose outcry against +the immorality of the stage is his slender title to remembrance; +Richard Bentley, whose scholarship principally died with him, and +whose chief works are no longer current; and "Junius," who would have +been deservedly forgotten long ago had there been a contemporaneous +Sherlock Holmes to ferret out his identity. + + + POETS. £ s. d. + + Thomas Otway, _Venice Preserved_: Temple + Dramatists 0 1 0 + + Matthew Prior, _Poems on Several Occasions_: + Cambridge English Classics 0 4 6 + + John Gay, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + ALEXANDER POPE, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 0 + + Isaac Watts, _Hymns_: Any hymn-book 0 1 0 + + James Thomson, _The Seasons_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + Charles Wesley, _Hymns_: Any hymn-book 0 1 0 + + THOMAS GRAY, Samuel Johnson, William + Collins, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + James Macpherson (Ossian), _Poems_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + THOMAS CHATTERTON, _Poems_: Muses' + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + WILLIAM COWPER, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM COWPER, _Letters_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + George Crabbe, _Poems_: Methuen's Little + Library 0 1 6 + + WILLIAM BLAKE, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + William Lisle Bowles, Hartley Coleridge, + _Poems_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + ROBERT BURNS, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + __________ + £1 7 0 + + + SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD. + + 39 prose writers in 60 volumes, costing £5 1 0 + 18 poets " 18 " " 1 7 0 + __ __ __________ + 57 78 £6 8 0 + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III + + +The catalogue of necessary authors of this third and last period being +so long, it is convenient to divide the prose writers into Imaginative +and Non-imaginative. + +In the latter half of the period the question of copyright affects our +scheme to a certain extent, because it affects prices. Fortunately +it is the fact that no single book of recognised first-rate general +importance is conspicuously dear. Nevertheless, I have encountered +difficulties in the second rank; I have dealt with them in a spirit +of compromise. I think I may say that, though I should have included +a few more authors had their books been obtainable at a reasonable +price, I have omitted none that I consider indispensable to a +thoroughly representative collection. No living author is included. + +Where I do not specify the edition of a book the original copyright +edition is meant. + + + PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE. £ s. d. + + SIR WALTER SCOTT, _Waverley, Heart of + Midlothian, Quentin Durward, Red-gauntlet, + Ivanhoe_: Everyman's + Library (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + SIR WALTER SCOTT, _Marmion_, etc.: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + Charles Lamb, _Works in Prose and Verse_: + Clarendon Press (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Charles Lamb, _Letters_: Newnes's Thin + Paper Classics 0 2 0 + + Walter Savage Landor, _Imaginary Conversations_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Walter Savage Landor, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Leigh Hunt, _Essays and Sketches_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Thomas Love Peacock, _Principal Novels_: + New Universal Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Mary Russell Mitford, _Our Village_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Michael Scott, _Tom Cringle's Log_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Novels 0 2 6 + + Frederick Marryat, _Mr. Midshipman + Easy_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + John Galt, _Annals of the Parish_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Susan Ferrier, _Marriage_: Routledge's + edition 0 2 0 + + Douglas Jerrold, _Mrs. Caudle's Curtain + Lectures_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + Lord Lytton, _Last Days of Pompeii_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + William Carleton, _Stories_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Charles James Lever, _Harry Lorrequer_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Harrison Ainsworth, _The Tower of London_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + George Henry Borrow, _Bible in Spain, + Lavengro_: New Universal Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Lord Beaconsfield, _Sybil, Coningsby_: + Lane's New Pocket Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + W.M. THACKERAY, _Vanity Fair, Esmond_: + Everyman's Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + W.M. THACKERAY, _Barry Lyndon_, and + _Roundabout Papers_, etc.: + Nelson's New Century Library 0 2 0 + + CHARLES DICKENS, _Works_: Everyman's + Library (18 vols.) 0 18 0 + + Charles Reade, _The Cloister and the Hearth_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Anthony Trollope, _Barchester Towers, + Framley Parsonage_: Lane's New + Pocket Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Charles Kingsley, _Westward Ho!_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Henry Kingsley, _Ravenshoe_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Charlotte Brontë, _Jane Eyre, Shirley, + Villette, Professor, and Poems_: + World's Classics (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Emily Brontë, _Wuthering Heights_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Elizabeth Gaskell, _Cranford_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Elizabeth Gaskell, _Life of Charlotte Brontë_ 0 2 6 + + George Eliot, _Adam Bede, Silas Marner, + The Mill on the Floss_: Everyman's + Library (3 vols.) 0 3 0 + + G.J. Whyte-Melville, _The Gladiators_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Alexander Smith, _Dreamthorpe_: New + Universal Library 0 1 0 + + George Macdonald, _Malcolm_ 0 1 6 + + Walter Pater, _Imaginary Portraits_ 0 6 0 + + Wilkie Collins, _The Woman in White_ 0 1 0 + + R.D. Blackmore, _Lorna Doone_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Samuel Butler, _Erewhon_: Fifield's + Edition 0 2 6 + + Laurence Oliphant, _Altiora Peto_ 0 3 6 + + Margaret Oliphant, _Salem Chapel_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Richard Jefferies, _Story of My Heart_ 0 2 0 + + Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland_: Macmillan's + Cheap Edition 0 1 0 + + John Henry Shorthouse, _John Inglesant_: + Macmillan's Pocket Classics 0 2 0 + + R.L. Stevenson, _Master of Ballantrae, + Virginibus Puerisque_: Pocket Edition + (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + George Gissing, _The Odd Women_: Popular + Edition (bound) 0 0 7 + __________ + £5 0 1 + +Names such as those of Charlotte Yonge and Dinah Craik are omitted +intentionally. + + + PROSE WRITERS: NON-IMAGINATIVE. £ s. d. + + William Hazlitt, _Spirit of the Age_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + William Hazlitt, _English Poets and Comic + Writers_: Bohn's Library 0 3 6 + + Francis Jeffrey, _Essays from Edinburgh + Review_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas de Quincey, _Confessions of an + English Opium-eater_, etc.: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Sydney Smith, _Selected Papers_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + George Finlay, _Byzantine Empire_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + John G. Lockhart, _Life of Scott_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Agnes Strickland, _Life of Queen Elizabeth_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Hugh Miller, _Old Red Sandstone_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + J.H. Newman, _Apologia pro vita sua_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Lord Macaulay, _History of England_, (3), + _Essays_ (2): Everyman's Library (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + A.P. Stanley, _Memorials of Canterbury_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + THOMAS CARLYLE, _French Revolution_ (2), + _Cromwell_ (3), _Sartor Resartus and + Heroes and Hero-Worship_ (1): Everyman's + Library (6 vols.) 0 6 0 + + THOMAS CARLYLE, _Latter-day Pamphlets_: + Chapman and Hall's Edition 0 1 0 + + CHARLES DARWIN, _Origin of Species_: + Murray's Edition 0 1 0 + + CHARLES DARWIN, _Voyage of the Beagle_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + A.W. Kinglake, _Eothen_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + John Stuart Mill, _Auguste Comte and + Positivism_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + John Brown, _Horæ Subsecivæ_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + John Brown, _Rab and His Friends_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Sir Arthur Helps, _Friends in Council_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Mark Pattison, _Life of Milton_: English + Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + F.W. Robertson, _On Religion and Life_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Benjamin Jowett, _Interpretation of Scripture_: + Routledge's London Library 0 2 6 + + George Henry Lewes, _Principles of Success + in Literature_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Alexander Bain, _Mind and Body_ 0 4 0 + + James Anthony Froude, _Dissolution of the + Monasteries_, etc.: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + Mary Wollstonecraft, _Vindication of the + Rights of Women_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + John Tyndall, _Glaciers of the Alps_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Sir Henry Maine, _Ancient Law_: New + Universal Library 0 1 0 + + JOHN RUSKIN, _Seven Lamps_ (1), _Sesame + and Lilies_ (1), _Stones of Venice_ (3): + George Allen's Cheap Edition (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + HERBERT SPENCER, _First Principles_ (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + HERBERT SPENCER, _Education_ 0 1 0 + + Sir Richard Burton, _Narrative of a + Pilgrimage to Mecca_: Bohn's Edition + (2 vols.) 0 7 0 + + J.S. Speke, _Sources of the Nile_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Henry Huxley, _Essays_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + E.A. Freeman, _Europe_: Macmillan's + Primers 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM STUBBS, _Early Plantagenets_ 0 2 0 + + Walter Bagehot, _Lombard Street_ 0 3 6 + + Richard Holt Hutton, _Cardinal Newman_ 0 3 6 + + Sir John Seeley, _Ecce Homo_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + David Masson, _Thomas de Quincey_: + English Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + John Richard Green, _Short History of the + English People_ 0 8 6 + + Sir Leslie Stephen, _Pope_: English Men + of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + Lord Acton, _On the Study of History_ 0 2 6 + + Mandell Creighton, _The Age of Elizabeth_ 0 2 6 + + F.W.H. Myers, _Wordsworth_: English + Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + __________ + £4 10 6 + + +The following authors are omitted, I think justifiably:--Hallam, +Whewell, Grote, Faraday, Herschell, Hamilton, John Wilson, Richard +Owen, Stirling Maxwell, Buckle, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Hamerton, F.D. +Maurice, Henry Sidgwick, and Richard Jebb. + +Lastly, here is the list of poets. In the matter of price per volume +it is the most expensive of all the lists. This is due to the fact +that it contains a larger proportion of copyright works. Where I do +not specify the edition of a book, the original copyright edition is +meant: + + + POETS. £ s. d. + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, _Poetical Works_: + Oxford Edition 0 3 6 + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, _Literary Criticism_: + Nowell Smith's Edition 0 2 6 + + Robert Southey, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Robert Southey, _Life of Nelson_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Poetical Works_: + Newnes's Thin Paper Classics 0 2 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Biographia Literaria_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Lectures on Shakspere_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + JOHN KEATS, _Poetical Works_: Oxford + Edition 0 3 6 + + PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, _Poetical Works_: + Oxford Edition 0 3 6 + + LORD BYRON, _Poems_: E. Hartley Coleridge's + Edition 0 6 0 + + LORD BYRON, _Letters_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Hood, _Poems_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + James and Horace Smith, _Rejected Addresses_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + John Keble, _The Christian Year_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + George Darley, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + T.L. Beddoes, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Moore, _Selected Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + James Clarence Mangan, _Poems_: D.J. + O'Donoghue's Edition 0 3 6 + + W. Mackworth Praed, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + R.S. Hawker, _Cornish Ballads_: C.E. + Byles's Edition 0 5 0 + + Edward FitzGerald, _Omar Khayyam_: + Golden Treasury Series 0 2 6 + + P.J. Bailey, _Festus_: Routledge's Edition 0 3 6 + + Arthur Hugh Clough, _Poems_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + LORD TENNYSON, _Poetical Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + ROBERT BROWNING, _Poetical Works_: + World's Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Elizabeth Browning, _Aurora Leigh_: + Temple Classics 0 1 6 + + Elizabeth Browning, _Shorter Poems_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + P.B. Marston, _Song-tide_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Aubrey de Vere, _Legends of St. Patrick_: + Cassell's National Library 0 0 6 + + MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Poems_: Golden Treasury + Series 0 2 6 + + MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Essays_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Coventry Patmore, _Poems_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + Sydney Dobell, _Poems_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + Eric Mackay, _Love-letters of a Violinist_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + T.E. Brown, _Poems_ 0 7 6 + + C.S. Calverley, _Verses and Translations_ 0 1 6 + + D.G. ROSSETTI, _Poetical Works_ 0 3 6 + + Christina Rossetti, _Selected Poems_: + Golden Treasury Series 0 2 6 + + James Thomson, _City of Dreadful Night_ 0 3 6 + + Jean Ingelow, _Poems_: Red Letter Library 0 1 6 + + William Morris, _The Earthly Paradise_ 0 6 0 + + William Morris, _Early Romances_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Augusta Webster, _Selected Poems_ 0 4 6 + + W.E. Henley, _Poetical Works_ 0 6 0 + + Francis Thompson, _Selected Poems_ 0 5 0 + __________ + £5 7 0 + + +Poets whom I have omitted after hesitation are: Ebenezer Elliott, +Thomas Woolner, William Barnes, Gerald Massey, and Charles Jeremiah +Wells. On the other hand, I have had no hesitation about omitting +David Moir, Felicia Hemans, Aytoun, Sir Edwin Arnold, and Sir Lewis +Morris. I have included John Keble in deference to much enlightened +opinion, but against my inclination. There are two names in the list +which may be somewhat unfamiliar to many readers. James Clarence +Mangan is the author of _My Dark Rosaleen_, an acknowledged +masterpiece, which every library must contain. T.E. Brown is a great +poet, recognised as such by a few hundred people, and assuredly +destined to a far wider fame. I have included FitzGerald because _Omar +Khayyam_ is much less a translation than an original work. + + + SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. + + 83 prose-writers, in 141 volumes, costing £9 10 7 + 38 poets " 46 " " 5 7 0 + __ ___ __________ + 121 187 £14 17 7 + + + GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY. + + Authors. Volumes. Price. + + 1. To Dryden 48 72 £5 9 0 + + 2. Eighteenth Century 57 78 6 8 0 + + 3. Nineteenth Century 121 187 14 17 7 + ___ ___ ________ + 226 337 £26 14 7 + +I think it will be agreed that the total cost of this library is +surprisingly small. By laying out the sum of sixpence a day for three +years you may become the possessor of a collection of books which, +for range and completeness in all branches of literature, will bear +comparison with libraries far more imposing, more numerous, and more +expensive. + +I have mentioned the question of discount. The discount which you +will obtain (even from a bookseller in a small town) will be more than +sufficient to pay for Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_, +three volumes, price 30s. net. This work is indispensable to a +bookman. Personally, I owe it much. + +When you have read, wholly or in part, a majority of these three +hundred and thirty-five volumes, _with enjoyment_, you may begin to +whisper to yourself that your literary taste is formed; and you may +pronounce judgment on modern works which come before the bar of your +opinion in the calm assurance that, though to err is human, you do at +any rate know what you are talking about. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MENTAL STOCKTAKING + + +Great books do not spring from something accidental in the great +men who wrote them. They are the effluence of their very core, the +expression of the life itself of the authors. And literature cannot be +said to have served its true purpose until it has been translated into +the actual life of him who reads. It does not succeed until it becomes +the vehicle of the vital. Progress is the gradual result of the +unending battle between human reason and human instinct, in which the +former slowly but surely wins. The most powerful engine in this +battle is literature. It is the vast reservoir of true ideas and high +emotions--and life is constituted of ideas and emotions. In a world +deprived of literature, the intellectual and emotional activity of all +but a few exceptionally gifted men would quickly sink and retract to +a narrow circle. The broad, the noble, the generous would tend +to disappear for want of accessible storage. And life would be +correspondingly degraded, because the fallacious idea and the petty +emotion would never feel the upward pull of the ideas and emotions +of genius. Only by conceiving a society without literature can it be +clearly realised that the function of literature is to raise the plain +towards the top level of the peaks. Literature exists so that where +one man has lived finely ten thousand may afterwards live finely. It +is a means of life; it concerns the living essence. + +Of course, literature has a minor function, that of passing the +time in an agreeable and harmless fashion, by giving momentary faint +pleasure. Vast multitudes of people (among whom may be numbered not a +few habitual readers) utilise only this minor function of literature; +by implication they class it with golf, bridge, or soporifics. +Literary genius, however, had no intention of competing with these +devices for fleeting the empty hours; and all such use of literature +may be left out of account. + +You, O serious student of many volumes, believe that you have a +sincere passion for reading. You hold literature in honour, and your +last wish would be to debase it to a paltry end. You are not of those +who read because the clock has just struck nine and one can't go +to bed till eleven. You are animated by a real desire to get out of +literature all that literature will give. And in that aim you keep on +reading, year after year, and the grey hairs come. But amid all this +steady tapping of the reservoir, do you ever take stock of what you +have acquired? Do you ever pause to make a valuation, in terms of your +own life, of that which you are daily absorbing, or imagine you +are absorbing? Do you ever satisfy yourself by proof that you +are absorbing anything at all, that the living waters, instead of +vitalising you, are not running off you as though you were a duck in a +storm? Because, if you omit this mere business precaution, it may well +be that you, too, without knowing it, are little by little joining +the triflers who read only because eternity is so long. It may well be +that even your alleged sacred passion is, after all, simply a sort of +drug-habit. The suggestion disturbs and worries you. You dismiss it +impatiently; but it returns. + +How (you ask, unwillingly) can a man perform a mental stocktaking? How +can he put a value on what he gets from books? How can he effectively +test, in cold blood, whether he is receiving from literature all that +literature has to give him? + +The test is not so vague, nor so difficult, as might appear. + +If a man is not thrilled by intimate contact with nature: with the +sun, with the earth, which is his origin and the arouser of his +acutest emotions-- + +If he is not troubled by the sight of beauty in many forms-- + +If he is devoid of curiosity concerning his fellow-men and his +fellow-animals-- + +If he does not have glimpses of the nuity of all things in an orderly +progress-- + +If he is chronically "querulous, dejected, and envious"-- + +If he is pessimistic-- + +If he is of those who talk about "this age of shams," "this age without +ideals," "this hysterical age," and this heaven-knows-what-age-- + +Then that man, though he reads undisputed classics for twenty hours +a day, though he has a memory of steel, though he rivals Porson +in scholarship and Sainte Beuve in judgment, is not receiving from +literature what literature has to give. Indeed, he is chiefly wasting +his time. Unless he can read differently, it were better for him if +he sold all his books, gave to the poor, and played croquet. He fails +because he has not assimilated into his existence the vital essences +which genius put into the books that have merely passed before his +eyes; because genius has offered him faith, courage, vision, noble +passion, curiosity, love, a thirst for beauty, and he has not taken +the gift; because genius has offered him the chance of living fully, +and he is only half alive, for it is only in the stress of fine ideas +and emotions that a man may be truly said to live. This is not a moral +invention, but a simple fact, which will be attested by all who know +what that stress is. + +What! You talk learnedly about Shakespeare's sonnets! Have you heard +Shakespeare's terrific shout: + + Full many a glorious morning have I seen + Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, + Kissing with golden face the meadows green, + Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy. + +And yet, can you see the sun over the viaduct at Loughborough Junction +of a morning, and catch its rays in the Thames off Dewar's whisky +monument, and not shake with the joy of life? If so, you and +Shakespeare are not yet in communication. What! You pride yourself on +your beautiful edition of Casaubon's translation of _Marcus Aurelius_, +and you savour the cadences of the famous: + + This day I shall have to do with an idle, curious man, with an + unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious + man. All these ill qualities have happened unto him, through + ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I + that understand the nature of that which is good, that it only + is to be desired, and of that which is bad, that it only + is truly odious and shameful: who know, moreover, that this + transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same + blood and seed, but by participation of the same reason and of + the same divine particle--how can I be hurt?... + +And with these cadences in your ears you go and quarrel with a cabman! + +You would be ashamed of your literary self to be caught in ignorance +of Whitman, who wrote: + + Now understand me well--it is provided in the essence of + things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, + shall come forth something to make a greater struggle + necessary. + +And yet, having achieved a motor-car, you lose your temper when it +breaks down half-way up a hill! + +You know your Wordsworth, who has been trying to teach you about: + + The Upholder of the tranquil soul + That tolerates the indignities of Time + And, from the centre of Eternity + All finite motions over-ruling, lives + In glory immutable. + +But you are capable of being seriously unhappy when your suburban +train selects a tunnel for its repose! + +And the A.V. of the Bible, which you now read, not as your forefathers +read it, but with an æsthetic delight, especially in the Apocrypha! +You remember: + + Whatsoever is brought upon thee, take cheerfully, and be + patient when thou art changed to a low estate. For gold + is tried in the fire and acceptable men in the furnace of + adversity. + +And yet you are ready to lie down and die because a woman has scorned +you! Go to! + +You think some of my instances approach the ludicrous? They do. They +are meant to do so. But they are no more ludicrous than life itself. +And they illustrate in the most workaday fashion how you can test +whether your literature fulfils its function of informing and +transforming your existence. + +I say that if daily events and scenes do not constantly recall and +utilise the ideas and emotions contained in the books which you have +read or are reading; if the memory of these books does not quicken the +perception of beauty, wherever you happen to be, does not help you to +correlate the particular trifle with the universal, does not smooth +out irritation and give dignity to sorrow--then you are, consciously +or not, unworthy of your high vocation as a bookman. You may say that +I am preaching a sermon. The fact is, I am. My mood is a severely +moral mood. For when I reflect upon the difference between what +books have to offer and what even relatively earnest readers take the +trouble to accept from them, I am appalled (or should be appalled, did +I not know that the world is moving) by the sheer inefficiency, the +bland, complacent failure of the earnest reader. I am like yourself, +the spectacle of inefficiency rouses my holy ire. + +Before you begin upon another masterpiece, set out in a row the +masterpieces which you are proud of having read during the past year. +Take the first on the list, that book which you perused in all the +zeal of your New Year resolutions for systematic study. Examine the +compartments of your mind. Search for the ideas and emotions which you +have garnered from that book. Think, and recollect when last something +from that book recurred to your memory apropos of your own daily +commerce with humanity. Is it history--when did it throw a light for +you on modern politics? Is it science--when did it show you order in +apparent disorder, and help you to put two and two together into an +inseparable four? Is it ethics--when did it influence your conduct in +a twopenny-halfpenny affair between man and man? Is it a novel--when +did it help you to "understand all and forgive all"? Is it +poetry--when was it a magnifying glass to disclose beauty to you, or +a fire to warm your cooling faith? If you can answer these questions +satisfactorily, your stocktaking as regards the fruit of your traffic +with that book may be reckoned satisfactory. If you cannot answer +them satisfactorily, then either you chose the book badly or your +impression that you _read_ it is a mistaken one. + +When the result of this stocktaking forces you to the conclusion that +your riches are not so vast as you thought them to be, it is necessary +to look about for the causes of the misfortune. The causes may be +several. You may have been reading worthless books. This, however, +I should say at once, is extremely unlikely. Habitual and confirmed +readers, unless they happen to be reviewers, seldom read worthless +books. In the first place, they are so busy with books of proved value +that they have only a small margin of leisure left for very modern +works, and generally, before they can catch up with the age, Time or +the critic has definitely threshed for them the wheat from the +chaff. No! Mediocrity has not much chance of hood-winking the serious +student. + +It is less improbable that the serious student has been choosing his +books badly. He may do this in two ways--absolutely and relatively. +Every reader of long standing has been through the singular experience +of suddenly _seeing_ a book with which his eyes have been familiar for +years. He reads a book with a reputation and thinks: "Yes, this is a +good book. This book gives me pleasure." And then after an interval, +perhaps after half a lifetime, something mysterious happens to his +mental sight. He picks up the book again, and sees a new and profound +significance in every sentence, and he says: "I was perfectly blind +to this book before." Yet he is no cleverer than he used to be. Only +something has happened to him. Let a gold watch be discovered by a +supposititious man who has never heard of watches. He has a sense of +beauty. He admires the watch, and takes pleasure in it. He says: +"This is a beautiful piece of bric-à -brac; I fully appreciate this +delightful trinket." Then imagine his feelings when someone comes +along with the key; imagine the light flooding his brain. Similar +incidents occur in the eventful life of the constant reader. He has no +key, and never suspects that there exists such a thing as a key. That +is what I call a choice absolutely bad. + +The choice is relatively bad when, spreading over a number of books, +it pursues no order, and thus results in a muddle of faint impressions +each blurring the rest. Books must be allowed to help one another; +they must be skilfully called in to each other's aid. And that this +may be accomplished some guiding principle is necessary. "And what," +you demand, "should that guiding principle be?" How do I know? Nobody, +fortunately, can make your principles for you. You have to make them +for yourself. But I will venture upon this general observation: that +in the mental world what counts is not numbers but co-ordination. +As regards facts and ideas, the great mistake made by the average +well-intentioned reader is that he is content with the names of things +instead of occupying himself with the causes of things. He seeks +answers to the question What? instead of to the question Why? He +studies history, and never guesses that all history is caused by the +facts of geography. He is a botanical expert, and can take you to +where the _Sibthorpia europæa_ grows, and never troubles to wonder +what the earth would be without its cloak of plants. He wanders +forth of starlit evenings and will name you with unction all the +constellations from Andromeda to the Scorpion; but if you ask him why +Venus can never be seen at midnight, he will tell you that he has not +bothered with the scientific details. He has not learned that names +are nothing, and the satisfaction of the lust of the eye a trifle +compared to the imaginative vision of which scientific "details" are +the indispensable basis. + +Most reading, I am convinced, is unphilosophical; that is to say, it +lacks the element which more than anything else quickens the poetry of +life. Unless and until a man has formed a scheme of knowledge, be it +a mere skeleton, his reading must necessarily be unphilosophical. +He must have attained to some notion of the inter-relations of the +various branches of knowledge before he can properly comprehend the +branch in which he specialises. If he has not drawn an outline map +upon which he can fill in whatever knowledge comes to him, as it +comes, and on which he can trace the affinity of every part with every +other part, he is assuredly frittering away a large percentage of his +efforts. There are certain philosophical works which, once they are +mastered, seem to have performed an operation for cataract, so that +he who was blind, having read them, henceforward sees cause and effect +working in and out everywhere. To use another figure, they leave +stamped on the brain a chart of the entire province of knowledge. + +Such a work is Spencer's _First Principles_. I know that it is +nearly useless to advise people to read _First Principles_. They are +intimidated by the sound of it; and it costs as much as a dress-circle +seat at the theatre. But if they would, what brilliant stocktakings +there might be in a few years! Why, if they would only read such +detached essays as that on "Manners and Fashion," or "The Genesis of +Science" (in a sixpenny volume of Spencer's _Essays_, published +by Watts and Co.), the magic illumination, the necessary power of +"synthetising" things, might be vouch-safed to them. In any case, +the lack of some such disciplinary, co-ordinating measure will amply +explain many disastrous stocktakings. The manner in which one single +ray of light, one single precious hint, will clarify and energise the +whole mental life of him who receives it, is among the most wonderful +and heavenly of intellectual phenomena. Some men search for that light +and never find it. But most men never search for it. + +The superlative cause of disastrous stocktakings remains, and it +is much more simple than the one with which I have just dealt. It +consists in the absence of meditation. People read, and read, and +read, blandly unconscious of their effrontery in assuming that they +can assimilate without any further effort the vital essence which the +author has breathed into them. They cannot. And the proof that they do +not is shown all the time in their lives. I say that if a man does not +spend at least as much time in actively and definitely thinking about +what he has read as he has spent in reading, he is simply insulting +his author. If he does not submit himself to intellectual and +emotional fatigue in classifying the communicated ideas, and +in emphasising on his spirit the imprint of the communicated +emotions--then reading with him is a pleasant pastime and nothing +else. This is a distressing fact. But it is a fact. It is distressing, +for the reason that meditation is not a popular exercise. If a friend +asks you what you did last night, you may answer, "I was reading," and +he will be impressed and you will be proud. But if you answer, "I +was meditating," he will have a tendency to smile and you will have a +tendency to blush. I know this. I feel it myself. (I cannot offer any +explanation.) But it does not shake my conviction that the absence of +meditation is the main origin of disappointing stocktakings. + + + + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + +NOVELS + + A MAN FROM THE NORTH + ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS + LEONORA + A GREAT MAN + SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE + WHOM GOD HATH JOINED + BURIED ALIVE + THE OLD WIVES' TALE + THE GLIMPSE + HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND + CLAYHANGER + THE CARD + +FANTASIAS + + THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL + THE GATES OF WRATH + TERESA OF WATLING STREET + THE LOOT OF CITIES + HUGO + THE GHOST + THE CITY OF PLEASURE + +SHORT STORIES + + TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS + THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS + +BELLES-LETTRES + + JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN + FAME AND FICTION + HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR + THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR + THE REASONABLE LIFE + HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY + THE HUMAN MACHINE + LITERARY TASTE + MENTAL EFFICIENCY + +DRAMA + + POLITE FARCES + CUPID AND COMMONSENSE + WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS + + +(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS) + + THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE + THE STATUE: A ROMANCE + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13852 *** diff --git a/13852-h/13852-h.htm b/13852-h/13852-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e26358 --- /dev/null +++ b/13852-h/13852-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4300 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; 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Many people, if + not most, look on literary taste as an elegant accomplishment, by acquiring which + they will complete themselves, and make themselves finally fit as members of a + correct society. They are secretly ashamed of their ignorance of literature, in the + same way as they would be ashamed of their ignorance of etiquette at a high + entertainment, or of their inability to ride a horse if suddenly called upon to do + so. There are certain things that a man ought to know, or to know about, and + literature is one of them: such is their idea. They have learnt to dress themselves + with propriety, and to behave with propriety on all occasions; they are fairly "up" + in the questions of the day; by industry <span class="pagenum"><a name="page2" + id="page2"></a>[pg 2]</span> and enterprise they are succeeding in their vocations; + it behoves them, then, not to forget that an acquaintance with literature is an + indispensable part of a self-respecting man's personal baggage. Painting doesn't + matter; music doesn't matter very much. But "everyone is supposed to know" about + literature. Then, literature is such a charming distraction! Literary taste thus + serves two purposes: as a certificate of correct culture and as a private pastime. A + young professor of mathematics, immense at mathematics and games, dangerous at chess, + capable of Haydn on the violin, once said to me, after listening to some chat on + books, "Yes, I must take up literature." As though saying: "I was rather forgetting + literature. However, I've polished off all these other things. I'll have a shy at + literature now."</p> + <p>This attitude, or any attitude which resembles it, is wrong. To him who really + comprehends what literature is, and what the function of literature is, this attitude + is simply ludicrous. It is also fatal to the formation of literary taste. <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page3" id="page3"></a>[pg 3]</span> People who regard + literary taste simply as an accomplishment, and literature simply as a distraction, + will never truly succeed either in acquiring the accomplishment or in using it + half-acquired as a distraction; though the one is the most perfect of distractions, + and though the other is unsurpassed by any other accomplishment in elegance or in + power to impress the universal snobbery of civilised mankind. Literature, instead of + being an accessory, is the fundamental <i>sine qua non</i> of complete living. I am + extremely anxious to avoid rhetorical exaggerations. I do not think I am guilty of + one in asserting that he who has not been "presented to the freedom" of literature + has not wakened up out of his prenatal sleep. He is merely not born. He can't see; he + can't hear; he can't feel, in any full sense. He can only eat his dinner. What more + than anything else annoys people who know the true function of literature, and have + profited thereby, is the spectacle of so many thousands of individuals going about + under the delusion that they are alive, when, as a fact, they are no nearer being + alive than a bear in winter.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>[pg 4]</span> + <p>I will tell you what literature is! No—I only wish I could. But I can't. No + one can. Gleams can be thrown on the secret, inklings given, but no more. I will try + to give you an inkling. And, to do so, I will take you back into your own history, or + forward into it. That evening when you went for a walk with your faithful friend, the + friend from whom you hid nothing—or almost nothing ...! You were, in truth, + somewhat inclined to hide from him the particular matter which monopolised your mind + that evening, but somehow you contrived to get on to it, drawn by an overpowering + fascination. And as your faithful friend was sympathetic and discreet, and flattered + you by a respectful curiosity, you proceeded further and further into the said + matter, growing more and more confidential, until at last you cried out, in a + terrific whisper: "My boy, she is simply miraculous!" At that moment you were in the + domain of literature.</p> + <p>Let me explain. Of course, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, she was not + miraculous. Your faithful friend had <span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" + id="page5"></a>[pg 5]</span> never noticed that she was miraculous, nor had about + forty thousand other fairly keen observers. She was just a girl. Troy had not been + burnt for her. A girl cannot be called a miracle. If a girl is to be called a + miracle, then you might call pretty nearly anything a miracle.... That is just it: + you might. You can. You ought. Amid all the miracles of the universe you had just + wakened up to one. You were full of your discovery. You were under a divine impulsion + to impart that discovery. You had a strong sense of the marvellous beauty of + something, and you had to share it. You were in a passion about something, and you + had to vent yourself on somebody. You were drawn towards the whole of the rest of the + human race. Mark the effect of your mood and utterance on your faithful friend. He + knew that she was not a miracle. No other person could have made him believe that she + was a miracle. But you, by the force and sincerity of your own vision of her, and by + the fervour of your desire to make him participate in your vision, did for quite a + long time cause him to feel that <span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" + id="page6"></a>[pg 6]</span> he had been blind to the miracle of that girl.</p> + <p>You were producing literature. You were alive. Your eyes were unlidded, your ears + were unstopped, to some part of the beauty and the strangeness of the world; and a + strong instinct within you forced you to tell someone. It was not enough for you that + you saw and heard. Others had to see and hear. Others had to be wakened up. And they + were! It is quite possible—I am not quite sure—that your faithful friend + the very next day, or the next month, looked at some other girl, and suddenly saw + that she, too, was miraculous! The influence of literature!</p> + <p>The makers of literature are those who have seen and felt the miraculous + interestingness of the universe. And the greatest makers of literature are those + whose vision has been the widest, and whose feeling has been the most intense. Your + own fragment of insight was accidental, and perhaps temporary. <i>Their</i> lives are + one long ecstasy of denying that the world is a dull place. Is it nothing to <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>[pg 7]</span> you to learn to + understand that the world is not a dull place? Is it nothing to you to be led out of + the tunnel on to the hillside, to have all your senses quickened, to be invigorated + by the true savour of life, to feel your heart beating under that correct necktie of + yours? These makers of literature render you their equals.</p> + <p>The aim of literary study is not to amuse the hours of leisure; it is to awake + oneself, it is to be alive, to intensify one's capacity for pleasure, for sympathy, + and for comprehension. It is not to affect one hour, but twenty-four hours. It is to + change utterly one's relations with the world. An understanding appreciation of + literature means an understanding appreciation of the world, and it means nothing + else. Not isolated and unconnected parts of life, but all of life, brought together + and correlated in a synthetic map! The spirit of literature is unifying; it joins the + candle and the star, and by the magic of an image shows that the beauty of the + greater is in the less. And, not content with the disclosure of beauty and the + bringing together of all things whatever <span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" + id="page8"></a>[pg 8]</span> within its focus, it enforces a moral wisdom by the + tracing everywhere of cause and effect. It consoles doubly—by the revelation of + unsuspected loveliness, and by the proof that our lot is the common lot. It is the + supreme cry of the discoverer, offering sympathy and asking for it in a single + gesture. In attending a University Extension Lecture on the sources of Shakespeare's + plots, or in studying the researches of George Saintsbury into the origins of English + prosody, or in weighing the evidence for and against the assertion that Rousseau was + a scoundrel, one is apt to forget what literature really is and is for. It is well to + remind ourselves that literature is first and last a means of life, and that the + enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an enterprise of learning how best to + use this means of life. People who don't want to live, people who would sooner + hibernate than feel intensely, will be wise to eschew literature. They had better, to + quote from the finest passage in a fine poem, "sit around and eat blackberries." The + sight of a "common bush afire with God" might upset their nerves.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>[pg 9]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + <h2>YOUR PARTICULAR CASE</h2> + <p>The attitude of the average decent person towards the classics of his own tongue + is one of distrust—I had almost said, of fear. I will not take the case of + Shakespeare, for Shakespeare is "taught" in schools; that is to say, the Board of + Education and all authorities pedagogic bind themselves together in a determined + effort to make every boy in the land a lifelong enemy of Shakespeare. (It is a mercy + they don't "teach" Blake.) I will take, for an example, Sir Thomas Browne, as to whom + the average person has no offensive juvenile memories. He is bound to have read + somewhere that the style of Sir Thomas Browne is unsurpassed by anything in English + literature. One day he sees the <i>Religio Medici</i> in a shop-window (or, rather, + outside a shop-window, for he would hesitate about <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page10" id="page10"></a>[pg 10]</span> entering a bookshop), and he buys it, by + way of a mild experiment. He does not expect to be enchanted by it; a profound + instinct tells him that Sir Thomas Browne is "not in his line"; and in the result he + is even less enchanted than he expected to be. He reads the introduction, and he + glances at the first page or two of the work. He sees nothing but words. The work + makes no appeal to him whatever. He is surrounded by trees, and cannot perceive the + forest. He puts the book away. If Sir Thomas Browne is mentioned, he will say, "Yes, + very fine!" with a feeling of pride that he has at any rate bought and inspected Sir + Thomas Browne. Deep in his heart is a suspicion that people who get enthusiastic + about Sir Thomas Browne are vain and conceited <i>poseurs</i>. After a year or so, + when he has recovered from the discouragement caused by Sir Thomas Browne, he may, if + he is young and hopeful, repeat the experiment with Congreve or Addison. Same sequel! + And so on for perhaps a decade, until his commerce with the classics finally expires! + That, magazines and newish fiction apart, is <span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" + id="page11"></a>[pg 11]</span> the literary history of the average decent person.</p> + <p>And even your case, though you are genuinely preoccupied with thoughts of + literature, bears certain disturbing resemblances to the drab case of the average + person. You do not approach the classics with gusto—anyhow, not with the same + gusto as you would approach a new novel by a modern author who had taken your fancy. + You never murmured to yourself, when reading Gibbon's <i>Decline and Fall</i> in bed: + "Well, I really must read one more chapter before I go to sleep!" Speaking generally, + the classics do not afford you a pleasure commensurate with their renown. You peruse + them with a sense of duty, a sense of doing the right thing, a sense of "improving + yourself," rather than with a sense of gladness. You do not smack your lips; you say: + "That is good for me." You make little plans for reading, and then you invent excuses + for breaking the plans. Something new, something which is not a classic, will surely + draw you away from a classic. It is all very well for you to <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page12" id="page12"></a>[pg 12]</span> pretend to agree with the verdict of the + elect that <i>Clarissa Harlowe</i> is one of the greatest novels in the world—a + new Kipling, or even a new number of a magazine, will cause you to neglect + <i>Clarissa Harlowe</i>, just as though Kipling, etc., could not be kept for a few + days without turning sour! So that you have to ordain rules for yourself, as: "I will + not read anything else until I have read Richardson, or Gibbon, for an hour each + day." Thus proving that you regard a classic as a pill, the swallowing of which + merits jam! And the more modern a classic is, the more it resembles the stuff of the + year and the less it resembles the classics of the centuries, the more easy and + enticing do you find that classic. Hence you are glad that George Eliot, the + Brontës, Thackeray, are considered as classics, because you really <i>do</i> + enjoy them. Your sentiments concerning them approach your sentiments concerning a + "rattling good story" in a magazine.</p> + <p>I may have exaggerated—or, on the other hand, I may have + understated—the unsatisfactory characteristics of your particular <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>[pg 13]</span> case, but it is + probable that in the mirror I hold up you recognise the rough outlines of your + likeness. You do not care to admit it; but it is so. You are not content with + yourself. The desire to be more truly literary persists in you. You feel that there + is something wrong in you, but you cannot put your finger on the spot. Further, you + feel that you are a bit of a sham. Something within you continually forces you to + exhibit for the classics an enthusiasm which you do not sincerely feel. You even try + to persuade yourself that you are enjoying a book, when the next moment you drop it + in the middle and forget to resume it. You occasionally buy classical works, and do + not read them at all; you practically decide that it is enough to possess them, and + that the mere possession of them gives you a <i>cachet</i>. The truth is, you are a + sham. And your soul is a sea of uneasy remorse. You reflect: "According to what + Matthew Arnold says, I ought to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's <i>Prelude</i>. + And I am not. Why am I not? Have I got to be learned, to undertake a vast course of + study, in order <span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>[pg 14]</span> + to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's <i>Prelude</i>? Or am I born without the + faculty of pure taste in literature, despite my vague longings? I do wish I could + smack my lips over Wordsworth's <i>Prelude</i> as I did over that splendid story by + H.G. Wells, <i>The Country of the Blind</i>, in the <i>Strand Magazine</i>!" ... Yes, + I am convinced that in your dissatisfied, your diviner moments, you address yourself + in these terms. I am convinced that I have diagnosed your symptoms.</p> + <p>Now the enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an agreeable one; if it is + not agreeable it cannot succeed. But this does not imply that it is an easy or a + brief one. The enterprise of beating Colonel Bogey at golf is an agreeable one, but + it means honest and regular work. A fact to be borne in mind always! You are + certainly not going to realise your ambition—and so great, so influential an + ambition!—by spasmodic and half-hearted effort. You must begin by making up + your mind adequately. You must rise to the height of the affair. You must approach a + grand undertaking in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>[pg + 15]</span> grand manner. You ought to mark the day in the calendar as a solemnity. + Human nature is weak, and has need of tricky aids, even in the pursuit of happiness. + Time will be necessary to you, and time regularly and sacredly set apart. Many people + affirm that they cannot be regular, that regularity numbs them. I think this is true + of a very few people, and that in the rest the objection to regularity is merely an + attempt to excuse idleness. I am inclined to think that you personally are capable of + regularity. And I am sure that if you firmly and constantly devote certain specific + hours on certain specific days of the week to this business of forming your literary + taste, you will arrive at the goal much sooner. The simple act of resolution will + help you. This is the first preliminary.</p> + <p>The second preliminary is to surround yourself with books, to create for yourself + a bookish atmosphere. The merely physical side of books is important—more + important than it may seem to the inexperienced. Theoretically (save for works of + reference), a student has need <span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" + id="page16"></a>[pg 16]</span> for but one book at a time. Theoretically, an amateur + of literature might develop his taste by expending sixpence a week, or a penny a day, + in one sixpenny edition of a classic after another sixpenny edition of a classic, and + he might store his library in a hat-box or a biscuit-tin. But in practice he would + have to be a monster of resolution to succeed in such conditions. The eye must be + flattered; the hand must be flattered; the sense of owning must be flattered. + Sacrifices must be made for the acquisition of literature. That which has cost a + sacrifice is always endeared. A detailed scheme of buying books will come later, in + the light of further knowledge. For the present, buy—buy whatever has received + the <i>imprimatur</i> of critical authority. Buy without any immediate reference to + what you will read. Buy! Surround yourself with volumes, as handsome as you can + afford. And for reading, all that I will now particularly enjoin is a general and + inclusive tasting, in order to attain a sort of familiarity with the look of + "literature in all its branches." A turning over of the pages of a volume of + Chambers's <span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>[pg 17]</span> + <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>, the third for preference, may be + suggested as an admirable and a diverting exercise. You might mark the authors that + flash an appeal to you.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>[pg 18]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + <h2>WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC</h2> + <p>The large majority of our fellow-citizens care as much about literature as they + care about aeroplanes or the programme of the Legislature. They do not ignore it; + they are not quite indifferent to it. But their interest in it is faint and + perfunctory; or, if their interest happens to be violent, it is spasmodic. Ask the + two hundred thousand persons whose enthusiasm made the vogue of a popular novel ten + years ago what they think of that novel now, and you will gather that they have + utterly forgotten it, and that they would no more dream of reading it again than of + reading Bishop Stubbs's <i>Select Charters</i>. Probably if they did read it again + they would not enjoy it—not because the said novel is a whit worse now than it + was ten years ago; not because their taste has improved—but because they have + not had <span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>[pg 19]</span> + sufficient practice to be able to rely on their taste as a means of permanent + pleasure. They simply don't know from one day to the next what will please them.</p> + <p>In the face of this one may ask: Why does the great and universal fame of + classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of classical authors is + entirely independent of the majority. Do you suppose that if the fame of Shakespeare + depended on the man in the street it would survive a fortnight? The fame of classical + authors is originally made, and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when a + first-class author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, the majority have + never appreciated him so sincerely as they have appreciated second-rate men. He has + always been reinforced by the ardour of the passionate few. And in the case of an + author who has emerged into glory after his death the happy sequel has been due + solely to the obstinate perseverance of the few. They could not leave him alone; they + would not. They kept on savouring him, and talking about him, and buying him, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>[pg 20]</span> they generally + behaved with such eager zeal, and they were so authoritative and sure of themselves, + that at last the majority grew accustomed to the sound of his name and placidly + agreed to the proposition that he was a genius; the majority really did not care very + much either way.</p> + <p>And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius is kept alive from one + generation to another. These few are always at work. They are always rediscovering + genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm are exhaustless, so that there is little + chance of genius being ignored. And, moreover, they are always working either for or + against the verdicts of the majority. The majority can make a reputation, but it is + too careless to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few agree with the + majority in a particular instance, they will frequently remind the majority that such + and such a reputation has been made, and the majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By + the way, we must not forget that such and such a reputation exists." Without that + persistent memory-jogging the reputation <span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" + id="page21"></a>[pg 21]</span> would quickly fall into the oblivion which is death. + The passionate few only have their way by reason of the fact that they are genuinely + interested in literature, that literature matters to them. They conquer by their + obstinacy alone, by their eternal repetition of the same statements. Do you suppose + they could prove to the man in the street that Shakespeare was a great artist? The + said man would not even understand the terms they employed. But when he is told ten + thousand times, and generation after generation, that Shakespeare was a great artist, + the said man believes—not by reason, but by faith. And he too repeats that + Shakespeare was a great artist, and he buys the complete works of Shakespeare and + puts them on his shelves, and he goes to see the marvellous stage-effects which + accompany <i>King Lear</i> or <i>Hamlet</i>, and comes back religiously convinced + that Shakespeare was a great artist. All because the passionate few could not keep + their admiration of Shakespeare to themselves. This is not cynicism; but truth. And + it is important that those who wish to form their literary taste should grasp it.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>[pg 22]</span> + <p>What causes the passionate few to make such a fuss about literature? There can be + only one reply. They find a keen and lasting pleasure in literature. They enjoy + literature as some men enjoy beer. The recurrence of this pleasure naturally keeps + their interest in literature very much alive. They are for ever making new + researches, for ever practising on themselves. They learn to understand themselves. + They learn to know what they want. Their taste becomes surer and surer as their + experience lengthens. They do not enjoy to-day what will seem tedious to them + to-morrow. When they find a book tedious, no amount of popular clatter will persuade + them that it is pleasurable; and when they find it pleasurable no chill silence of + the street-crowds will affect their conviction that the book is good and permanent. + They have faith in themselves. What are the qualities in a book which give keen and + lasting pleasure to the passionate few? This is a question so difficult that it has + never yet been completely answered. You may talk lightly about truth, insight, + knowledge, wisdom, humour, and beauty. But these comfortable <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page23" id="page23"></a>[pg 23]</span> words do not really carry you very far, + for each of them has to be defined, especially the first and last. It is all very + well for Keats in his airy manner to assert that beauty is truth, truth beauty, and + that that is all he knows or needs to know. I, for one, need to know a lot more. And + I never shall know. Nobody, not even Hazlitt nor Sainte-Beuve, has ever finally + explained why he thought a book beautiful. I take the first fine lines that come to + hand—</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The woods of Arcady are dead,</p> + <p>And over is their antique joy—</p> + </div> + </div> + <p>and I say that those lines are beautiful, because they give me pleasure. But why? + No answer! I only know that the passionate few will, broadly, agree with me in + deriving this mysterious pleasure from those lines. I am only convinced that the + liveliness of our pleasure in those and many other lines by the same author will + ultimately cause the majority to believe, by faith, that W.B. Yeats is a genius. The + one reassuring aspect of the literary affair is that the passionate few are + passionate about the same things. A continuance <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page24" id="page24"></a>[pg 24]</span> of interest does, in actual practice, + lead ultimately to the same judgments. There is only the difference in width of + interest. Some of the passionate few lack catholicity, or, rather, the whole of their + interest is confined to one narrow channel; they have none left over. These men help + specially to vitalise the reputations of the narrower geniuses: such as Crashaw. But + their active predilections never contradict the general verdict of the passionate + few; rather they reinforce it.</p> + <p>A classic is a work which gives pleasure to the minority which is intensely and + permanently interested in literature. It lives on because the minority, eager to + renew the sensation of pleasure, is eternally curious and is therefore engaged in an + eternal process of rediscovery. A classic does not survive for any ethical reason. It + does not survive because it conforms to certain canons, or because neglect would not + kill it. It survives because it is a source of pleasure, and because the passionate + few can no more neglect it than a bee can neglect a flower. The passionate few do not + read "the right <span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>[pg 25]</span> + things" because they are right. That is to put the cart before the horse. "The right + things" are the right things solely because the passionate few <i>like</i> reading + them. Hence—and I now arrive at my point—the one primary essential to + literary taste is a hot interest in literature. If you have that, all the rest will + come. It matters nothing that at present you fail to find pleasure in certain + classics. The driving impulse of your interest will force you to acquire experience, + and experience will teach you the use of the means of pleasure. You do not know the + secret ways of yourself: that is all. A continuance of interest must inevitably bring + you to the keenest joys. But, of course, experience may be acquired judiciously or + injudiciously, just as Putney may be reached <i>via</i> Walham Green or <i>via</i> + St. Petersburg.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>[pg 26]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + <h2>WHERE TO BEGIN</h2> + <p>I wish particularly that my readers should not be intimidated by the apparent + vastness and complexity of this enterprise of forming the literary taste. It is not + so vast nor so complex as it looks. There is no need whatever for the inexperienced + enthusiast to confuse and frighten himself with thoughts of "literature in all its + branches." Experts and pedagogues (chiefly pedagogues) have, for the purpose of + convenience, split literature up into divisions and sub-divisions—such as prose + and poetry; or imaginative, philosophic, historical; or elegiac, heroic, lyric; or + religious and profane, etc., <i>ad infinitum</i>. But the greater truth is that + literature is all one—and indivisible. The idea of the unity of literature + should be well planted and fostered in the head. All literature is the expression of + feeling, of <span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>[pg 27]</span> + passion, of emotion, caused by a sensation of the interestingness of life. What + drives a historian to write history? Nothing but the overwhelming impression made + upon him by the survey of past times. He is forced into an attempt to reconstitute + the picture for others. If hitherto you have failed to perceive that a historian is a + being in strong emotion, trying to convey his emotion to others, read the passage in + the <i>Memoirs</i> of Gibbon, in which he describes how he finished the <i>Decline + and Fall</i>. You will probably never again look upon the <i>Decline and Fall</i> as + a "dry" work.</p> + + <p>What applies to history applies to the other "dry" branches. Even Johnson's + Dictionary is packed with emotion. Read the last paragraph of the preface to it: "In + this work, when it shall be found that much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that + much likewise is performed.... It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to + observe that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have only failed in an + attempt which no human powers have hitherto completed...." <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page28" id="page28"></a>[pg 28]</span> And so on to the close: "I have + protracted my work till most of those whom I wish to please have sunk into the grave, + and success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I therefore dismiss it with frigid + tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or from praise." Yes, + tranquillity; but not frigid! The whole passage, one of the finest in English prose, + is marked by the heat of emotion. You may discover the same quality in such books as + Spencer's <i>First Principles</i>. You may discover it everywhere in literature, from + the cold fire of Pope's irony to the blasting temperatures of Swinburne. Literature + does not begin till emotion has begun.</p> + <p>There is even no essential, definable difference between those two great branches, + prose and poetry. For prose may have rhythm. All that can be said is that verse will + scan, while prose will not. The difference is purely formal. Very few poets have + succeeded in being so poetical as Isaiah, Sir Thomas Browne, and Ruskin have been in + prose. It can only be stated that, as a rule, writers <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page29" id="page29"></a>[pg 29]</span> have shown an instinctive tendency to + choose verse for the expression of the very highest emotion. The supreme literature + is in verse, but the finest achievements in prose approach so nearly to the finest + achievements in verse that it is ill work deciding between them. In the sense in + which poetry is best understood, all literature is poetry—or is, at any rate, + poetical in quality. Macaulay's ill-informed and unjust denunciations live because + his genuine emotion made them into poetry, while his <i>Lays of Ancient Rome</i> are + dead because they are not the expression of a genuine emotion. As the literary taste + develops, this quality of emotion, restrained or loosed, will be more and more widely + perceived at large in literature. It is the quality that must be looked for. It is + the quality that unifies literature (and all the arts).</p> + + <p>It is not merely useless, it is harmful, for you to map out literature into + divisions and branches, with different laws, rules, or canons. The first thing is to + obtain some possession of literature. When you have actually felt some of the <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>[pg 30]</span> emotion which great + writers have striven to impart to you, and when your emotions become so numerous and + puzzling that you feel the need of arranging them and calling them by names, + then—and not before—you can begin to study what has been attempted in the + way of classifying and ticketing literature. Manuals and treatises are excellent + things in their kind, but they are simply dead weight at the start. You can only + acquire really useful general ideas by first acquiring particular ideas, and putting + those particular ideas together. You cannot make bricks without straw. Do not worry + about literature in the abstract, about theories as to literature. Get at it. Get + hold of literature in the concrete as a dog gets hold of a bone. If you ask me where + you ought to begin, I shall gaze at you as I might gaze at the faithful animal if he + inquired which end of the bone he ought to attack. It doesn't matter in the slightest + degree where you begin. Begin wherever the fancy takes you to begin. Literature is a + whole.</p> + <p>There is only one restriction for you. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" + id="page31"></a>[pg 31]</span> You must begin with an acknowledged classic; you must + eschew modern works. The reason for this does not imply any depreciation of the + present age at the expense of past ages. Indeed, it is important, if you wish + ultimately to have a wide, catholic taste, to guard against the too common assumption + that nothing modern will stand comparison with the classics. In every age there have + been people to sigh: "Ah, yes. Fifty years ago we had a few great writers. But they + are all dead, and no young ones are arising to take their place." This attitude of + mind is deplorable, if not silly, and is a certain proof of narrow taste. It is a + surety that in 1959 gloomy and egregious persons will be saying: "Ah, yes. At the + beginning of the century there were great poets like Swinburne, Meredith, Francis + Thompson, and Yeats. Great novelists like Hardy and Conrad. Great historians like + Stubbs and Maitland, etc., etc. But they are all dead now, and whom have we to take + their place?" It is not until an age has receded into history, and all its mediocrity + has dropped away from it, that we can see it as it is—as <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>[pg 32]</span> a group of men of + genius. We forget the immense amount of twaddle that the great epochs produced. The + total amount of fine literature created in a given period of time differs from epoch + to epoch, but it does not differ much. And we may be perfectly sure that our own age + will make a favourable impression upon that excellent judge, posterity. Therefore, + beware of disparaging the present in your own mind. While temporarily ignoring it, + dwell upon the idea that its chaff contains about as much wheat as any similar + quantity of chaff has contained wheat.</p> + <p>The reason why you must avoid modern works at the beginning is simply that you are + not in a position to choose among modern works. Nobody at all is quite in a position + to choose with certainty among modern works. To sift the wheat from the chaff is a + process that takes an exceedingly long time. Modern works have to pass before the bar + of the taste of successive generations. Whereas, with classics, which have been + through the ordeal, almost the reverse is the case. <i>Your taste has to pass before + the bar of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span> + classics</i>. That is the point. If you differ with a classic, it is you who are + wrong, and not the book. If you differ with a modern work, you may be wrong or you + may be right, but no judge is authoritative enough to decide. Your taste is unformed. + It needs guidance, and it needs authoritative guidance. Into the business of forming + literary taste faith enters. You probably will not specially care for a particular + classic at first. If you did care for it at first, your taste, so far as that classic + is concerned, would be formed, and our hypothesis is that your taste is not formed. + How are you to arrive at the stage of caring for it? Chiefly, of course, by examining + it and honestly trying to understand it. But this process is materially helped by an + act of faith, by the frame of mind which says: "I know on the highest authority that + this thing is fine, that it is capable of giving me pleasure. Hence I am determined + to find pleasure in it." Believe me that faith counts enormously in the development + of that wide taste which is the instrument of wide pleasures. But it must be faith + founded on unassailable authority.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + <h2>HOW TO READ A CLASSIC</h2> + <p>Let us begin experimental reading with Charles Lamb. I choose Lamb for various + reasons: He is a great writer, wide in his appeal, of a highly sympathetic + temperament; and his finest achievements are simple and very short. Moreover, he may + usefully lead to other and more complex matters, as will appear later. Now, your + natural tendency will be to think of Charles Lamb as a book, because he has arrived + at the stage of being a classic. Charles Lamb was a man, not a book. It is extremely + important that the beginner in literary study should always form an idea of the man + behind the book. The book is nothing but the expression of the man. The book is + nothing but the man trying to talk to you, trying to impart to you some of his + feelings. An experienced student will divine the man <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page35" id="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span> from the book, will understand the man + by the book, as is, of course, logically proper. But the beginner will do well to aid + himself in understanding the book by means of independent information about the man. + He will thus at once relate the book to something human, and strengthen in his mind + the essential notion of the connection between literature and life. The earliest + literature was delivered orally direct by the artist to the recipient. In some + respects this arrangement was ideal. Changes in the constitution of society have + rendered it impossible. Nevertheless, we can still, by the exercise of the + imagination, hear mentally the accents of the artist speaking to us. We must so + exercise our imagination as to feel the man behind the book.</p> + <p>Some biographical information about Lamb should be acquired. There are excellent + short biographies of him by Canon Ainger in the <i>Dictionary of National + Biography</i>, in Chambers's <i>Encyclopædia</i>, and in Chambers's + <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>. If you have none of these (but you + ought to have the last), <span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>[pg + 36]</span> there are Mr. E.V. Lucas's exhaustive <i>Life</i> (Methuen, 7s. 6d.), and, + cheaper, Mr. Walter Jerrold's <i>Lamb</i> (Bell and Sons, 1s.); also introductory + studies prefixed to various editions of Lamb's works. Indeed, the facilities for + collecting materials for a picture of Charles Lamb as a human being are prodigious. + When you have made for yourself such a picture, read the <i>Essays of Elia</i> the + light of it. I will choose one of the most celebrated, <i>Dream Children: A + Reverie</i>. At this point, kindly put my book down, and read <i>Dream Children</i>. + Do not say to yourself that you will read it later, but read it now. When you have + read it, you may proceed to my next paragraph.</p> + <p>You are to consider <i>Dream Children</i> as a human document. Lamb was nearing + fifty when he wrote it. You can see, especially from the last line, that the death of + his elder brother, John Lamb, was fresh and heavy on his mind. You will recollect + that in youth he had had a disappointing love-affair with a girl named Ann Simmons, + who afterwards married a man named Bartrum. You will know <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page37" id="page37"></a>[pg 37]</span> that one of the influences of his + childhood was his grandmother Field, housekeeper of Blakesware House, in + Hertfordshire, at which mansion he sometimes spent his holidays. You will know that + he was a bachelor, living with his sister Mary, who was subject to homicidal mania. + And you will see in this essay, primarily, a supreme expression of the increasing + loneliness of his life. He constructed all that preliminary tableau of paternal + pleasure in order to bring home to you in the most poignant way his feeling of the + solitude of his existence, his sense of all that he had missed and lost in the world. + The key of the essay is one of profound sadness. But note that he makes his sadness + beautiful; or, rather, he shows the beauty that resides in sadness. You watch him + sitting there in his "bachelor arm-chair," and you say to yourself: "Yes, it was sad, + but it was somehow beautiful." When you have said that to yourself, Charles Lamb, so + far as you are concerned, has accomplished his chief aim in writing the essay. How + exactly he produces his effect can never be fully explained. But one reason of his + success is certainly his regard for <span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" + id="page38"></a>[pg 38]</span> truth. He does not falsely idealise his brother, nor + the relations between them. He does not say, as a sentimentalist would have said, + "Not the slightest cloud ever darkened our relations;" nor does he exaggerate his + solitude. Being a sane man, he has too much common-sense to assemble all his woes at + once. He might have told you that Bridget was a homicidal maniac; what he does tell + you is that she was faithful. Another reason of his success is his continual regard + for beautiful things and fine actions, as illustrated in the major characteristics of + his grandmother and his brother, and in the detailed description of Blakesware House + and the gardens thereof.</p> + <p>Then, subordinate to the main purpose, part of the machinery of the main purpose, + is the picture of the children—real children until the moment when they fade + away. The traits of childhood are accurately and humorously put in again and again: + "Here John smiled, as much as to say, 'That would be foolish indeed.'" "Here little + Alice spread her hands." "Here Alice's little right foot played an <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>[pg 39]</span> involuntary movement, + till, upon my looking grave, it desisted." "Here John expanded all his eyebrows, and + tried to look courageous." "Here John slily deposited back upon the plate a bunch of + grapes." "Here the children fell a-crying ... and prayed me to tell them some stories + about their pretty dead mother." And the exquisite: "Here Alice put out one of her + dear mother's looks, too tender to be upbraiding." Incidentally, while preparing his + ultimate solemn effect, Lamb has inspired you with a new, intensified vision of the + wistful beauty of children—their imitativeness, their facile and generous + emotions, their anxiety to be correct, their ingenuous haste to escape from grief + into joy. You can see these children almost as clearly and as tenderly as Lamb saw + them. For days afterwards you will not be able to look upon a child without recalling + Lamb's portrayal of the grace of childhood. He will have shared with you his + perception of beauty. If you possess children, he will have renewed for you the charm + which custom does very decidedly stale. It is further to be noticed that the measure + of his success in picturing the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" + id="page40"></a>[pg 40]</span> children is the measure of his success in his main + effect. The more real they seem, the more touching is the revelation of the fact that + they do not exist, and never have existed. And if you were moved by the reference to + their "pretty dead mother," you will be still more moved when you learn that the girl + who would have been their mother is not dead and is not Lamb's.</p> + <p>As, having read the essay, you reflect upon it, you will see how its emotional + power over you has sprung from the sincere and unexaggerated expression of actual + emotions exactly remembered by someone who had an eye always open for beauty, who + was, indeed, obsessed by beauty. The beauty of old houses and gardens and aged + virtuous characters, the beauty of children, the beauty of companionships, the + softening beauty of dreams in an arm-chair—all these are brought together and + mingled with the grief and regret which were the origin of the mood. Why is <i>Dream + Children</i> a classic? It is a classic because it transmits to you, as to + generations before you, distinguished emotion, because it makes you respond to the + throb <span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>[pg 41]</span> of life + more intensely, more justly, and more nobly. And it is capable of doing this because + Charles Lamb had a very distinguished, a very sensitive, and a very honest mind. His + emotions were noble. He felt so keenly that he was obliged to find relief in + imparting his emotions. And his mental processes were so sincere that he could + neither exaggerate nor diminish the truth. If he had lacked any one of these three + qualities, his appeal would have been narrowed and weakened, and he would not have + become a classic. Either his feelings would have been deficient in supreme beauty, + and therefore less worthy to be imparted, or he would not have had sufficient force + to impart them; or his honesty would not have been equal to the strain of imparting + them accurately. In any case, he would not have set up in you that vibration which we + call pleasure, and which is super-eminently caused by vitalising participation in + high emotion. As Lamb sat in his bachelor arm-chair, with his brother in the grave, + and the faithful homicidal maniac by his side, he really did think to himself, "This + is beautiful. Sorrow is <span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>[pg + 42]</span> beautiful. Disappointment is beautiful. Life is beautiful. <i>I must tell + them</i>. I must make them understand." Because he still makes you understand he is a + classic. And now I seem to hear you say, "But what about Lamb's famous literary + style? Where does that come in?"</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>[pg 43]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + <h2>THE QUESTION OF STYLE</h2> + <p>In discussing the value of particular books, I have heard people say—people + who were timid about expressing their views of literature in the presence of literary + men: "It may be bad from a literary point of view, but there are very good things in + it." Or: "I dare say the style is very bad, but really the book is very interesting + and suggestive." Or: "I'm not an expert, and so I never bother my head about good + style. All I ask for is good matter. And when I have got it, critics may say what + they like about the book." And many other similar remarks, all showing that in the + minds of the speakers there existed a notion that style is something supplementary + to, and distinguishable from, matter; a sort of notion that a writer who wanted to be + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>[pg 44]</span> classical had + first to find and arrange his matter, and then dress it up elegantly in a costume of + style, in order to please beings called literary critics.</p> + <p>This is a misapprehension. Style cannot be distinguished from matter. When a + writer conceives an idea he conceives it in a form of words. That form of words + constitutes his style, and it is absolutely governed by the idea. The idea can only + exist in words, and it can only exist in one form of words. You cannot say exactly + the same thing in two different ways. Slightly alter the expression, and you slightly + alter the idea. Surely it is obvious that the expression cannot be altered without + altering the thing expressed! A writer, having conceived and expressed an idea, may, + and probably will, "polish it up." But what does he polish up? To say that he + polishes up his style is merely to say that he is polishing up his idea, that he has + discovered faults or imperfections in his idea, and is perfecting it. An idea exists + in proportion as it is expressed; it exists when it is expressed, and not before. It + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>[pg 45]</span> expresses + itself. A clear idea is expressed clearly, and a vague idea vaguely. You need but + take your own case and your own speech. For just as science is the development of + common-sense, so is literature the development of common daily speech. The difference + between science and common-sense is simply one of degree; similarly with speech and + literature. Well, when you "know what you think," you succeed in saying what you + think, in making yourself understood. When you "don't know what to think," your + expressive tongue halts. And note how in daily life the characteristics of your style + follow your mood; how tender it is when you are tender, how violent when you are + violent. You have said to yourself in moments of emotion: "If only I could + write—," etc. You were wrong. You ought to have said: "If only I could + <i>think</i>—on this high plane." When you have thought clearly you have never + had any difficulty in saying what you thought, though you may occasionally have had + some difficulty in keeping it to yourself. And when you cannot express yourself, + depend upon it that you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>[pg + 46]</span> have nothing precise to express, and that what incommodes you is not the + vain desire to express, but the vain desire to <i>think</i> more clearly. All this + just to illustrate how style and matter are co-existent, and inseparable, and + alike.</p> + <p>You cannot have good matter with bad style. Examine the point more closely. A man + wishes to convey a fine idea to you. He employs a form of words. That form of words + is his style. Having read, you say: "Yes, this idea is fine." The writer has + therefore achieved his end. But in what imaginable circumstances can you say: "Yes, + this idea is fine, but the style is not fine"? The sole medium of communication + between you and the author has been the form of words. The fine idea has reached you. + How? In the words, by the words. Hence the fineness must be in the words. You may + say, superiorly: "He has expressed himself clumsily, but I can <i>see</i> what he + means." By what light? By something in the words, in the style. That something is + fine. Moreover, if the style is clumsy, are you sure that you can see what he <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>[pg 47]</span> means? You cannot be + quite sure. And at any rate, you cannot see distinctly. The "matter" is what actually + reaches you, and it must necessarily be affected by the style.</p> + <p>Still further to comprehend what style is, let me ask you to think of a writer's + style exactly as you would think of the gestures and manners of an acquaintance. You + know the man whose demeanour is "always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do + you know that his passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, + but important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or the whitening + of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other words, his demeanour, + fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man who is always "smoothly polite and + agreeable," but who affects you unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? + Because he is tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is not + real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but who, nevertheless, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>[pg 48]</span> impresses you + with a sense of dignity and force. Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so + forth <i>is</i> dignity. You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively + guess to be affectionate—because there is "something in his tone" or "something + in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming to be contrary + to the character, is really in accord with it. The demeanour never contradicts the + character. It is one part of the character that contradicts another part of the + character. For, after all, the blunt man <i>is</i> blunt, and the awkward man + <i>is</i> awkward, and these characteristics are defects. The demeanour merely + expresses them. The two men would be better if, while conserving their good + qualities, they had the superficial attributes of smoothness and agreeableness + possessed by the gentleman who is unpleasant to you. And as regards this latter, it + is not his superficial attributes which are unpleasant to you; but his other + qualities. In the end the character is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a + consequence of the character and resembles the character. <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg 49]</span> So with style and matter. You may argue + that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his tenderness. I do not think so. + For his churlishness is really very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, + though a moment's tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is + churlish, and much more often than he is tender. His demeanour is merely just to his + character. So, when a writer annoys you for ten pages and then enchants you for ten + lines, you must not explode against his style. You must not say that his style won't + let his matter "come out." You must remember the churlish, tender man. The more you + reflect, the more clearly you will see that faults and excellences of style are + faults and excellences of matter itself.</p> + <p>One of the most striking illustrations of this neglected truth is Thomas Carlyle. + How often has it been said that Carlyle's matter is marred by the harshness and the + eccentricities of his style? But Carlyle's matter is harsh and eccentric to precisely + the same degree as his style is harsh and <span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" + id="page50"></a>[pg 50]</span> eccentric. Carlyle was harsh and eccentric. His + behaviour was frequently ridiculous, if it were not abominable. His judgments were + often extremely bizarre. When you read one of Carlyle's fierce diatribes, you say to + yourself: "This is splendid. The man's enthusiasm for justice and truth is glorious." + But you also say: "He is a little unjust and a little untruthful. He goes too far. He + lashes too hard." These things are not the style; they are the matter. And when, as + in his greatest moments, he is emotional and restrained at once, you say: "This is + the real Carlyle." Kindly notice how perfect the style has become! No harshnesses or + eccentricities now! And if that particular matter is the "real" Carlyle, then that + particular style is Carlyle's "real" style. But when you say "real" you would more + properly say "best." "This is the best Carlyle." If Carlyle had always been at his + best he would have counted among the supreme geniuses of the world. But he was a + mixture. His style is the expression of the mixture. The faults are only in the style + because they are in the matter.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg 51]</span> + <p>You will find that, in classical literature, the style always follows the mood of + the matter. Thus, Charles Lamb's essay on <i>Dream Children</i> begins quite simply, + in a calm, narrative manner, enlivened by a certain quippishness concerning the + children. The style is grave when great-grandmother Field is the subject, and when + the author passes to a rather elaborate impression of the picturesque old mansion it + becomes as it were consciously beautiful. This beauty is intensified in the + description of the still more beautiful garden. But the real dividing point of the + essay occurs when Lamb approaches his elder brother. He unmistakably marks the point + with the phrase: "<i>Then, in somewhat a more heightened tone</i>, I told how," etc. + Henceforward the style increases in fervour and in solemnity until the culmination of + the essay is reached: "And while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew + fainter to my view, receding and still receding till nothing at last but two mournful + features were seen in the uttermost distance, which, without speech, strangely + impressed upon me the effects of speech...." <span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" + id="page52"></a>[pg 52]</span> Throughout, the style is governed by the matter. + "Well," you say, "of course it is. It couldn't be otherwise. If it were otherwise it + would be ridiculous. A man who made love as though he were preaching a sermon, or a + man who preached a sermon as though he were teasing schoolboys, or a man who + described a death as though he were describing a practical joke, must necessarily be + either an ass or a lunatic." Just so. You have put it in a nutshell. You have + disposed of the problem of style so far as it can be disposed of.</p> + <p>But what do those people mean who say: "I read such and such an author for the + beauty of his style alone"? Personally, I do not clearly know what they mean (and I + have never been able to get them to explain), unless they mean that they read for the + beauty of sound alone. When you read a book there are only three things of which you + may be conscious: (1) The significance of the words, which is inseparably bound up + with the thought. (2) The look of the printed words on the page—I do not + suppose that anybody reads any author for the visual <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg 53]</span> beauty of the words on the page. (3) The + sound of the words, either actually uttered or imagined by the brain to be uttered. + Now it is indubitable that words differ in beauty of sound. To my mind one of the + most beautiful words in the English language is "pavement." Enunciate it, study its + sound, and see what you think. It is also indubitable that certain combinations of + words have a more beautiful sound than certain other combinations. Thus Tennyson held + that the most beautiful line he ever wrote was:</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The mellow ouzel fluting in the elm.</p> + </div> + </div> + <p>Perhaps, as sound, it was. Assuredly it makes a beautiful succession of sounds, + and recalls the bird-sounds which it is intended to describe. But does it live in the + memory as one of the rare great Tennysonian lines? It does not. It has charm, but the + charm is merely curious or pretty. A whole poem composed of lines with no better + recommendation than that line has would remain merely curious or pretty. It would not + permanently <span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg 54]</span> + interest. It would be as insipid as a pretty woman who had nothing behind her + prettiness. It would not live. One may remark in this connection how the merely + verbal felicities of Tennyson have lost our esteem. Who will now proclaim the + <i>Idylls of the King</i> as a masterpiece? Of the thousands of lines written by him + which please the ear, only those survive of which the matter is charged with emotion. + No! As regards the man who professes to read an author "for his style alone," I am + inclined to think either that he will soon get sick of that author, or that he is + deceiving himself and means the author's general temperament—not the author's + verbal style, but a peculiar quality which runs through all the matter written by the + author. Just as one may like a man for something which is always coming out of him, + which one cannot define, and which is of the very essence of the man.</p> + <p>In judging the style of an author, you must employ the same canons as you use in + judging men. If you do this you will not be tempted to attach importance to <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg 55]</span> trifles that are + negligible. There can be no lasting friendship without respect. If an author's style + is such that you cannot <i>respect</i> it, then you may be sure that, despite any + present pleasure which you may obtain from that author, there is something wrong with + his matter, and that the pleasure will soon cloy. You must examine your sentiments + towards an author. If when you have read an author you are pleased, without being + conscious of aught but his mellifluousness, just conceive what your feelings would be + after spending a month's holiday with a merely mellifluous man. If an author's style + has pleased you, but done nothing except make you giggle, then reflect upon the + ultimate tediousness of the man who can do nothing but jest. On the other hand, if + you are impressed by what an author has said to you, but are aware of verbal + clumsinesses in his work, you need worry about his "bad style" exactly as much and + exactly as little as you would worry about the manners of a kindhearted, keen-brained + friend who was dangerous to carpets with a tea-cup in his hand. The friend's antics + in a drawing-room are <span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg + 56]</span> somewhat regrettable, but you would not say of him that his manners were + bad. Again, if an author's style dazzles you instantly and blinds you to everything + except its brilliant self, ask your soul, before you begin to admire his matter, what + would be your final opinion of a man who at the first meeting fired his personality + into you like a broadside. Reflect that, as a rule, the people whom you have come to + esteem communicated themselves to you gradually, that they did not begin the + entertainment with fireworks. In short, look at literature as you would look at life, + and you cannot fail to perceive that, essentially, the style is the man. Decidedly + you will never assert that you care nothing for style, that your enjoyment of an + author's matter is unaffected by his style. And you will never assert, either, that + style alone suffices for you.</p> + <p>If you are undecided upon a question of style, whether leaning to the favourable + or to the unfavourable, the most prudent course is to forget that literary style + exists. For, indeed, as style is understood by <span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" + id="page57"></a>[pg 57]</span> most people who have not analysed their impressions + under the influence of literature, there <i>is</i> no such thing as literary style. + You cannot divide literature into two elements and say: This is matter and that + style. Further, the significance and the worth of literature are to be comprehended + and assessed in the same way as the significance and the worth of any other + phenomenon: by the exercise of common-sense. Common-sense will tell you that nobody, + not even a genius, can be simultaneously vulgar and distinguished, or beautiful and + ugly, or precise and vague, or tender and harsh. And common-sense will therefore tell + you that to try to set up vital contradictions between matter and style is absurd. + When there is a superficial contradiction, one of the two mutually-contradicting + qualities is of far less importance than the other. If you refer literature to the + standards of life, common-sense will at once decide which quality should count + heaviest in your esteem. You will be in no danger of weighing a mere maladroitness of + manner against a fine trait of character, or of letting a graceful deportment blind + you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg 58]</span> to a + fundamental vacuity. When in doubt, ignore style, and think of the matter as you + would think of an individual.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg 59]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + <h2>WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR</h2> + <p>Having disposed, so far as is possible and necessary, of that formidable question + of style, let us now return to Charles Lamb, whose essay on <i>Dream Children</i> was + the originating cause of our inquiry into style. As we have made a beginning of Lamb, + it will be well to make an end of him. In the preliminary stages of literary culture, + nothing is more helpful, in the way of kindling an interest and keeping it well + alight, than to specialise for a time on one author, and particularly on an author so + frankly and curiously "human" as Lamb is. I do not mean that you should imprison + yourself with Lamb's complete works for three months, and read nothing else. I mean + that you should regularly devote a proportion of your learned leisure to the study of + Lamb until you are acquainted <span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" + id="page60"></a>[pg 60]</span> with all that is important in his work and about his + work. (You may buy the complete works in prose and verse of Charles and Mary Lamb, + edited by that unsurpassed expert Mr. Thomas Hutchison, and published by the Oxford + University Press, in two volumes for four shillings the pair!) There is no reason why + you should not become a modest specialist in Lamb. He is the very man for you; + neither voluminous, nor difficult, nor uncomfortably lofty; always either amusing or + touching; and—most important—himself passionately addicted to literature. + You cannot like Lamb without liking literature in general. And you cannot read Lamb + without learning about literature in general; for books were his hobby, and he was a + critic of the first rank. His letters are full of literariness. You will naturally + read his letters; you should not only be infinitely diverted by them (there are no + better epistles), but you should receive from them much light on the works.</p> + <p>It is a course of study that I am <span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" + id="page61"></a>[pg 61]</span> suggesting to you. It means a certain amount of + sustained effort. It means slightly more resolution, more pertinacity, and more + expenditure of brain-tissue than are required for reading a newspaper. It means, in + fact, "work." Perhaps you did not bargain for work when you joined me. But I do not + think that the literary taste can be satisfactorily formed unless one is prepared to + put one's back into the affair. And I may prophesy to you, by way of encouragement, + that, in addition to the advantages of familiarity with masterpieces, of increased + literary knowledge, and of a wide introduction to the true bookish atmosphere and + "feel" of things, which you will derive from a comprehensive study of Charles Lamb, + you will also be conscious of a moral advantage—the very important and very + inspiring advantage of really "knowing something about something." You will have + achieved a definite step; you will be proudly aware that you have put yourself in a + position to judge as an expert whatever you may hear or read in the future concerning + Charles Lamb. This <span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg + 62]</span> legitimate pride and sense of accomplishment will stimulate you to go on + further; it will generate steam. I consider that this indirect moral advantage even + outweighs, for the moment, the direct literary advantages.</p> + <p>Now, I shall not shut my eyes to a possible result of your diligent intercourse + with Charles Lamb. It is possible that you may be disappointed with him. It + is—shall I say?—almost probable that you will be disappointed with him, + at any rate partially. You will have expected more joy in him than you have received. + I have referred in a previous chapter to the feeling of disappointment which often + comes from first contacts with the classics. The neophyte is apt to find them—I + may as well out with the word—dull. You may have found Lamb less diverting, + less interesting, than you hoped. You may have had to whip yourself up again and + again to the effort of reading him. In brief, Lamb has not, for you, justified his + terrific reputation. If a classic is a classic because it gives <i>pleasure</i> to + succeeding generations <span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg + 63]</span> of the people who are most keenly interested in literature, and if Lamb + frequently strikes you as dull, then evidently there is something wrong. The + difficulty must be fairly fronted, and the fronting of it brings us to the very core + of the business of actually forming the taste. If your taste were classical you would + discover in Lamb a continual fascination; whereas what you in fact do discover in + Lamb is a not unpleasant flatness, enlivened by a vague humour and an occasional + pathos. You ought, according to theory, to be enthusiastic; but you are apathetic, + or, at best, half-hearted. There is a gulf. How to cross it?</p> + <p>To cross it needs time and needs trouble. The following considerations may aid. In + the first place, we have to remember that, in coming into the society of the classics + in general and of Charles Lamb in particular, we are coming into the society of a + mental superior. What happens usually in such a case? We can judge by recalling what + happens when we are in the society of a mental inferior. We say things of <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg 64]</span> which he misses the + import; we joke, and he does not smile; what makes him laugh loudly seems to us + horseplay or childish; he is blind to beauties which ravish us; he is ecstatic over + what strikes us as crude; and his profound truths are for us trite commonplaces. His + perceptions are relatively coarse; our perceptions are relatively subtle. We try to + make him understand, to make him see, and if he is aware of his inferiority we may + have some success. But if he is not aware of his inferiority, we soon hold our + tongues and leave him alone in his self-satisfaction, convinced that there is nothing + to be done with him. Every one of us has been through this experience with a mental + inferior, for there is always a mental inferior handy, just as there is always a + being more unhappy than we are. In approaching a classic, the true wisdom is to place + ourselves in the position of the mental inferior, aware of mental inferiority, humbly + stripping off all conceit, anxious to rise out of that inferiority. Recollect that we + always regard as quite hopeless the mental inferior who does <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page65" id="page65"></a>[pg 65]</span> not suspect his own inferiority. Our + attitude towards Lamb must be: "Charles Lamb was a greater man than I am, cleverer, + sharper, subtler, finer, intellectually more powerful, and with keener eyes for + beauty. I must brace myself to follow his lead." Our attitude must resemble that of + one who cocks his ear and listens with all his soul for a distant sound.</p> + <p>To catch the sound we really must listen. That is to say, we must read carefully, + with our faculties on the watch. We must read slowly and perseveringly. A classic has + to be wooed and is worth the wooing. Further, we must disdain no assistance. I am not + in favour of studying criticism of classics before the classics themselves. My notion + is to study the work and the biography of a classical writer together, and then to + read criticism afterwards. I think that in reprints of the classics the customary + "critical introduction" ought to be put at the end, and not at the beginning, of the + book. The classic should be allowed to make his own impression, <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>[pg 66]</span> however faint, on the + virginal mind of the reader. But afterwards let explanatory criticism be read as much + as you please. Explanatory criticism is very useful; nearly as useful as pondering + for oneself on what one has read! Explanatory criticism may throw one single gleam + that lights up the entire subject.</p> + <p>My second consideration (in aid of crossing the gulf) touches the quality of the + pleasure to be derived from a classic. It is never a violent pleasure. It is subtle, + and it will wax in intensity, but the idea of violence is foreign to it. The artistic + pleasures of an uncultivated mind are generally violent. They proceed from + exaggeration in treatment, from a lack of balance, from attaching too great an + importance to one aspect (usually superficial), while quite ignoring another. They + are gross, like the joy of Worcester sauce on the palate. Now, if there is one point + common to all classics, it is the absence of exaggeration. The balanced sanity of a + great mind makes impossible exaggeration, and, therefore, distortion. The beauty of a + classic is not at all apt <span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>[pg + 67]</span> to knock you down. It will steal over you, rather. Many serious students + are, I am convinced, discouraged in the early stages because they are expecting a + wrong kind of pleasure. They have abandoned Worcester sauce, and they miss it. They + miss the coarse <i>tang</i>. They must realise that indulgence in the <i>tang</i> + means the sure and total loss of sensitiveness—sensitiveness even to the + <i>tang</i> itself. They cannot have crudeness and fineness together. They must + choose, remembering that while crudeness kills pleasure, fineness ever intensifies + it.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>[pg 68]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + <h2>SYSTEM IN HEADING</h2> + <p>You have now definitely set sail on the sea of literature. You are afloat, and + your anchor is up. I think I have given adequate warning of the dangers and + disappointments which await the unwary and the sanguine. The enterprise in which you + are engaged is not facile, nor is it short. I think I have sufficiently predicted + that you will have your hours of woe, during which you may be inclined to send to + perdition all writers, together with the inventor of printing. But if you have become + really friendly with Lamb; if you know Lamb, or even half of him; if you have formed + an image of him in your mind, and can, as it were, hear him brilliantly stuttering + while you read his essays or letters, then certainly you are in a fit condition to + proceed and you want to know in which direction you are to <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page69" id="page69"></a>[pg 69]</span> proceed. Yes, I have caught your + terrified and protesting whisper: "I hope to heaven he isn't going to prescribe a + Course of English Literature, because I feel I shall never be able to do it!" I am + not. If your object in life was to be a University Extension Lecturer in English + literature, then I should prescribe something drastic and desolating. But as your + object, so far as I am concerned, is simply to obtain the highest and most tonic form + of artistic pleasure of which you are capable, I shall not prescribe any regular + course. Nay, I shall venture to dissuade you from any regular course. No man, and + assuredly no beginner, can possibly pursue a historical course of literature without + wasting a lot of weary time in acquiring mere knowledge which will yield neither + pleasure nor advantage. In the choice of reading the individual must count; caprice + must count, for caprice is often the truest index to the individuality. Stand + defiantly on your own feet, and do not excuse yourself to yourself. You do not exist + in order to honour literature by becoming an encyclopædia of literature. + Literature exists for your service. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" + id="page70"></a>[pg 70]</span> Wherever you happen to be, that, for you, is the + centre of literature.</p> + <p>Still, for your own sake you must confine yourself for a long time to recognised + classics, for reasons already explained. And though you should not follow a course, + you must have a system or principle. Your native sagacity will tell you that caprice, + left quite unfettered, will end by being quite ridiculous. The system which I + recommend is embodied in this counsel: Let one thing lead to another. In the sea of + literature every part communicates with every other part; there are no land-locked + lakes. It was with an eye to this system that I originally recommended you to start + with Lamb. Lamb, if you are his intimate, has already brought you into relations with + a number of other prominent writers with whom you can in turn be intimate, and who + will be particularly useful to you. Among these are Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, + Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt. You cannot know Lamb without knowing these men, and some of + them are of the highest importance. From the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" + id="page71"></a>[pg 71]</span> circle of Lamb's own work you may go off at a tangent + at various points, according to your inclination. If, for instance, you are drawn + towards poetry, you cannot, in all English literature, make a better start than with + Wordsworth. And Wordsworth will send you backwards to a comprehension of the poets + against whose influence Wordsworth fought. When you have understood Wordsworth's and + Coleridge's <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>, and Wordsworth's defence of them, you will be in + a position to judge poetry in general. If, again, your mind hankers after an earlier + and more romantic literature, Lamb's <i>Specimens of English Dramatic Poets + Contemporary with Shakspere</i> has already, in an enchanting fashion, piloted you + into a vast gulf of "the sea which is Shakspere."</p> + <p>Again, in Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt you will discover essayists inferior only to Lamb + himself, and critics perhaps not inferior. Hazlitt is unsurpassed as a critic. His + judgments are convincing and his enthusiasm of the most catching nature. Having + arrived at Hazlitt or <span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>[pg + 72]</span> Leigh Hunt, you can branch off once more at any one of ten thousand points + into still wider circles. And thus you may continue up and down the centuries as far + as you like, yea, even to Chaucer. If you chance to read Hazlitt on <i>Chaucer and + Spenser</i>, you will probably put your hat on instantly and go out and buy these + authors; such is his communicating fire! I need not particularise further. Commencing + with Lamb, and allowing one thing to lead to another, you cannot fail to be more and + more impressed by the peculiar suitability to your needs of the Lamb entourage and + the Lamb period. For Lamb lived in a time of universal rebirth in English literature. + Wordsworth and Coleridge were re-creating poetry; Scott was re-creating the novel; + Lamb was re-creating the human document; and Hazlitt, Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, and + others were re-creating criticism. Sparks are flying all about the place, and it will + be not less than a miracle if something combustible and indestructible in you does + not take fire.</p> + <p>I have only one cautionary word to <span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" + id="page73"></a>[pg 73]</span> utter. You may be saying to yourself: "So long as I + stick to classics I cannot go wrong." You can go wrong. You can, while reading naught + but very fine stuff, commit the grave error of reading too much of one kind of stuff. + Now there are two kinds, and only two kinds. These two kinds are not prose and + poetry, nor are they divided the one from the other by any differences of form or of + subject. They are the inspiring kind and the informing kind. No other genuine + division exists in literature. Emerson, I think, first clearly stated it. His terms + were the literature of "power" and the literature of "knowledge." In nearly all great + literature the two qualities are to be found in company, but one usually predominates + over the other. An example of the exclusively inspiring kind is Coleridge's <i>Kubla + Khan</i>. I cannot recall any first-class example of the purely informing kind. The + nearest approach to it that I can name is Spencer's <i>First Principles</i>, which, + however, is at least once highly inspiring. An example in which the inspiring quality + predominates is <i>Ivanhoe</i>; and an example in which the <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page74" id="page74"></a>[pg 74]</span> informing quality predominates is + Hazlitt's essays on Shakespeare's characters. You must avoid giving undue preference + to the kind in which the inspiring quality predominates or to the kind in which the + informing quality predominates. Too much of the one is enervating; too much of the + other is desiccating. If you stick exclusively to the one you may become a mere + debauchee of the emotions; if you stick exclusively to the other you may cease to + live in any full sense. I do not say that you should hold the balance exactly even + between the two kinds. Your taste will come into the scale. What I say is that + neither kind must be neglected.</p> + <p>Lamb is an instance of a great writer whom anybody can understand and whom a + majority of those who interest themselves in literature can more or less appreciate. + He makes no excessive demand either on the intellect or on the faculty of sympathetic + emotion. On both sides of Lamb, however, there lie literatures more difficult, more + recondite. The "knowledge" side need not detain us here; it <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page75" id="page75"></a>[pg 75]</span> can be mastered by concentration and + perseverance. But the "power" side, which comprises the supreme productions of + genius, demands special consideration. You may have arrived at the point of keenly + enjoying Lamb and yet be entirely unable to "see anything in" such writings as + <i>Kubla Khan</i> or Milton's <i>Comus</i>; and as for <i>Hamlet</i> you may see + nothing in it but a sanguinary tale "full of quotations." Nevertheless it is the + supreme productions which are capable of yielding the supreme pleasures, and which + <i>will</i> yield the supreme pleasures when the pass-key to them has been acquired. + This pass-key is a comprehension of the nature of poetry.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>[pg 76]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + <h2>VERSE</h2> + <p>There is a word, a "name of fear," which rouses terror in the heart of the vast + educated majority of the English-speaking race. The most valiant will fly at the mere + utterance of that word. The most broad-minded will put their backs up against it. The + most rash will not dare to affront it. I myself have seen it empty buildings that had + been full; and I know that it will scatter a crowd more quickly than a hose-pipe, + hornets, or the rumour of plague. Even to murmur it is to incur solitude, probably + disdain, and possibly starvation, as historical examples show. That word is + "poetry."</p> + <p>The profound objection of the average man to poetry can scarcely be exaggerated. + And when I say the average man, I do <span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" + id="page77"></a>[pg 77]</span> not mean the "average sensual man"—any man who + gets on to the top of the omnibus; I mean the average lettered man, the average man + who does care a little for books and enjoys reading, and knows the classics by name + and the popular writers by having read them. I am convinced that not one man in ten + who reads, reads poetry—at any rate, knowingly. I am convinced, further, that + not one man in ten who goes so far as knowingly to <i>buy</i> poetry ever reads it. + You will find everywhere men who read very widely in prose, but who will say quite + callously, "No, I never read poetry." If the sales of modern poetry, distinctly + labelled as such, were to cease entirely to-morrow not a publisher would fail; + scarcely a publisher would be affected; and not a poet would die—for I do not + believe that a single modern English poet is living to-day on the current proceeds of + his verse. For a country which possesses the greatest poetical literature in the + world this condition of affairs is at least odd. What makes it odder is that, + occasionally, very occasionally, the average lettered <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page78" id="page78"></a>[pg 78]</span> man will have a fit of idolatry for a + fine poet, buying his books in tens of thousands, and bestowing upon him immense + riches. As with Tennyson. And what makes it odder still is that, after all, the + average lettered man does not truly dislike poetry; he only dislikes it when it takes + a certain form. He will read poetry and enjoy it, provided he is not aware that it is + poetry. Poetry can exist authentically either in prose or in verse. Give him poetry + concealed in prose and there is a chance that, taken off his guard, he will + appreciate it. But show him a page of verse, and he will be ready to send for a + policeman. The reason of this is that, though poetry may come to pass either in prose + or in verse, it does actually happen far more frequently in verse than in prose; + nearly all the very greatest poetry is in verse; verse is identified with the very + greatest poetry, and the very greatest poetry can only be understood and savoured by + people who have put themselves through a considerable mental discipline. To others it + is an exasperating weariness. Hence chiefly the fearful prejudice of <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>[pg 79]</span> the average lettered + man against the mere form of verse.</p> + <p>The formation of literary taste cannot be completed until that prejudice has been + conquered. My very difficult task is to suggest a method of conquering it. I address + myself exclusively to the large class of people who, if they are honest, will declare + that, while they enjoy novels, essays, and history, they cannot "stand" verse. The + case is extremely delicate, like all nervous cases. It is useless to employ the arts + of reasoning, for the matter has got beyond logic; it is instinctive. Perfectly + futile to assure you that verse will yield a higher percentage of pleasure than + prose! You will reply: "We believe you, but that doesn't help us." Therefore I shall + not argue. I shall venture to prescribe a curative treatment (doctors do not argue); + and I beg you to follow it exactly, keeping your nerve and your calm. Loss of + self-control might lead to panic, and panic would be fatal.</p> + <p>First: Forget as completely as you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" + id="page80"></a>[pg 80]</span> can all your present notions about the nature of verse + and poetry. Take a sponge and wipe the slate of your mind. In particular, do not + harass yourself by thoughts of metre and verse forms. Second: Read William Hazlitt's + essay "On Poetry in General." This essay is the first in the book entitled + <i>Lectures on the English Poets</i>. It can be bought in various forms. I think the + cheapest satisfactory edition is in Routledge's "New Universal Library" (price 1s. + net). I might have composed an essay of my own on the real harmless nature of poetry + in general, but it could only have been an echo and a deterioration of Hazlitt's. He + has put the truth about poetry in a way as interesting, clear, and reassuring as + anyone is ever likely to put it. I do not expect, however, that you will instantly + gather the full message and enthusiasm of the essay. It will probably seem to you not + to "hang together." Still, it will leave bright bits of ideas in your mind. Third: + After a week's interval read the essay again. On a second perusal it will appear more + persuasive to you.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg 81]</span> + <p>Fourth: Open the Bible and read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. It is the chapter + which begins, "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," and ends, "They shall run and not + be weary, and they shall walk and not faint." This chapter will doubtless be more or + less familiar to you. It cannot fail (whatever your particular <i>ism</i>) to impress + you, to generate in your mind sensations which you recognise to be of a lofty and + unusual order, and which you will admit to be pleasurable. You will probably agree + that the result of reading this chapter (even if your particular <i>ism</i> is + opposed to its authority) is finer than the result of reading a short story in a + magazine or even an essay by Charles Lamb. Now the pleasurable sensations induced by + the fortieth chapter of Isaiah are among the sensations usually induced by high-class + poetry. The writer of it was a very great poet, and what he wrote is a very great + poem. Fifth: After having read it, go back to Hazlitt, and see if you can find + anything in Hazlitt's lecture which throws light on the psychology of your own + emotions upon reading Isaiah.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>[pg 82]</span> + <p>Sixth: The next step is into unmistakable verse. It is to read one of Wordsworth's + short narrative poems, <i>The Brothers</i>. There are editions of Wordsworth at a + shilling, but I should advise the "Golden Treasury" Wordsworth (2s. 6d. net), because + it contains the famous essay by Matthew Arnold, who made the selection. I want you to + read this poem aloud. You will probably have to hide yourself somewhere in order to + do so, for, of course, you would not, as yet, care to be overheard spouting poetry. + Be good enough to forget that <i>The Brothers</i> is poetry. <i>The Brothers</i> is a + short story, with a plain, clear plot. Read it as such. Read it simply for the story. + It is very important at this critical stage that you should not embarrass your mind + with preoccupations as to the <i>form</i> in which Wordsworth has told his story. + Wordsworth's object was to tell a story as well as he could: just that. In reading + aloud do not pay any more attention to the metre than you feel naturally inclined to + pay. After a few lines the metre will present itself to you. Do <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg 83]</span> not worry as to what + kind of metre it is. When you have finished the perusal, examine your + sensations....</p> + <p>Your sensations after reading this poem, and perhaps one or two other narrative + poems of Wordsworth, such as <i>Michael</i>, will be different from the sensations + produced in you by reading an ordinary, or even a very extraordinary, short story in + prose. They may not be so sharp, so clear and piquant, but they will probably be, in + their mysteriousness and their vagueness, more impressive. I do not say that they + will be diverting. I do not go so far as to say that they will strike you as pleasing + sensations. (Be it remembered that I am addressing myself to an imaginary tyro in + poetry.) I would qualify them as being "disturbing." Well, to disturb the spirit is + one of the greatest aims of art. And a disturbance of spirit is one of the finest + pleasures that a highly-organised man can enjoy. But this truth can only be really + learnt by the repetitions of experience. As an aid to the more exhaustive examination + of your feelings under Wordsworth, in order <span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" + id="page84"></a>[pg 84]</span> that you may better understand what he was trying to + effect in you, and the means which he employed, I must direct you to Wordsworth + himself. Wordsworth, in addition to being a poet, was unsurpassed as a critic of + poetry. What Hazlitt does for poetry in the way of creating enthusiasm Wordsworth + does in the way of philosophic explanation. And Wordsworth's explanations of the + theory and practice of poetry are written for the plain man. They pass the + comprehension of nobody, and their direct, unassuming, and calm simplicity is + extremely persuasive. Wordsworth's chief essays in throwing light on himself are the + "Advertisement," "Preface," and "Appendix" to <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>; the letters to + Lady Beaumont and "the Friend" and the "Preface" to the Poems dated 1815. All this + matter is strangely interesting and of immense educational value. It is the + first-class expert talking at ease about his subject. The essays relating to + <i>Lyrical Ballads</i> will be the most useful for you. You will discover these + precious documents in a volume entitled <i>Wordsworth's Literary Criticism</i> + (published by Henry <span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg + 85]</span> Frowde, 2s. 6d.), edited by that distinguished Wordsworthian Mr. Nowell C. + Smith. It is essential that the student of poetry should become possessed, honestly + or dishonestly, either of this volume or of the matter which it contains. There is, + by the way, a volume of Wordsworth's prose in the Scott Library (1s.). Those who have + not read Wordsworth on poetry can have no idea of the naïve charm and the + helpful radiance of his expounding. I feel that I cannot too strongly press + Wordsworth's criticism upon you.</p> + <p>Between Wordsworth and Hazlitt you will learn all that it behoves you to know of + the nature, the aims, and the results of poetry. It is no part of my scheme to dot + the "i's" and cross the "t's" of Wordsworth and Hazlitt. I best fulfil my purpose in + urgently referring you to them. I have only a single point of my own to make—a + psychological detail. One of the main obstacles to the cultivation of poetry in the + average sensible man is an absurdly inflated notion of the ridiculous. At the bottom + of that man's <span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg 86]</span> + mind is the idea that poetry is "silly." He also finds it exaggerated and artificial; + but these two accusations against poetry can be satisfactorily answered. The charge + of silliness, of being ridiculous, however, cannot be refuted by argument. There is + no logical answer to a guffaw. This sense of the ridiculous is merely a bad, + infantile habit, in itself grotesquely ridiculous. You may see it particularly in the + theatre. Not the greatest dramatist, not the greatest composer, not the greatest + actor can prevent an audience from laughing uproariously at a tragic moment if a cat + walks across the stage. But why ruin the scene by laughter? Simply because the + majority of any audience is artistically childish. This sense of the ridiculous can + only be crushed by the exercise of moral force. It can only be cowed. If you are + inclined to laugh when a poet expresses himself more powerfully than you express + yourself, when a poet talks about feelings which are not usually mentioned in daily + papers, when a poet uses words and images which lie outside your vocabulary and range + of thought, then you had better <span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" + id="page87"></a>[pg 87]</span> take yourself in hand. You have to decide whether you + will be on the side of the angels or on the side of the nincompoops. There is no + surer sign of imperfect development than the impulse to snigger at what is unusual, + naïve, or exuberant. And if you choose to do so, you can detect the cat walking + across the stage in the sublimest passages of literature. But more advanced souls + will grieve for you.</p> + <p>The study of Wordsworth's criticism makes the seventh step in my course of + treatment. The eighth is to return to those poems of Wordsworth's which you have + already perused, and read them again in the full light of the author's defence and + explanation. Read as much Wordsworth as you find you can assimilate, but do not + attempt either of his long poems. The time, however, is now come for a long poem. I + began by advising narrative poetry for the neophyte, and I shall persevere with the + prescription. I mean narrative poetry in the restricted sense; for epic poetry is + narrative. <i>Paradise Lost</i> is narrative; so is <i>The Prelude</i>. <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg 88]</span> I suggest neither of + these great works. My choice falls on Elizabeth Browning's <i>Aurora Leigh</i>. If + you once work yourself "into" this poem, interesting yourself primarily (as with + Wordsworth) in the events of the story, and not allowing yourself to be obsessed by + the fact that what you are reading is "poetry"—if you do this, you are not + likely to leave it unfinished. And before you reach the end you will have encountered + <i>en route</i> pretty nearly all the moods of poetry that exist: tragic, humorous, + ironic, elegiac, lyric—everything. You will have a comprehensive acquaintance + with a poet's mind. I guarantee that you will come safely through if you treat the + work as a novel. For a novel it effectively is, and a better one than any written by + Charlotte Brontë or George Eliot. In reading, it would be well to mark, or take + note of, the passages which give you the most pleasure, and then to compare these + passages with the passages selected for praise by some authoritative critic. + <i>Aurora Leigh</i> can be got in the "Temple Classics" (1s. 6d.), or in the + "Canterbury Poets" (1s.). The indispensable biographical information <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg 89]</span> about Mrs. Browning + can be obtained from Mr. J.H. Ingram's short Life of her in the "Eminent Women" + Series (1s. 6d.), or from <i>Robert Browning</i>, by William Sharp ("Great Writers" + Series, 1s.).</p> + <p>This accomplished, you may begin to choose your poets. Going back to Hazlitt, you + will see that he deals with, among others, Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, + Dryden, Pope, Chatterton, Burns, and the Lake School. You might select one of these, + and read under his guidance. Said Wordsworth: "I was impressed by the conviction that + there were four English poets whom I must have continually before me as + examples—Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, and Milton." (A word to the wise!) + Wordsworth makes a fifth to these four. Concurrently with the careful, enthusiastic + study of one of the undisputed classics, modern verse should be read. (I beg you to + accept the following statement: that if the study of classical poetry inspires you + with a distaste for modern poetry, then there is something seriously wrong <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg 90]</span> in the method of your + development.) You may at this stage (and not before) commence an inquiry into + questions of rhythm, verse-structure, and rhyme. There is, I believe, no good, + concise, cheap handbook to English prosody; yet such a manual is greatly needed. The + only one with which I am acquainted is Tom Hood the younger's <i>Rules of Rhyme: A + Guide to English Versification</i>. Again, the introduction to Walker's <i>Rhyming + Dictionary</i> gives a fairly clear elementary account of the subject. Ruskin also + has written an excellent essay on verse-rhythms. With a manual in front of you, you + can acquire in a couple of hours a knowledge of the formal principles in which the + music of English verse is rooted. The business is trifling. But the business of + appreciating the inmost spirit of the greatest verse is tremendous and lifelong. It + is not something that can be "got up."</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg 91]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + <h2>BROAD COUNSELS</h2> + <p>I have now set down what appear to me to be the necessary considerations, + recommendations, exhortations, and dehortations in aid of this delicate and arduous + enterprise of forming the literary taste. I have dealt with the theory of literature, + with the psychology of the author, and—quite as important—with the + psychology of the reader. I have tried to explain the author to the reader and the + reader to himself. To go into further detail would be to exceed my original + intention, with no hope of ever bringing the constantly-enlarging scheme to a logical + conclusion. My aim is not to provide a map, but a compass—two very different + instruments. In the way of general advice it remains for me only to put before you + three counsels which <span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg + 92]</span> apply more broadly than any I have yet offered to the business of + reading.</p> + <p>You have within yourself a touchstone by which finally you can, and you must, test + every book that your brain is capable of comprehending. Does the book seem to you to + be sincere and true? If it does, then you need not worry about your immediate + feelings, or the possible future consequences of the book. You will ultimately like + the book, and you will be justified in liking it. Honesty, in literature as in life, + is the quality that counts first and counts last. But beware of your immediate + feelings. Truth is not always pleasant. The first glimpse of truth is, indeed, + usually so disconcerting as to be positively unpleasant, and our impulse is to tell + it to go away, for we will have no truck with it. If a book arouses your genuine + contempt, you may dismiss it from your mind. Take heed, however, lest you confuse + contempt with anger. If a book really moves you to anger, the chances are that it is + a good book. Most good books have begun by causing anger which <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>[pg 93]</span> disguised itself as + contempt. Demanding honesty from your authors, you must see that you render it + yourself. And to be honest with oneself is not so simple as it appears. One's + sensations and one's sentiments must be examined with detachment. When you have + violently flung down a book, listen whether you can hear a faint voice saying within + you: "It's true, though!" And if you catch the whisper, better yield to it as quickly + as you can. For sooner or later the voice will win. Similarly, when you are hugging a + book, keep your ear cocked for the secret warning: "Yes, but it isn't true." For bad + books, by flattering you, by caressing, by appealing to the weak or the base in you, + will often persuade you what fine and splendid books they are. (Of course, I use the + word "true" in a wide and essential significance. I do not necessarily mean true to + literal fact; I mean true to the plane of experience in which the book moves. The + truthfulness of <i>Ivanhoe</i>, for example, cannot be estimated by the same + standards as the truthfulness of Stubbs's <i>Constitutional History</i>.) In reading + a book, a <span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg 94]</span> + sincere questioning of oneself, "Is it true?" and a loyal abiding by the answer, will + help more surely than any other process of ratiocination to form the taste. I will + not assert that this question and answer are all-sufficient. A true book is not + always great. But a great book is never untrue.</p> + <p>My second counsel is: In your reading you must have in view some definite + aim—some aim other than the wish to derive pleasure. I conceive that to give + pleasure is the highest end of any work of art, because the pleasure procured from + any art is tonic, and transforms the life into which it enters. But the maximum of + pleasure can only be obtained by regular effort, and regular effort implies the + organisation of that effort. Open-air walking is a glorious exercise; it is the + walking itself which is glorious. Nevertheless, when setting out for walking + exercise, the sane man generally has a subsidiary aim in view. He says to himself + either that he will reach a given point, or that he will progress at a given speed + for a given <span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg 95]</span> + distance, or that he will remain on his feet for a given time. He organises his + effort, partly in order that he may combine some other advantage with the advantage + of walking, but principally in order to be sure that the effort shall be an adequate + effort. The same with reading. Your paramount aim in poring over literature is to + enjoy, but you will not fully achieve that aim unless you have also a subsidiary aim + which necessitates the measurement of your energy. Your subsidiary aim may be + æsthetic, moral, political, religious, scientific, erudite; you may devote + yourself to a man, a topic, an epoch, a nation, a branch of literature, an + idea—you have the widest latitude in the choice of an objective; but a definite + objective you must have. In my earlier remarks as to method in reading, I advocated, + without insisting on, regular hours for study. But I both advocate and insist on the + fixing of a date for the accomplishment of an allotted task. As an instance, it is + not enough to say: "I will inform myself completely as to the Lake School." It is + necessary to say: <span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg + 96]</span> "I will inform myself completely as to the Lake School before I am a year + older." Without this precautionary steeling of the resolution the risk of a + humiliating collapse into futility is enormously magnified.</p> + <p>My third counsel is: Buy a library. It is obvious that you cannot read unless you + have books. I began by urging the constant purchase of books—any books of + approved quality, without reference to their immediate bearing upon your particular + case. The moment has now come to inform you plainly that a bookman is, amongst other + things, a man who possesses many books. A man who does not possess many books is not + a bookman. For years literary authorities have been favouring the literary public + with wondrously selected lists of "the best books"—the best novels, the best + histories, the best poems, the best works of philosophy—or the hundred best or + the fifty best of all sorts. The fatal disadvantage of such lists is that they leave + out large quantities of literature which is admittedly first-class. The <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg 97]</span> bookman cannot + content himself with a selected library. He wants, as a minimum, a library reasonably + complete in all departments. With such a basis acquired, he can afterwards wander + into those special byways of book-buying which happen to suit his special + predilections. Every Englishman who is interested in any branch of his native + literature, and who respects himself, ought to own a comprehensive and inclusive + library of English literature, in comely and adequate editions. You may suppose that + this counsel is a counsel of perfection. It is not. Mark Pattison laid down a rule + that he who desired the name of book-lover must spend five per cent. of his income on + books. The proposal does not seem extravagant, but even on a smaller percentage than + five the average reader of these pages may become the owner, in a comparatively short + space of time, of a reasonably complete English library, by which I mean a library + containing the complete works of the supreme geniuses, representative important works + of all the first-class men in all departments, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" + id="page98"></a>[pg 98]</span> and specimen works of all the men of the second rank + whose reputation is really a living reputation to-day. The scheme for a library, + which I now present, begins before Chaucer and ends with George Gissing, and I am + fairly sure that the majority of people will be startled at the total inexpensiveness + of it. So far as I am aware, no such scheme has ever been printed before.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg 99]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + <h2>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I</h2> + <p>[For much counsel and correction in the matter of editions and prices I am + indebted to my old and valued friend, Charles Young, head of the firm of Lamley & + Co., booksellers, South Kensington.]</p> + <p>For the purposes of book-buying, I divide English literature, not strictly into + historical epochs, but into three periods which, while scarcely arbitrary from the + historical point of view, have nevertheless been calculated according to the space + which they will occupy on the shelves and to the demands which they will make on the + purse:</p> + <p><b>I.</b> From the beginning to John Dryden, or roughly, to the end of the + seventeenth century.</p> + <p><b>II.</b> From William Congreve to Jane Austen, or roughly, the eighteenth + century.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg 100]</span> + <p><b>III.</b> From Sir Walter Scott to the last deceased author who is recognised as + a classic, or roughly, the nineteenth century.</p> + <p>Period III. will bulk the largest and cost the most; not necessarily because it + contains more absolutely great books than the other periods (though in my opinion it + <i>does</i>), but because it is nearest to us, and therefore fullest of interest for + us.</p> + <p>I have not confined my choice to books of purely literary interest—that is + to say, to works which are primarily works of literary art. Literature is the vehicle + of philosophy, science, morals, religion, and history; and a library which aspires to + be complete must comprise, in addition to imaginative works, all these branches of + intellectual activity. Comprising all these branches, it cannot avoid comprising + works of which the purely literary interest is almost nil.</p> + <p>On the other hand, I have excluded from consideration:—</p> + <p>i. Works whose sole importance is that they form a link in the chain of <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg 101]</span> development. For + example, nearly all the productions of authors between Chaucer and the beginning of + the Elizabethan period, such as Gower, Hoccleve, and Skelton, whose works, for + sufficient reason, are read only by professors and students who mean to be + professors.</p> + <p>ii. Works not originally written in English, such as the works of that very great + philosopher Roger Bacon, of whom this isle ought to be prouder than it is. To this + rule, however, I have been constrained to make a few exceptions. Sir Thomas More's + <i>Utopia</i> was written in Latin, but one does not easily conceive a library to be + complete without it. And could one exclude Sir Isaac Newton's <i>Principia</i>, the + masterpiece of the greatest physicist that the world has ever seen? The law of + gravity ought to have, and does have, a powerful sentimental interest for us.</p> + <p>iii. Translations from foreign literature into English.</p> + <p>Here, then, are the lists for the first period:</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg 102]</span> + <h4>PROSE WRITERS.</h4> + <table summary="PROSE WRITERS." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Bede, <i>Ecclesiastical History</i>: Temple</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Thomas Malory, <i>Morte d'Arthur</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> Everyman's Library (4 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Thomas More, <i>Utopia</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Cavendish, <i>Life of Cardinal</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><i> Wolsey</i>: New Universal Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Richard Hakluyt, <i>Voyages</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (8 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">8</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Richard Hooker, <i>Ecclesiastical Polity</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library (2 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Francis Bacon, <i>Works</i>: Newnes's Thinpaper</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Dekker, <i>Gull's Horn-Book</i>: King's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lord Herbert of Cherbury, <i>Autobiography</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Selden, <i>Table-Talk</i>: New Universal</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Hobbes, <i>Leviathan</i>: New Universal</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Howell, <i>Familiar Letters</i>: Temple</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics (3 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Thomas Browne, <i>Religio Medici</i>, etc.:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jeremy Taylor, <i>Holy Living and Holy</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Dying</i>: Temple Classics (3 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Izaak Walton, <i>Compleat Angler</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Bunyan, <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" width="85%">Sir William Temple, <i>Essay on Gardens</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>of Epicurus</i>: King's Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Evelyn, <i>Diary</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Samuel Pepys, <i>Diary</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£2</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg 103]</span> + <p>The principal omission from the above list is <i>The Paston Letters</i>, which I + should probably have included had the enterprise of publishers been sufficient to put + an edition on the market at a cheap price. Other omissions include the works of + Caxton and Wyclif, and such books as Camden's <i>Britannia</i>, Ascham's + <i>Schoolmaster</i>, and Fuller's <i>Worthies</i>, whose lack of first-rate value as + literature is not adequately compensated by their historical interest. As to the + Bible, in the first place it is a translation, and in the second I assume that you + already possess a copy.</p> + <h4>POETS.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg 104]</span> +<table summary="POETS" align="center"> + +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">£</td><td align="center">s.</td><td align="center">d.</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><i>Beowulf</i>, Routledge's London Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">GEOFFREY CHAUCER, <i>Works</i>: Globe</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Nicolas Udall, <i>Ralph Roister-Doister</i>:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Temple Dramatists</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">EDMUND SPENSER, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Thomas Lodge, <i>Rosalynde</i>: Caxton Series</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Robert Greene, <i>Tragical Reign of Selimus</i>:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Temple Dramatists</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Michael Drayton, <i>Poems</i>: Newnes's Pocket</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Classics</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">8</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, <i>Works</i>: New Universal</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, <i>Works</i>: Globe</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Thomas Campion, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Ben Jonson, <i>Plays</i>: Canterbury Poets</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Donne, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Webster, Cyril Tourneur, <i>Plays</i>:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Mermaid Series</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Philip Massinger, <i>Plays</i>: Cunningham</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Beaumont and Fletcher, <i>Plays</i>: a Selection</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Ford, <i>Plays</i>: Mermaid Series</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">George Herbert, <i>The Temple</i>: Everyman's</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">ROBERT HERRICK, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Edmund Waller, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Sir John Suckling, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Abraham Cowley, <i>English Poems</i>: Cambridge</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">4</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Richard Crashaw, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Henry Vaughan, <i>Poems</i>: Methuen's</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Little Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Samuel Butler, <i>Hudibras</i>: Cambridge</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">4</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">JOHN MILTON, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Cheap Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">JOHN MILTON, <i>Select Prose Works</i>: Scott</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Andrew Marvell, <i>Poems</i>: Methuen's Little</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Dryden, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Globe</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">[Thomas Percy], <i>Reliques of Ancient</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> <i>English Poetry</i>: Everyman's Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Arber's <i>"Spenser" Anthology</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Arber's <i>"Jonson" Anthology</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Arber's <i>"Shakspere" Anthology</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">£3</td><td align="center">7</td><td align="center">6</td><td align="left"></td></tr> + +</table> +<span + class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg 105]</span> + <p>There were a number of brilliant minor writers in the seventeenth century whose + best work, often trifling in bulk, either scarcely merits the acquisition of a + separate volume for each author, or cannot be obtained at all in a modern edition. + Such authors, however, may not <span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" + id="page106"></a>[pg 106]</span> be utterly neglected in the formation of a library. + It is to meet this difficulty that I have included the last three volumes on the + above list. Professor Arber's anthologies are full of rare pieces, and comprise + admirable specimens of the verse of Samuel Daniel, Giles Fletcher, Countess of + Pembroke, James I., George Peele, Sir Walter Raleigh, Thomas Sackville, Sir Philip + Sidney, Drummond of Hawthornden, Thomas Heywood, George Wither, Sir Henry Wotton, Sir + William Davenant, Thomas Randolph, Frances Quarles, James Shirley, and other greater + and lesser poets.</p> + <p>I have included all the important Elizabethan dramatists except John Marston, all + the editions of whose works, according to my researches, are out of print.</p> + <p>In the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods talent was so extraordinarily plentiful + that the standard of excellence is quite properly raised, and certain authors are + thus relegated to the third, or excluded, class who in a less fertile period would + have counted as at least second-class.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg 107]</span> + <h4>SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD.</h4> + +<table summary="SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD." align="center"> + +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td> </td><td> </td><td align="center">£</td><td align="center">s.</td><td align="center">d.</td><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">19 prose authors in</td><td>36 volumes</td><td>costing</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">29 poets in</td><td>36 "</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">7</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">__ </td><td>__</td><td></td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">48</td><td>72</td><td></td><td align="center">£5</td><td align="center">9</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="left"></td></tr> + +</table> +<p>In addition, scores of authors of genuine interest are represented in the + anthologies.</p> + <p>The prices given are gross, and in many instances there is a 25 per cent. discount + to come off. All the volumes can be procured immediately at any bookseller's.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg 108]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + <h2>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II</h2> + <p>After dealing with the formation of a library of authors up to John Dryden, I must + logically arrange next a scheme for the period covered roughly by the eighteenth + century. There is, however, no reason why the student in quest of a library should + follow the chronological order. Indeed, I should advise him to attack the nineteenth + century before the eighteenth, for the reason that, unless his taste happens to be + peculiarly "Augustan," he will obtain a more immediate satisfaction and profit from + his acquisitions in the nineteenth century than in the eighteenth. There is in + eighteenth-century literature a considerable proportion of what I may term + "unattractive excellence," which one must have for the purposes of completeness, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>[pg 109]</span> but which + may await actual perusal until more pressing and more human books have been read. I + have particularly in mind the philosophical authors of the century.</p> + <h4>PROSE WRITERS.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>[pgs 110-111]</span> + <table align="center" summary="prose writers"> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + + +<tr> + <td align="left">JOHN LOCKE, <i>Philosophical Works</i>: Bohn's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SIR ISAAC NEWTON, <i>Principia</i> (sections 1,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> 2, and 3): Macmillans</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">12</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Gilbert Burnet, <i>History of His Own Time</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Wycherley, <i>Best Plays</i>: Mermaid</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM CONGREVE, <i>Best Plays</i>: Mermaid</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jonathan Swift, <i>Tale of a Tub</i>: Scott</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jonathan Swift, <i>Gulliver's Travels</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Temple Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">DANIEL DEFOE, <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">DANIEL DEFOE, <i>Journal of the Plague</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Year: Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Joseph Addison, Sir Richard Steele,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Essays</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Law, <i>Serious Call</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lady Mary W. Montagu, <i>Letters</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Berkeley, <i>Principles of Human</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Knowledge</i>: New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SAMUEL RICHARDSON, <i>Clarissa</i> (abridged):</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Wesley, <i>Journal</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (4 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRY FIELDING, <i>Tom Jones</i>: Routledge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRY FIELDING, <i>Amelia</i>: Routledge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRY FIELDING, <i>Joseph Andrews</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">David Hume, <i>Essays</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LAURENCE STERNE, <i>Tristram Shandy</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LAURENCE STERNE, <i>Sentimental Journey</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Horace Walpole, <i>Castle of Otranto</i>: King's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Tobias Smollett, <i>Humphrey Clinker</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Tobias Smollett, <i>Travels through France</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>and Italy</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ADAM SMITH, <i>Wealth of Nations</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Samuel Johnson, <i>Lives of the Poets</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Samuel Johnson, <i>Rasselas</i>: New Universal</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">JAMES BOSWELL, <i>Life of Johnson</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Oliver Goldsmith, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Henry Mackenzie, <i>The Man of Feeling</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Cassell's National Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Joshua Reynolds, <i>Discourses on Art</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Edmund Burke, <i>Reflections on the French</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Revolution</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Edmund Burke, <i>Thoughts on the Present</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Discontents</i>: New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">EDWARD GIBBON, <i>Decline and Fall of the</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Roman Empire</i>: World's Classics</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> (7 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Paine, <i>Rights of Man</i>: Watts</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> and Co.'s Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, <i>Plays</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Fanny Burney, <i>Evelina</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Gilbert White, <i>Natural History of Selborne</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Arthur Young, <i>Travels in France</i>: York</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Mungo Park, <i>Travels</i>: Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jeremy Bentham, <i>Introduction to the</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Principles of Morals</i>: Clarendon</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Press</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS ROBERT MALTHUS, <i>Essay on the</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Principle of Population</i>: Ward,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Lock's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Godwin, <i>Caleb Williams</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Newnes's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Maria Edgeworth, <i>Helen</i>: Macmillan's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Illustrated Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">JANE AUSTEN, <i>Novels</i>: Nelson's New</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Century Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Morier, <i>Hadji Baba</i>: Macmillan's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Illustrated Novels</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£5</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>[pg 112]</span> + <p>The principal omissions here are Jeremy Collier, whose outcry against the + immorality of the stage is his slender title to remembrance; Richard Bentley, whose + scholarship principally died with him, and whose chief works are no longer current; + and "Junius," who would have been deservedly forgotten long ago had there been a + contemporaneous Sherlock Holmes to ferret out his identity.</p> + <h4>POETS.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>[pg 113]</span> + <table summary="POETS." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Otway, <i>Venice Preserved</i>: Temple</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Dramatists</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Matthew Prior, <i>Poems on Several Occasions</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Cambridge English Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Gay, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ALEXANDER POPE, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Isaac Watts, <i>Hymns</i>: Any hymn-book</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Thomson, <i>The Seasons</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Wesley, <i>Hymns</i>: Any hymn-book</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS GRAY, Samuel Johnson, William</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Collins, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Macpherson (Ossian), <i>Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS CHATTERTON, <i>Poems</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM COWPER, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM COWPER, <i>Letters</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Crabbe, <i>Poems</i>: Methuen's Little</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM BLAKE, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Lisle Bowles, Hartley Coleridge,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ROBERT BURNS, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£1</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <br /> + <h4>SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD.</h4> + <table summary="SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left">39 prose writers in</td> + <td>60</td> + <td>volumes,</td> + <td>costing</td> + <td align="center">£5</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">18 poets</td> + <td>18</td> + <td align="center">"</td> + <td align="center">"</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">__</td> + <td>__</td> + <td> + </td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">57</td> + <td>78</td> + <td> + </td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="center">£6</td> + <td align="center">8</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>[pg 114]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + <h2>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III</h2> + <p>The catalogue of necessary authors of this third and last period being so long, it + is convenient to divide the prose writers into Imaginative and Non-imaginative.</p> + <p>In the latter half of the period the question of copyright affects our scheme to a + certain extent, because it affects prices. Fortunately it is the fact that no single + book of recognised first-rate general importance is conspicuously dear. Nevertheless, + I have encountered difficulties in the second rank; I have dealt with them in a + spirit of compromise. I think I may say that, though I should have included a few + more authors had their books been obtainable at a reasonable price, I have omitted + none that I consider indispensable to a thoroughly representative <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>[pg 115]</span> collection. No + living author is included.</p> + <p>Where I do not specify the edition of a book the original copyright edition is + meant.</p> + <h4>PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>[pgs 116-117]</span> + <table summary="PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SIR WALTER SCOTT, <i>Waverley, Heart of</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Midlothian, Quentin Durward, Red-gauntlet,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Ivanhoe</i>: Everyman's Library (5 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">5</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SIR WALTER SCOTT, <i>Marmion</i>, etc.:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Lamb, <i>Works in Prose and Verse</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Clarendon Press (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Lamb, <i>Letters</i>: Newnes's Thin</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Paper Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Walter Savage Landor, <i>Imaginary Conversations</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Walter Savage Landor, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Leigh Hunt, <i>Essays and Sketches</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Love Peacock, <i>Principal Novels</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Mary Russell Mitford, <i>Our Village</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Michael Scott, <i>Tom Cringle's Log</i>: Macmillan's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Illustrated Novels</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Frederick Marryat, <i>Mr. Midshipman</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Easy</i>: Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Galt, <i>Annals of the Parish</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Susan Ferrier, <i>Marriage</i>: Routledge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Douglas Jerrold, <i>Mrs. Caudle's Curtain</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Lectures</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lord Lytton, <i>Last Days of Pompeii</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Carleton, <i>Stories</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles James Lever, <i>Harry Lorrequer</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Harrison Ainsworth, <i>The Tower of London</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Henry Borrow, <i>Bible in Spain,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Lavengro</i>: New Universal Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lord Beaconsfield, <i>Sybil, Coningsby</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Lane's New Pocket Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W.M. THACKERAY, <i>Vanity Fair, Esmond</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W.M. THACKERAY, <i>Barry Lyndon</i>, and</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Roundabout Papers</i>, etc.:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Nelson's New Century Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">CHARLES DICKENS, <i>Works</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (18 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">18</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Reade, <i>The Cloister and the Hearth</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Anthony Trollope, <i>Barchester Towers,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Framley Parsonage</i>: Lane's New</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Pocket Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Kingsley, <i>Westward Ho!</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Henry Kingsley, <i>Ravenshoe</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charlotte Brontë, <i>Jane Eyre, Shirley,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Villette, Professor, and Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics (4 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Emily Brontë, <i>Wuthering Heights</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Gaskell, <i>Cranford</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Gaskell, <i>Life of Charlotte Brontë</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Eliot, <i>Adam Bede, Silas Marner,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>The Mill on the Floss</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (3 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">G.J. Whyte-Melville, <i>The Gladiators</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Alexander Smith, <i>Dreamthorpe</i>: New</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Macdonald, <i>Malcolm</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Walter Pater, <i>Imaginary Portraits</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Wilkie Collins, <i>The Woman in White</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">R.D. 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Myers, <i>Wordsworth</i>: English</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Men of Letters Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£4</td> + <td align="center">10</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page121" id="page121"></a>[pg 121]</span> + <p>The following authors are omitted, I think justifiably:—Hallam, Whewell, + Grote, Faraday, Herschell, Hamilton, John Wilson, Richard Owen, Stirling Maxwell, + Buckle, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Hamerton, F.D. Maurice, Henry Sidgwick, and Richard + Jebb.</p> + <p>Lastly, here is the list of poets. In the matter of price per volume it is the + most expensive of all the lists. This is due to the fact that it contains a larger + proportion of copyright works. Where I do not specify the edition of a book, the + original copyright edition is meant:</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page122" id="page122"></a>[pgs 122-123]</span> + <h4>POETS.</h4> + <table summary="POETS." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Oxford Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, <i>Literary Criticism</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Nowell Smith's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Robert Southey, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Robert Southey, <i>Life of Nelson</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">S.T. COLERIDGE, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Newnes's Thin Paper Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">S.T. COLERIDGE, <i>Biographia Literaria</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">S.T. COLERIDGE, <i>Lectures on Shakspere</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">JOHN KEATS, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Oxford</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Oxford Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LORD BYRON, <i>Poems</i>: E. Hartley Coleridge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LORD BYRON, <i>Letters</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Hood, <i>Poems</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James and Horace Smith, <i>Rejected Addresses</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Keble, <i>The Christian Year</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Darley, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">T.L. Beddoes, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Moore, <i>Selected Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Clarence Mangan, <i>Poems</i>: D.J.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> O'Donoghue's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W. Mackworth Praed, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">R.S. Hawker, <i>Cornish Ballads</i>: C.E.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Byles's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">5</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Edward FitzGerald, <i>Omar Khayyam</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Golden Treasury Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">P.J. Bailey, <i>Festus</i>: Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Arthur Hugh Clough, <i>Poems</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LORD TENNYSON, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Globe</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ROBERT BROWNING, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Browning, <i>Aurora Leigh</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Temple Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Browning, <i>Shorter Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">P.B. Marston, <i>Song-tide</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Aubrey de Vere, <i>Legends of St. Patrick</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Cassell's National Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">MATTHEW ARNOLD, <i>Poems</i>: Golden Treasury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">MATTHEW ARNOLD, <i>Essays</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Coventry Patmore, <i>Poems</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sydney Dobell, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Eric Mackay, <i>Love-letters of a Violinist</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">T.E. Brown, <i>Poems</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">C.S. Calverley, <i>Verses and Translations</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">D.G. ROSSETTI, <i>Poetical Works</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Christina Rossetti, <i>Selected Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Golden Treasury Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Thomson, <i>City of Dreadful Night</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jean Ingelow, <i>Poems</i>: Red Letter Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Morris, <i>The Earthly Paradise</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Morris, <i>Early Romances</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Augusta Webster, <i>Selected Poems</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W.E. Henley, <i>Poetical Works</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Francis Thompson, <i>Selected Poems</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">5</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£5</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page124" id="page124"></a>[pg 124]</span> + <p>Poets whom I have omitted after hesitation are: Ebenezer Elliott, Thomas Woolner, + William Barnes, Gerald Massey, and Charles Jeremiah Wells. On the other hand, I have + had no hesitation about omitting David Moir, Felicia Hemans, Aytoun, Sir Edwin + Arnold, and Sir Lewis Morris. I have included John Keble in deference to much + enlightened opinion, but against my inclination. There are two names in the list + which may be somewhat unfamiliar to many readers. James Clarence Mangan is the author + of <i>My Dark Rosaleen</i>, an acknowledged <span class="pagenum"><a name="page125" + id="page125"></a>[pg 125]</span> masterpiece, which every library must contain. T.E. + Brown is a great poet, recognised as such by a few hundred people, and assuredly + destined to a far wider fame. I have included FitzGerald because <i>Omar Khayyam</i> + is much less a translation than an original work.</p> + <h4>SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</h4> + <table summary="SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left">83 prose-writers, in</td> + <td>141</td> + <td>volumes, costing</td> + <td align="right">£9</td> + <td align="right">10</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">38 poets</td> + <td>46</td> + <td align="center">" "</td> + <td align="right">5</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + <td align="right">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">___</td> + <td>___</td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="right">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">121</td> + <td>187</td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="right">£14</td> + <td align="right">17</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + </table> + <br /> + <br /> + + <h4>GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY.</h4> + <table summary="GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY." align="center"> + <tr> + <th align="left"> + </th> + <th align="center">Authors.</th> + <th align="center">Volumes.</th> + <th colspan="3">Price.</th> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">1. To Dryden</td> + <td align="center">48</td> + <td align="center">72</td> + <td align="right">£5</td> + <td align="right">9</td> + <td align="right">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">2. Eighteenth Century</td> + <td align="center">57</td> + <td align="center">78</td> + <td align="right">6</td> + <td align="right">8</td> + <td align="right">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">3. Nineteenth Century</td> + <td align="center">121</td> + <td align="center">187</td> + <td align="right">14</td> + <td align="right">17</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="left">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">226</td> + <td align="center">337</td> + <td align="right">£26</td> + <td align="right">14</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + </table> + <p>I think it will be agreed that the total cost of this library is surprisingly + small. By laying out the sum of sixpence a day for three years you may become the + possessor of a collection of books which, for range and completeness in all branches + of literature, will bear comparison with <span class="pagenum"><a name="page126" + id="page126"></a>[pg 126]</span> libraries far more imposing, more numerous, and more + expensive.</p> + <p>I have mentioned the question of discount. The discount which you will obtain + (even from a bookseller in a small town) will be more than sufficient to pay for + Chambers's <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>, three volumes, price 30s. + net. This work is indispensable to a bookman. Personally, I owe it much.</p> + <p>When you have read, wholly or in part, a majority of these three hundred and + thirty-five volumes, <i>with enjoyment</i>, you may begin to whisper to yourself that + your literary taste is formed; and you may pronounce judgment on modern works which + come before the bar of your opinion in the calm assurance that, though to err is + human, you do at any rate know what you are talking about.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>[pg 127]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + <h2>MENTAL STOCKTAKING</h2> + <p>Great books do not spring from something accidental in the great men who wrote + them. They are the effluence of their very core, the expression of the life itself of + the authors. And literature cannot be said to have served its true purpose until it + has been translated into the actual life of him who reads. It does not succeed until + it becomes the vehicle of the vital. Progress is the gradual result of the unending + battle between human reason and human instinct, in which the former slowly but surely + wins. The most powerful engine in this battle is literature. It is the vast reservoir + of true ideas and high emotions—and life is constituted of ideas and emotions. + In a world deprived of literature, the intellectual and emotional <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>[pg 128]</span> activity of all + but a few exceptionally gifted men would quickly sink and retract to a narrow circle. + The broad, the noble, the generous would tend to disappear for want of accessible + storage. And life would be correspondingly degraded, because the fallacious idea and + the petty emotion would never feel the upward pull of the ideas and emotions of + genius. Only by conceiving a society without literature can it be clearly realised + that the function of literature is to raise the plain towards the top level of the + peaks. Literature exists so that where one man has lived finely ten thousand may + afterwards live finely. It is a means of life; it concerns the living essence.</p> + <p>Of course, literature has a minor function, that of passing the time in an + agreeable and harmless fashion, by giving momentary faint pleasure. Vast multitudes + of people (among whom may be numbered not a few habitual readers) utilise only this + minor function of literature; by implication they class it with golf, bridge, or + soporifics. Literary genius, however, had no intention of <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page129" id="page129"></a>[pg 129]</span> competing with these devices for + fleeting the empty hours; and all such use of literature may be left out of + account.</p> + <p>You, O serious student of many volumes, believe that you have a sincere passion + for reading. You hold literature in honour, and your last wish would be to debase it + to a paltry end. You are not of those who read because the clock has just struck nine + and one can't go to bed till eleven. You are animated by a real desire to get out of + literature all that literature will give. And in that aim you keep on reading, year + after year, and the grey hairs come. But amid all this steady tapping of the + reservoir, do you ever take stock of what you have acquired? Do you ever pause to + make a valuation, in terms of your own life, of that which you are daily absorbing, + or imagine you are absorbing? Do you ever satisfy yourself by proof that you are + absorbing anything at all, that the living waters, instead of vitalising you, are not + running off you as though you were a duck in a storm? Because, if you omit this mere + business <span class="pagenum"><a name="page130" id="page130"></a>[pg 130]</span> + precaution, it may well be that you, too, without knowing it, are little by little + joining the triflers who read only because eternity is so long. It may well be that + even your alleged sacred passion is, after all, simply a sort of drug-habit. The + suggestion disturbs and worries you. You dismiss it impatiently; but it returns.</p> + <p>How (you ask, unwillingly) can a man perform a mental stocktaking? How can he put + a value on what he gets from books? How can he effectively test, in cold blood, + whether he is receiving from literature all that literature has to give him?</p> + <p>The test is not so vague, nor so difficult, as might appear.</p> + <p>If a man is not thrilled by intimate contact with nature: with the sun, with the + earth, which is his origin and the arouser of his acutest emotions—</p> + <p>If he is not troubled by the sight of beauty in many forms—</p> + <p>If he is devoid of curiosity concerning his fellow-men and his + fellow-animals—</p> + <p>If he does not have glimpses of the nuity of all things in an orderly + progress—</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page131" id="page131"></a>[pg 131]</span> + <p>If he is chronically "querulous, dejected, and envious"—</p> + <p>If he is pessimistic—</p> + <p>If he is of those who talk about "this age of shams," "this age without ideals," + "this hysterical age," and this heaven-knows-what-age—</p> + <p>Then that man, though he reads undisputed classics for twenty hours a day, though + he has a memory of steel, though he rivals Porson in scholarship and Sainte Beuve in + judgment, is not receiving from literature what literature has to give. Indeed, he is + chiefly wasting his time. Unless he can read differently, it were better for him if + he sold all his books, gave to the poor, and played croquet. He fails because he has + not assimilated into his existence the vital essences which genius put into the books + that have merely passed before his eyes; because genius has offered him faith, + courage, vision, noble passion, curiosity, love, a thirst for beauty, and he has not + taken the gift; because genius has offered him the chance of living fully, and he is + only half alive, for it is only in the stress of fine ideas and emotions that a man + may <span class="pagenum"><a name="page132" id="page132"></a>[pg 132]</span> be truly + said to live. This is not a moral invention, but a simple fact, which will be + attested by all who know what that stress is.</p> + <p>What! You talk learnedly about Shakespeare's sonnets! Have you heard Shakespeare's + terrific shout:</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Full many a glorious morning have I seen</p> + <p class="i2">Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,</p> + <p>Kissing with golden face the meadows green,</p> + <p class="i2">Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.</p> + </div> + </div> + <p>And yet, can you see the sun over the viaduct at Loughborough Junction of a + morning, and catch its rays in the Thames off Dewar's whisky monument, and not shake + with the joy of life? If so, you and Shakespeare are not yet in communication. What! + You pride yourself on your beautiful edition of Casaubon's translation of <i>Marcus + Aurelius</i>, and you savour the cadences of the famous:</p> + <blockquote> + <p>This day I shall have to do with an idle, curious man, with an unthankful man, a + railer, a crafty, false, or an envious man. All these ill qualities have happened + unto him, through ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I that + understand <span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>[pg 133]</span> + the nature of that which is good, that it only is to be desired, and of that which + is bad, that it only is truly odious and shameful: who know, moreover, that this + transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same blood and seed, but + by participation of the same reason and of the same divine particle—how can I + be hurt?...</p> + </blockquote> + <p>And with these cadences in your ears you go and quarrel with a cabman!</p> + <p>You would be ashamed of your literary self to be caught in ignorance of Whitman, + who wrote:</p> + <blockquote> + <p>Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from + any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a + greater struggle necessary.</p> + </blockquote> + <p>And yet, having achieved a motor-car, you lose your temper when it breaks down + half-way up a hill!</p> + <p>You know your Wordsworth, who has been trying to teach you about:</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="i4">The Upholder of the tranquil soul</p> + <p>That tolerates the indignities of Time</p> + <p>And, from the centre of Eternity</p> + <p>All finite motions over-ruling, lives</p> + <p>In glory immutable.</p> + </div> + </div> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>[pg 134]</span> But you are + capable of being seriously unhappy when your suburban train selects a tunnel for its + repose!<br /> + <br /> + + <p>And the A.V. of the Bible, which you now read, not as your forefathers read it, + but with an æsthetic delight, especially in the Apocrypha! You remember:</p> + <blockquote> + <p>Whatsoever is brought upon thee, take cheerfully, and be patient when thou art + changed to a low estate. For gold is tried in the fire and acceptable men in the + furnace of adversity.</p> + </blockquote> + <p>And yet you are ready to lie down and die because a woman has scorned you! Go + to!</p> + <p>You think some of my instances approach the ludicrous? They do. They are meant to + do so. But they are no more ludicrous than life itself. And they illustrate in the + most workaday fashion how you can test whether your literature fulfils its function + of informing and transforming your existence.</p> + <p>I say that if daily events and scenes do not constantly recall and utilise the + ideas and emotions contained in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" + id="page135"></a>[pg 135]</span> books which you have read or are reading; if the + memory of these books does not quicken the perception of beauty, wherever you happen + to be, does not help you to correlate the particular trifle with the universal, does + not smooth out irritation and give dignity to sorrow—then you are, consciously + or not, unworthy of your high vocation as a bookman. You may say that I am preaching + a sermon. The fact is, I am. My mood is a severely moral mood. For when I reflect + upon the difference between what books have to offer and what even relatively earnest + readers take the trouble to accept from them, I am appalled (or should be appalled, + did I not know that the world is moving) by the sheer inefficiency, the bland, + complacent failure of the earnest reader. I am like yourself, the spectacle of + inefficiency rouses my holy ire.</p> + <p>Before you begin upon another masterpiece, set out in a row the masterpieces which + you are proud of having read during the past year. Take the first on the list, that + book which you perused <span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>[pg + 136]</span> in all the zeal of your New Year resolutions for systematic study. + Examine the compartments of your mind. Search for the ideas and emotions which you + have garnered from that book. Think, and recollect when last something from that book + recurred to your memory apropos of your own daily commerce with humanity. Is it + history—when did it throw a light for you on modern politics? Is it + science—when did it show you order in apparent disorder, and help you to put + two and two together into an inseparable four? Is it ethics—when did it + influence your conduct in a twopenny-halfpenny affair between man and man? Is it a + novel—when did it help you to "understand all and forgive all"? Is it + poetry—when was it a magnifying glass to disclose beauty to you, or a fire to + warm your cooling faith? If you can answer these questions satisfactorily, your + stocktaking as regards the fruit of your traffic with that book may be reckoned + satisfactory. If you cannot answer them satisfactorily, then either you chose the + book badly or your impression that you <i>read</i> it is a mistaken one.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>[pg 137]</span> + <p>When the result of this stocktaking forces you to the conclusion that your riches + are not so vast as you thought them to be, it is necessary to look about for the + causes of the misfortune. The causes may be several. You may have been reading + worthless books. This, however, I should say at once, is extremely unlikely. Habitual + and confirmed readers, unless they happen to be reviewers, seldom read worthless + books. In the first place, they are so busy with books of proved value that they have + only a small margin of leisure left for very modern works, and generally, before they + can catch up with the age, Time or the critic has definitely threshed for them the + wheat from the chaff. No! Mediocrity has not much chance of hood-winking the serious + student.</p> + <p>It is less improbable that the serious student has been choosing his books badly. + He may do this in two ways—absolutely and relatively. Every reader of long + standing has been through the singular experience of suddenly <i>seeing</i> a book + with which his eyes have been <span class="pagenum"><a name="page138" + id="page138"></a>[pg 138]</span> familiar for years. He reads a book with a + reputation and thinks: "Yes, this is a good book. This book gives me pleasure." And + then after an interval, perhaps after half a lifetime, something mysterious happens + to his mental sight. He picks up the book again, and sees a new and profound + significance in every sentence, and he says: "I was perfectly blind to this book + before." Yet he is no cleverer than he used to be. Only something has happened to + him. Let a gold watch be discovered by a supposititious man who has never heard of + watches. He has a sense of beauty. He admires the watch, and takes pleasure in it. He + says: "This is a beautiful piece of bric-à-brac; I fully appreciate this + delightful trinket." Then imagine his feelings when someone comes along with the key; + imagine the light flooding his brain. Similar incidents occur in the eventful life of + the constant reader. He has no key, and never suspects that there exists such a thing + as a key. That is what I call a choice absolutely bad.</p> + <p>The choice is relatively bad when, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" + id="page139"></a>[pg 139]</span> spreading over a number of books, it pursues no + order, and thus results in a muddle of faint impressions each blurring the rest. + Books must be allowed to help one another; they must be skilfully called in to each + other's aid. And that this may be accomplished some guiding principle is necessary. + "And what," you demand, "should that guiding principle be?" How do I know? Nobody, + fortunately, can make your principles for you. You have to make them for yourself. + But I will venture upon this general observation: that in the mental world what + counts is not numbers but co-ordination. As regards facts and ideas, the great + mistake made by the average well-intentioned reader is that he is content with the + names of things instead of occupying himself with the causes of things. He seeks + answers to the question What? instead of to the question Why? He studies history, and + never guesses that all history is caused by the facts of geography. He is a botanical + expert, and can take you to where the <i>Sibthorpia europæa</i> grows, and + never troubles to wonder what the earth would be without <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page140" id="page140"></a>[pg 140]</span> its cloak of plants. He wanders forth + of starlit evenings and will name you with unction all the constellations from + Andromeda to the Scorpion; but if you ask him why Venus can never be seen at + midnight, he will tell you that he has not bothered with the scientific details. He + has not learned that names are nothing, and the satisfaction of the lust of the eye a + trifle compared to the imaginative vision of which scientific "details" are the + indispensable basis.</p> + <p>Most reading, I am convinced, is unphilosophical; that is to say, it lacks the + element which more than anything else quickens the poetry of life. Unless and until a + man has formed a scheme of knowledge, be it a mere skeleton, his reading must + necessarily be unphilosophical. He must have attained to some notion of the + inter-relations of the various branches of knowledge before he can properly + comprehend the branch in which he specialises. If he has not drawn an outline map + upon which he can fill in whatever knowledge comes to him, as it comes, and on which + he can trace the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>[pg + 141]</span> affinity of every part with every other part, he is assuredly frittering + away a large percentage of his efforts. There are certain philosophical works which, + once they are mastered, seem to have performed an operation for cataract, so that he + who was blind, having read them, henceforward sees cause and effect working in and + out everywhere. To use another figure, they leave stamped on the brain a chart of the + entire province of knowledge.</p> + <p>Such a work is Spencer's <i>First Principles</i>. I know that it is nearly useless + to advise people to read <i>First Principles</i>. They are intimidated by the sound + of it; and it costs as much as a dress-circle seat at the theatre. But if they would, + what brilliant stocktakings there might be in a few years! Why, if they would only + read such detached essays as that on "Manners and Fashion," or "The Genesis of + Science" (in a sixpenny volume of Spencer's <i>Essays</i>, published by Watts and + Co.), the magic illumination, the necessary power of "synthetising" things, might be + vouch-safed to them. In any case, the lack <span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" + id="page142"></a>[pg 142]</span> of some such disciplinary, co-ordinating measure + will amply explain many disastrous stocktakings. The manner in which one single ray + of light, one single precious hint, will clarify and energise the whole mental life + of him who receives it, is among the most wonderful and heavenly of intellectual + phenomena. Some men search for that light and never find it. But most men never + search for it.</p> + <p>The superlative cause of disastrous stocktakings remains, and it is much more + simple than the one with which I have just dealt. It consists in the absence of + meditation. People read, and read, and read, blandly unconscious of their effrontery + in assuming that they can assimilate without any further effort the vital essence + which the author has breathed into them. They cannot. And the proof that they do not + is shown all the time in their lives. I say that if a man does not spend at least as + much time in actively and definitely thinking about what he has read as he has spent + in reading, he is simply insulting his author. If he does not submit himself <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id="page143"></a>[pg 143]</span> to intellectual + and emotional fatigue in classifying the communicated ideas, and in emphasising on + his spirit the imprint of the communicated emotions—then reading with him is a + pleasant pastime and nothing else. This is a distressing fact. But it is a fact. It + is distressing, for the reason that meditation is not a popular exercise. If a friend + asks you what you did last night, you may answer, "I was reading," and he will be + impressed and you will be proud. But if you answer, "I was meditating," he will have + a tendency to smile and you will have a tendency to blush. I know this. I feel it + myself. (I cannot offer any explanation.) But it does not shake my conviction that + the absence of meditation is the main origin of disappointing stocktakings.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pageii" id="pageii"></a>[pg ii]</span> + <h2>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h2> + <h3>NOVELS</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A MAN FROM THE NORTH</p> + <p>ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + <p>LEONORA</p> + <p>A GREAT MAN</p> + <p>SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE</p> + <p>WHOM GOD HATH JOINED</p> + <p>BURIED ALIVE</p> + <p>THE OLD WIVES' TALE</p> + <p>THE GLIMPSE</p> + <p>HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND</p> + <p>CLAYHANGER</p> + <p>THE CARD</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>FANTASIAS</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL</p> + <p>THE GATES OF WRATH</p> + <p>TERESA OF WATLING STREET</p> + <p>THE LOOT OF CITIES</p> + <p>HUGO</p> + <p>THE GHOST</p> + <p>THE CITY OF PLEASURE</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>SHORT STORIES</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + <p>THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>BELLES-LETTRES</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN</p> + <p>FAME AND FICTION</p> + <p>HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR</p> + <p>THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR</p> + <p>THE REASONABLE LIFE</p> + <p>HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY</p> + <p>THE HUMAN MACHINE</p> + <p>LITERARY TASTE</p> + <p>MENTAL EFFICIENCY</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>DRAMA</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>POLITE FARCES</p> + <p>CUPID AND COMMONSENSE</p> + <p>WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + <h3>(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS)</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE</p> + <p>THE STATUE: A ROMANCE</p> + </div> + </div> +<br /> +<br /> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13852 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dabc70c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13852 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13852) diff --git a/old/13852-8.txt b/old/13852-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09586d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13852-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3445 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Literary Taste: How to Form It, by Arnold +Bennett + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Literary Taste: How to Form It + +Author: Arnold Bennett + +Release Date: October 25, 2004 [eBook #13852] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Alison Hadwin, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT + +With Detailed Instructions for Collecting a Complete Library of +English Literature + +by + +ARNOLD BENNETT + +1913 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I + THE AIM + + CHAPTER II + YOUR PARTICULAR CASE + + CHAPTER III + WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC + + CHAPTER IV + WHERE TO BEGIN + + CHAPTER V + HOW TO READ A CLASSIC + + CHAPTER VI + THE QUESTION OF STYLE + + CHAPTER VII + WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR + + CHAPTER VIII + SYSTEM IN READING + + CHAPTER IX + VERSE + + CHAPTER X + BROAD COUNSELS + + CHAPTER XI + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I + + CHAPTER XII + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II + + CHAPTER XIII + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III + + CHAPTER XIV + MENTAL STOCKTAKING + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE AIM + + +At the beginning a misconception must be removed from the path. +Many people, if not most, look on literary taste as an elegant +accomplishment, by acquiring which they will complete themselves, and +make themselves finally fit as members of a correct society. They are +secretly ashamed of their ignorance of literature, in the same way +as they would be ashamed of their ignorance of etiquette at a high +entertainment, or of their inability to ride a horse if suddenly +called upon to do so. There are certain things that a man ought to +know, or to know about, and literature is one of them: such is their +idea. They have learnt to dress themselves with propriety, and to +behave with propriety on all occasions; they are fairly "up" in the +questions of the day; by industry and enterprise they are succeeding +in their vocations; it behoves them, then, not to forget that +an acquaintance with literature is an indispensable part of a +self-respecting man's personal baggage. Painting doesn't matter; music +doesn't matter very much. But "everyone is supposed to know" about +literature. Then, literature is such a charming distraction! Literary +taste thus serves two purposes: as a certificate of correct culture +and as a private pastime. A young professor of mathematics, immense +at mathematics and games, dangerous at chess, capable of Haydn on the +violin, once said to me, after listening to some chat on books, "Yes, +I must take up literature." As though saying: "I was rather forgetting +literature. However, I've polished off all these other things. I'll +have a shy at literature now." + +This attitude, or any attitude which resembles it, is wrong. To him +who really comprehends what literature is, and what the function of +literature is, this attitude is simply ludicrous. It is also fatal +to the formation of literary taste. People who regard literary taste +simply as an accomplishment, and literature simply as a distraction, +will never truly succeed either in acquiring the accomplishment or in +using it half-acquired as a distraction; though the one is the most +perfect of distractions, and though the other is unsurpassed by any +other accomplishment in elegance or in power to impress the universal +snobbery of civilised mankind. Literature, instead of being an +accessory, is the fundamental _sine qua non_ of complete living. I am +extremely anxious to avoid rhetorical exaggerations. I do not think I +am guilty of one in asserting that he who has not been "presented +to the freedom" of literature has not wakened up out of his prenatal +sleep. He is merely not born. He can't see; he can't hear; he can't +feel, in any full sense. He can only eat his dinner. What more than +anything else annoys people who know the true function of literature, +and have profited thereby, is the spectacle of so many thousands of +individuals going about under the delusion that they are alive, when, +as a fact, they are no nearer being alive than a bear in winter. + +I will tell you what literature is! No--I only wish I could. But I +can't. No one can. Gleams can be thrown on the secret, inklings given, +but no more. I will try to give you an inkling. And, to do so, I will +take you back into your own history, or forward into it. That evening +when you went for a walk with your faithful friend, the friend from +whom you hid nothing--or almost nothing ...! You were, in truth, +somewhat inclined to hide from him the particular matter which +monopolised your mind that evening, but somehow you contrived to get +on to it, drawn by an overpowering fascination. And as your faithful +friend was sympathetic and discreet, and flattered you by a respectful +curiosity, you proceeded further and further into the said matter, +growing more and more confidential, until at last you cried out, in a +terrific whisper: "My boy, she is simply miraculous!" At that moment +you were in the domain of literature. + +Let me explain. Of course, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, +she was not miraculous. Your faithful friend had never noticed that +she was miraculous, nor had about forty thousand other fairly keen +observers. She was just a girl. Troy had not been burnt for her. A +girl cannot be called a miracle. If a girl is to be called a miracle, +then you might call pretty nearly anything a miracle.... That is +just it: you might. You can. You ought. Amid all the miracles of +the universe you had just wakened up to one. You were full of your +discovery. You were under a divine impulsion to impart that discovery. +You had a strong sense of the marvellous beauty of something, and you +had to share it. You were in a passion about something, and you had +to vent yourself on somebody. You were drawn towards the whole of the +rest of the human race. Mark the effect of your mood and utterance +on your faithful friend. He knew that she was not a miracle. No other +person could have made him believe that she was a miracle. But you, by +the force and sincerity of your own vision of her, and by the fervour +of your desire to make him participate in your vision, did for quite +a long time cause him to feel that he had been blind to the miracle of +that girl. + +You were producing literature. You were alive. Your eyes were +unlidded, your ears were unstopped, to some part of the beauty and the +strangeness of the world; and a strong instinct within you forced you +to tell someone. It was not enough for you that you saw and heard. +Others had to see and hear. Others had to be wakened up. And they +were! It is quite possible--I am not quite sure--that your faithful +friend the very next day, or the next month, looked at some other +girl, and suddenly saw that she, too, was miraculous! The influence of +literature! + +The makers of literature are those who have seen and felt the +miraculous interestingness of the universe. And the greatest makers +of literature are those whose vision has been the widest, and whose +feeling has been the most intense. Your own fragment of insight was +accidental, and perhaps temporary. _Their_ lives are one long ecstasy +of denying that the world is a dull place. Is it nothing to you to +learn to understand that the world is not a dull place? Is it nothing +to you to be led out of the tunnel on to the hillside, to have all +your senses quickened, to be invigorated by the true savour of life, +to feel your heart beating under that correct necktie of yours? These +makers of literature render you their equals. + +The aim of literary study is not to amuse the hours of leisure; it is +to awake oneself, it is to be alive, to intensify one's capacity for +pleasure, for sympathy, and for comprehension. It is not to affect one +hour, but twenty-four hours. It is to change utterly one's relations +with the world. An understanding appreciation of literature means an +understanding appreciation of the world, and it means nothing else. +Not isolated and unconnected parts of life, but all of life, brought +together and correlated in a synthetic map! The spirit of literature +is unifying; it joins the candle and the star, and by the magic of an +image shows that the beauty of the greater is in the less. And, not +content with the disclosure of beauty and the bringing together of all +things whatever within its focus, it enforces a moral wisdom by the +tracing everywhere of cause and effect. It consoles doubly--by the +revelation of unsuspected loveliness, and by the proof that our lot +is the common lot. It is the supreme cry of the discoverer, offering +sympathy and asking for it in a single gesture. In attending a +University Extension Lecture on the sources of Shakespeare's plots, +or in studying the researches of George Saintsbury into the origins +of English prosody, or in weighing the evidence for and against the +assertion that Rousseau was a scoundrel, one is apt to forget what +literature really is and is for. It is well to remind ourselves that +literature is first and last a means of life, and that the enterprise +of forming one's literary taste is an enterprise of learning how best +to use this means of life. People who don't want to live, people who +would sooner hibernate than feel intensely, will be wise to eschew +literature. They had better, to quote from the finest passage in a +fine poem, "sit around and eat blackberries." The sight of a "common +bush afire with God" might upset their nerves. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +YOUR PARTICULAR CASE + + +The attitude of the average decent person towards the classics of his +own tongue is one of distrust--I had almost said, of fear. I will not +take the case of Shakespeare, for Shakespeare is "taught" in schools; +that is to say, the Board of Education and all authorities pedagogic +bind themselves together in a determined effort to make every boy in +the land a lifelong enemy of Shakespeare. (It is a mercy they don't +"teach" Blake.) I will take, for an example, Sir Thomas Browne, as +to whom the average person has no offensive juvenile memories. He is +bound to have read somewhere that the style of Sir Thomas Browne is +unsurpassed by anything in English literature. One day he sees the +_Religio Medici_ in a shop-window (or, rather, outside a shop-window, +for he would hesitate about entering a bookshop), and he buys it, by +way of a mild experiment. He does not expect to be enchanted by it; +a profound instinct tells him that Sir Thomas Browne is "not in his +line"; and in the result he is even less enchanted than he expected to +be. He reads the introduction, and he glances at the first page or two +of the work. He sees nothing but words. The work makes no appeal +to him whatever. He is surrounded by trees, and cannot perceive the +forest. He puts the book away. If Sir Thomas Browne is mentioned, he +will say, "Yes, very fine!" with a feeling of pride that he has at any +rate bought and inspected Sir Thomas Browne. Deep in his heart is a +suspicion that people who get enthusiastic about Sir Thomas Browne +are vain and conceited _poseurs_. After a year or so, when he has +recovered from the discouragement caused by Sir Thomas Browne, he may, +if he is young and hopeful, repeat the experiment with Congreve +or Addison. Same sequel! And so on for perhaps a decade, until his +commerce with the classics finally expires! That, magazines and newish +fiction apart, is the literary history of the average decent person. + +And even your case, though you are genuinely preoccupied with thoughts +of literature, bears certain disturbing resemblances to the drab +case of the average person. You do not approach the classics with +gusto--anyhow, not with the same gusto as you would approach a new +novel by a modern author who had taken your fancy. You never murmured +to yourself, when reading Gibbon's _Decline and Fall_ in bed: "Well, +I really must read one more chapter before I go to sleep!" Speaking +generally, the classics do not afford you a pleasure commensurate with +their renown. You peruse them with a sense of duty, a sense of doing +the right thing, a sense of "improving yourself," rather than with a +sense of gladness. You do not smack your lips; you say: "That is +good for me." You make little plans for reading, and then you invent +excuses for breaking the plans. Something new, something which is not +a classic, will surely draw you away from a classic. It is all very +well for you to pretend to agree with the verdict of the elect that +_Clarissa Harlowe_ is one of the greatest novels in the world--a new +Kipling, or even a new number of a magazine, will cause you to neglect +_Clarissa Harlowe_, just as though Kipling, etc., could not be kept +for a few days without turning sour! So that you have to ordain rules +for yourself, as: "I will not read anything else until I have read +Richardson, or Gibbon, for an hour each day." Thus proving that you +regard a classic as a pill, the swallowing of which merits jam! And +the more modern a classic is, the more it resembles the stuff of the +year and the less it resembles the classics of the centuries, the more +easy and enticing do you find that classic. Hence you are glad that +George Eliot, the Brontës, Thackeray, are considered as classics, +because you really _do_ enjoy them. Your sentiments concerning them +approach your sentiments concerning a "rattling good story" in a +magazine. + +I may have exaggerated--or, on the other hand, I may have +understated--the unsatisfactory characteristics of your particular +case, but it is probable that in the mirror I hold up you recognise +the rough outlines of your likeness. You do not care to admit it; but +it is so. You are not content with yourself. The desire to be more +truly literary persists in you. You feel that there is something wrong +in you, but you cannot put your finger on the spot. Further, you feel +that you are a bit of a sham. Something within you continually +forces you to exhibit for the classics an enthusiasm which you do +not sincerely feel. You even try to persuade yourself that you are +enjoying a book, when the next moment you drop it in the middle and +forget to resume it. You occasionally buy classical works, and do not +read them at all; you practically decide that it is enough to possess +them, and that the mere possession of them gives you a _cachet_. The +truth is, you are a sham. And your soul is a sea of uneasy remorse. +You reflect: "According to what Matthew Arnold says, I ought to be +perfectly mad about Wordsworth's _Prelude_. And I am not. Why am I +not? Have I got to be learned, to undertake a vast course of study, in +order to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's _Prelude_? Or am I born +without the faculty of pure taste in literature, despite my vague +longings? I do wish I could smack my lips over Wordsworth's _Prelude_ +as I did over that splendid story by H.G. Wells, _The Country of the +Blind_, in the _Strand Magazine_!".... Yes, I am convinced that in +your dissatisfied, your diviner moments, you address yourself in these +terms. I am convinced that I have diagnosed your symptoms. + +Now the enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an agreeable +one; if it is not agreeable it cannot succeed. But this does not imply +that it is an easy or a brief one. The enterprise of beating Colonel +Bogey at golf is an agreeable one, but it means honest and regular +work. A fact to be borne in mind always! You are certainly not +going to realise your ambition--and so great, so influential an +ambition!--by spasmodic and half-hearted effort. You must begin by +making up your mind adequately. You must rise to the height of the +affair. You must approach a grand undertaking in the grand manner. You +ought to mark the day in the calendar as a solemnity. Human nature is +weak, and has need of tricky aids, even in the pursuit of happiness. +Time will be necessary to you, and time regularly and sacredly set +apart. Many people affirm that they cannot be regular, that regularity +numbs them. I think this is true of a very few people, and that in +the rest the objection to regularity is merely an attempt to excuse +idleness. I am inclined to think that you personally are capable of +regularity. And I am sure that if you firmly and constantly devote +certain specific hours on certain specific days of the week to this +business of forming your literary taste, you will arrive at the goal +much sooner. The simple act of resolution will help you. This is the +first preliminary. + +The second preliminary is to surround yourself with books, to create +for yourself a bookish atmosphere. The merely physical side of books +is important--more important than it may seem to the inexperienced. +Theoretically (save for works of reference), a student has need for +but one book at a time. Theoretically, an amateur of literature might +develop his taste by expending sixpence a week, or a penny a day, in +one sixpenny edition of a classic after another sixpenny edition of a +classic, and he might store his library in a hat-box or a biscuit-tin. +But in practice he would have to be a monster of resolution to succeed +in such conditions. The eye must be flattered; the hand must be +flattered; the sense of owning must be flattered. Sacrifices must +be made for the acquisition of literature. That which has cost a +sacrifice is always endeared. A detailed scheme of buying books +will come later, in the light of further knowledge. For the present, +buy--buy whatever has received the _imprimatur_ of critical authority. +Buy without any immediate reference to what you will read. Buy! +Surround yourself with volumes, as handsome as you can afford. And +for reading, all that I will now particularly enjoin is a general and +inclusive tasting, in order to attain a sort of familiarity with the +look of "literature in all its branches." A turning over of the pages +of a volume of Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_, the +third for preference, may be suggested as an admirable and a diverting +exercise. You might mark the authors that flash an appeal to you. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC + + +The large majority of our fellow-citizens care as much about +literature as they care about aeroplanes or the programme of the +Legislature. They do not ignore it; they are not quite indifferent to +it. But their interest in it is faint and perfunctory; or, if their +interest happens to be violent, it is spasmodic. Ask the two hundred +thousand persons whose enthusiasm made the vogue of a popular novel +ten years ago what they think of that novel now, and you will gather +that they have utterly forgotten it, and that they would no more dream +of reading it again than of reading Bishop Stubbs's _Select Charters_. +Probably if they did read it again they would not enjoy it--not +because the said novel is a whit worse now than it was ten years ago; +not because their taste has improved--but because they have not had +sufficient practice to be able to rely on their taste as a means of +permanent pleasure. They simply don't know from one day to the next +what will please them. + +In the face of this one may ask: Why does the great and universal +fame of classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of +classical authors is entirely independent of the majority. Do you +suppose that if the fame of Shakespeare depended on the man in the +street it would survive a fortnight? The fame of classical authors is +originally made, and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when +a first-class author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, +the majority have never appreciated him so sincerely as they have +appreciated second-rate men. He has always been reinforced by the +ardour of the passionate few. And in the case of an author who has +emerged into glory after his death the happy sequel has been due +solely to the obstinate perseverance of the few. They could not leave +him alone; they would not. They kept on savouring him, and talking +about him, and buying him, and they generally behaved with such eager +zeal, and they were so authoritative and sure of themselves, that +at last the majority grew accustomed to the sound of his name and +placidly agreed to the proposition that he was a genius; the majority +really did not care very much either way. + +And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius is kept +alive from one generation to another. These few are always at work. +They are always rediscovering genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm +are exhaustless, so that there is little chance of genius being +ignored. And, moreover, they are always working either for or against +the verdicts of the majority. The majority can make a reputation, but +it is too careless to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few +agree with the majority in a particular instance, they will frequently +remind the majority that such and such a reputation has been made, +and the majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By the way, we must +not forget that such and such a reputation exists." Without that +persistent memory-jogging the reputation would quickly fall into the +oblivion which is death. The passionate few only have their way by +reason of the fact that they are genuinely interested in literature, +that literature matters to them. They conquer by their obstinacy +alone, by their eternal repetition of the same statements. Do you +suppose they could prove to the man in the street that Shakespeare was +a great artist? The said man would not even understand the terms they +employed. But when he is told ten thousand times, and generation +after generation, that Shakespeare was a great artist, the said +man believes--not by reason, but by faith. And he too repeats that +Shakespeare was a great artist, and he buys the complete works of +Shakespeare and puts them on his shelves, and he goes to see the +marvellous stage-effects which accompany _King Lear_ or _Hamlet_, and +comes back religiously convinced that Shakespeare was a great artist. +All because the passionate few could not keep their admiration of +Shakespeare to themselves. This is not cynicism; but truth. And it +is important that those who wish to form their literary taste should +grasp it. + +What causes the passionate few to make such a fuss about literature? +There can be only one reply. They find a keen and lasting pleasure +in literature. They enjoy literature as some men enjoy beer. The +recurrence of this pleasure naturally keeps their interest in +literature very much alive. They are for ever making new researches, +for ever practising on themselves. They learn to understand +themselves. They learn to know what they want. Their taste becomes +surer and surer as their experience lengthens. They do not enjoy +to-day what will seem tedious to them to-morrow. When they find a book +tedious, no amount of popular clatter will persuade them that it is +pleasurable; and when they find it pleasurable no chill silence of the +street-crowds will affect their conviction that the book is good and +permanent. They have faith in themselves. What are the qualities in a +book which give keen and lasting pleasure to the passionate few? +This is a question so difficult that it has never yet been completely +answered. You may talk lightly about truth, insight, knowledge, +wisdom, humour, and beauty. But these comfortable words do not really +carry you very far, for each of them has to be defined, especially the +first and last. It is all very well for Keats in his airy manner to +assert that beauty is truth, truth beauty, and that that is all he +knows or needs to know. I, for one, need to know a lot more. And I +never shall know. Nobody, not even Hazlitt nor Sainte-Beuve, has ever +finally explained why he thought a book beautiful. I take the first +fine lines that come to hand-- + + The woods of Arcady are dead, + And over is their antique joy-- + +and I say that those lines are beautiful, because they give me +pleasure. But why? No answer! I only know that the passionate few +will, broadly, agree with me in deriving this mysterious pleasure from +those lines. I am only convinced that the liveliness of our pleasure +in those and many other lines by the same author will ultimately cause +the majority to believe, by faith, that W.B. Yeats is a genius. The +one reassuring aspect of the literary affair is that the passionate +few are passionate about the same things. A continuance of interest +does, in actual practice, lead ultimately to the same judgments. There +is only the difference in width of interest. Some of the passionate +few lack catholicity, or, rather, the whole of their interest is +confined to one narrow channel; they have none left over. These men +help specially to vitalise the reputations of the narrower geniuses: +such as Crashaw. But their active predilections never contradict the +general verdict of the passionate few; rather they reinforce it. + +A classic is a work which gives pleasure to the minority which is +intensely and permanently interested in literature. It lives on +because the minority, eager to renew the sensation of pleasure, is +eternally curious and is therefore engaged in an eternal process of +rediscovery. A classic does not survive for any ethical reason. It +does not survive because it conforms to certain canons, or because +neglect would not kill it. It survives because it is a source of +pleasure, and because the passionate few can no more neglect it than +a bee can neglect a flower. The passionate few do not read "the right +things" because they are right. That is to put the cart before the +horse. "The right things" are the right things solely because the +passionate few _like_ reading them. Hence--and I now arrive at my +point--the one primary essential to literary taste is a hot interest +in literature. If you have that, all the rest will come. It matters +nothing that at present you fail to find pleasure in certain classics. +The driving impulse of your interest will force you to acquire +experience, and experience will teach you the use of the means of +pleasure. You do not know the secret ways of yourself: that is all. A +continuance of interest must inevitably bring you to the keenest +joys. But, of course, experience may be acquired judiciously or +injudiciously, just as Putney may be reached _via_ Walham Green or +_via_ St. Petersburg. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +WHERE TO BEGIN + + +I wish particularly that my readers should not be intimidated by the +apparent vastness and complexity of this enterprise of forming the +literary taste. It is not so vast nor so complex as it looks. There +is no need whatever for the inexperienced enthusiast to confuse and +frighten himself with thoughts of "literature in all its branches." +Experts and pedagogues (chiefly pedagogues) have, for the purpose of +convenience, split literature up into divisions and sub-divisions--such +as prose and poetry; or imaginative, philosophic, historical; or +elegiac, heroic, lyric; or religious and profane, etc., _ad infinitum_. +But the greater truth is that literature is all one--and indivisible. +The idea of the unity of literature should be well planted and fostered +in the head. All literature is the expression of feeling, of passion, +of emotion, caused by a sensation of the interestingness of life. What +drives a historian to write history? Nothing but the overwhelming +impression made upon him by the survey of past times. He is forced +into an attempt to reconstitute the picture for others. If hitherto +you have failed to perceive that a historian is a being in strong +emotion, trying to convey his emotion to others, read the passage in +the _Memoirs_ of Gibbon, in which he describes how he finished the +_Decline and Fall_. You will probably never again look upon the +_Decline and Fall_ as a "dry" work. + +What applies to history applies to the other "dry" branches. Even +Johnson's Dictionary is packed with emotion. Read the last paragraph +of the preface to it: "In this work, when it shall be found that +much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that much likewise is +performed.... It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to +observe that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have +only failed in an attempt which no human powers have hitherto +completed...." And so on to the close: "I have protracted my work +till most of those whom I wish to please have sunk into the grave, and +success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I therefore dismiss it with +frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or +from praise." Yes, tranquillity; but not frigid! The whole passage, +one of the finest in English prose, is marked by the heat of emotion. +You may discover the same quality in such books as Spencer's _First +Principles_. You may discover it everywhere in literature, from the +cold fire of Pope's irony to the blasting temperatures of Swinburne. +Literature does not begin till emotion has begun. + +There is even no essential, definable difference between those two +great branches, prose and poetry. For prose may have rhythm. All +that can be said is that verse will scan, while prose will not. The +difference is purely formal. Very few poets have succeeded in being so +poetical as Isaiah, Sir Thomas Browne, and Ruskin have been in +prose. It can only be stated that, as a rule, writers have shown an +instinctive tendency to choose verse for the expression of the very +highest emotion. The supreme literature is in verse, but the finest +achievements in prose approach so nearly to the finest achievements in +verse that it is ill work deciding between them. In the sense in which +poetry is best understood, all literature is poetry--or is, at +any rate, poetical in quality. Macaulay's ill-informed and unjust +denunciations live because his genuine emotion made them into poetry, +while his _Lays of Ancient Rome_ are dead because they are not the +expression of a genuine emotion. As the literary taste develops, this +quality of emotion, restrained or loosed, will be more and more widely +perceived at large in literature. It is the quality that must be +looked for. It is the quality that unifies literature (and all the +arts). + +It is not merely useless, it is harmful, for you to map out literature +into divisions and branches, with different laws, rules, or canons. +The first thing is to obtain some possession of literature. When +you have actually felt some of the emotion which great writers have +striven to impart to you, and when your emotions become so numerous +and puzzling that you feel the need of arranging them and calling them +by names, then--and not before--you can begin to study what has been +attempted in the way of classifying and ticketing literature. Manuals +and treatises are excellent things in their kind, but they are simply +dead weight at the start. You can only acquire really useful +general ideas by first acquiring particular ideas, and putting those +particular ideas together. You cannot make bricks without straw. +Do not worry about literature in the abstract, about theories as to +literature. Get at it. Get hold of literature in the concrete as a dog +gets hold of a bone. If you ask me where you ought to begin, I shall +gaze at you as I might gaze at the faithful animal if he inquired +which end of the bone he ought to attack. It doesn't matter in the +slightest degree where you begin. Begin wherever the fancy takes you +to begin. Literature is a whole. + +There is only one restriction for you. You must begin with an +acknowledged classic; you must eschew modern works. The reason for +this does not imply any depreciation of the present age at the expense +of past ages. Indeed, it is important, if you wish ultimately to have +a wide, catholic taste, to guard against the too common assumption +that nothing modern will stand comparison with the classics. In every +age there have been people to sigh: "Ah, yes. Fifty years ago we had +a few great writers. But they are all dead, and no young ones are +arising to take their place." This attitude of mind is deplorable, if +not silly, and is a certain proof of narrow taste. It is a surety that +in 1959 gloomy and egregious persons will be saying: "Ah, yes. At +the beginning of the century there were great poets like Swinburne, +Meredith, Francis Thompson, and Yeats. Great novelists like Hardy and +Conrad. Great historians like Stubbs and Maitland, etc., etc. But they +are all dead now, and whom have we to take their place?" It is not +until an age has receded into history, and all its mediocrity has +dropped away from it, that we can see it as it is--as a group of men +of genius. We forget the immense amount of twaddle that the great +epochs produced. The total amount of fine literature created in a +given period of time differs from epoch to epoch, but it does not +differ much. And we may be perfectly sure that our own age will make a +favourable impression upon that excellent judge, posterity. Therefore, +beware of disparaging the present in your own mind. While temporarily +ignoring it, dwell upon the idea that its chaff contains about as much +wheat as any similar quantity of chaff has contained wheat. + +The reason why you must avoid modern works at the beginning is simply +that you are not in a position to choose among modern works. Nobody +at all is quite in a position to choose with certainty among modern +works. To sift the wheat from the chaff is a process that takes an +exceedingly long time. Modern works have to pass before the bar of the +taste of successive generations. Whereas, with classics, which have +been through the ordeal, almost the reverse is the case. _Your taste +has to pass before the bar of the classics_. That is the point. If you +differ with a classic, it is you who are wrong, and not the book. If +you differ with a modern work, you may be wrong or you may be +right, but no judge is authoritative enough to decide. Your taste is +unformed. It needs guidance, and it needs authoritative guidance. Into +the business of forming literary taste faith enters. You probably will +not specially care for a particular classic at first. If you did care +for it at first, your taste, so far as that classic is concerned, +would be formed, and our hypothesis is that your taste is not formed. +How are you to arrive at the stage of caring for it? Chiefly, of +course, by examining it and honestly trying to understand it. But this +process is materially helped by an act of faith, by the frame of mind +which says: "I know on the highest authority that this thing is fine, +that it is capable of giving me pleasure. Hence I am determined to +find pleasure in it." Believe me that faith counts enormously in +the development of that wide taste which is the instrument of wide +pleasures. But it must be faith founded on unassailable authority. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +HOW TO READ A CLASSIC + + +Let us begin experimental reading with Charles Lamb. I choose Lamb for +various reasons: He is a great writer, wide in his appeal, of a highly +sympathetic temperament; and his finest achievements are simple and +very short. Moreover, he may usefully lead to other and more complex +matters, as will appear later. Now, your natural tendency will be to +think of Charles Lamb as a book, because he has arrived at the +stage of being a classic. Charles Lamb was a man, not a book. It is +extremely important that the beginner in literary study should always +form an idea of the man behind the book. The book is nothing but the +expression of the man. The book is nothing but the man trying to talk +to you, trying to impart to you some of his feelings. An experienced +student will divine the man from the book, will understand the man by +the book, as is, of course, logically proper. But the beginner will do +well to aid himself in understanding the book by means of independent +information about the man. He will thus at once relate the book to +something human, and strengthen in his mind the essential notion of +the connection between literature and life. The earliest literature +was delivered orally direct by the artist to the recipient. In some +respects this arrangement was ideal. Changes in the constitution of +society have rendered it impossible. Nevertheless, we can still, by +the exercise of the imagination, hear mentally the accents of the +artist speaking to us. We must so exercise our imagination as to feel +the man behind the book. + +Some biographical information about Lamb should be acquired. There are +excellent short biographies of him by Canon Ainger in the _Dictionary +of National Biography_, in Chambers's _Encyclopædia_, and in +Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_. If you have none of +these (but you ought to have the last), there are Mr. E.V. Lucas's +exhaustive _Life_ (Methuen, 7s. 6d.), and, cheaper, Mr. Walter +Jerrold's _Lamb_ (Bell and Sons, 1s.); also introductory studies +prefixed to various editions of Lamb's works. Indeed, the facilities +for collecting materials for a picture of Charles Lamb as a human +being are prodigious. When you have made for yourself such a picture, +read the _Essays of Elia_ the light of it. I will choose one of the +most celebrated, _Dream Children: A Reverie_. At this point, kindly +put my book down, and read _Dream Children_. Do not say to yourself +that you will read it later, but read it now. When you have read it, +you may proceed to my next paragraph. + +You are to consider _Dream Children_ as a human document. Lamb was +nearing fifty when he wrote it. You can see, especially from the last +line, that the death of his elder brother, John Lamb, was fresh and +heavy on his mind. You will recollect that in youth he had had +a disappointing love-affair with a girl named Ann Simmons, who +afterwards married a man named Bartrum. You will know that one of the +influences of his childhood was his grandmother Field, housekeeper +of Blakesware House, in Hertfordshire, at which mansion he sometimes +spent his holidays. You will know that he was a bachelor, living with +his sister Mary, who was subject to homicidal mania. And you will +see in this essay, primarily, a supreme expression of the increasing +loneliness of his life. He constructed all that preliminary tableau of +paternal pleasure in order to bring home to you in the most poignant +way his feeling of the solitude of his existence, his sense of all +that he had missed and lost in the world. The key of the essay is one +of profound sadness. But note that he makes his sadness beautiful; +or, rather, he shows the beauty that resides in sadness. You watch him +sitting there in his "bachelor arm-chair," and you say to yourself: +"Yes, it was sad, but it was somehow beautiful." When you have said +that to yourself, Charles Lamb, so far as you are concerned, has +accomplished his chief aim in writing the essay. How exactly he +produces his effect can never be fully explained. But one reason of +his success is certainly his regard for truth. He does not falsely +idealise his brother, nor the relations between them. He does not say, +as a sentimentalist would have said, "Not the slightest cloud ever +darkened our relations;" nor does he exaggerate his solitude. Being +a sane man, he has too much common-sense to assemble all his woes at +once. He might have told you that Bridget was a homicidal maniac; +what he does tell you is that she was faithful. Another reason of his +success is his continual regard for beautiful things and fine actions, +as illustrated in the major characteristics of his grandmother and his +brother, and in the detailed description of Blakesware House and the +gardens thereof. + +Then, subordinate to the main purpose, part of the machinery of the +main purpose, is the picture of the children--real children until the +moment when they fade away. The traits of childhood are accurately and +humorously put in again and again: "Here John smiled, as much as to +say, 'That would be foolish indeed.'" "Here little Alice spread +her hands." "Here Alice's little right foot played an involuntary +movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted." "Here John +expanded all his eyebrows, and tried to look courageous." "Here John +slily deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes." "Here the +children fell a-crying ... and prayed me to tell them some stories +about their pretty dead mother." And the exquisite: "Here Alice put +out one of her dear mother's looks, too tender to be upbraiding." +Incidentally, while preparing his ultimate solemn effect, Lamb has +inspired you with a new, intensified vision of the wistful beauty of +children--their imitativeness, their facile and generous emotions, +their anxiety to be correct, their ingenuous haste to escape from +grief into joy. You can see these children almost as clearly and as +tenderly as Lamb saw them. For days afterwards you will not be able to +look upon a child without recalling Lamb's portrayal of the grace of +childhood. He will have shared with you his perception of beauty. If +you possess children, he will have renewed for you the charm which +custom does very decidedly stale. It is further to be noticed that the +measure of his success in picturing the children is the measure of his +success in his main effect. The more real they seem, the more touching +is the revelation of the fact that they do not exist, and never have +existed. And if you were moved by the reference to their "pretty dead +mother," you will be still more moved when you learn that the girl who +would have been their mother is not dead and is not Lamb's. + +As, having read the essay, you reflect upon it, you will see how its +emotional power over you has sprung from the sincere and unexaggerated +expression of actual emotions exactly remembered by someone who had an +eye always open for beauty, who was, indeed, obsessed by beauty. The +beauty of old houses and gardens and aged virtuous characters, the +beauty of children, the beauty of companionships, the softening beauty +of dreams in an arm-chair--all these are brought together and mingled +with the grief and regret which were the origin of the mood. Why is +_Dream Children_ a classic? It is a classic because it transmits to +you, as to generations before you, distinguished emotion, because it +makes you respond to the throb of life more intensely, more justly, +and more nobly. And it is capable of doing this because Charles Lamb +had a very distinguished, a very sensitive, and a very honest mind. +His emotions were noble. He felt so keenly that he was obliged to find +relief in imparting his emotions. And his mental processes were so +sincere that he could neither exaggerate nor diminish the truth. If +he had lacked any one of these three qualities, his appeal would have +been narrowed and weakened, and he would not have become a classic. +Either his feelings would have been deficient in supreme beauty, +and therefore less worthy to be imparted, or he would not have had +sufficient force to impart them; or his honesty would not have been +equal to the strain of imparting them accurately. In any case, he +would not have set up in you that vibration which we call pleasure, +and which is super-eminently caused by vitalising participation in +high emotion. As Lamb sat in his bachelor arm-chair, with his brother +in the grave, and the faithful homicidal maniac by his side, he +really did think to himself, "This is beautiful. Sorrow is beautiful. +Disappointment is beautiful. Life is beautiful. _I must tell them_. I +must make them understand." Because he still makes you understand he +is a classic. And now I seem to hear you say, "But what about Lamb's +famous literary style? Where does that come in?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE QUESTION OF STYLE + + +In discussing the value of particular books, I have heard people +say--people who were timid about expressing their views of literature +in the presence of literary men: "It may be bad from a literary point +of view, but there are very good things in it." Or: "I dare say +the style is very bad, but really the book is very interesting and +suggestive." Or: "I'm not an expert, and so I never bother my head +about good style. All I ask for is good matter. And when I have got +it, critics may say what they like about the book." And many other +similar remarks, all showing that in the minds of the speakers +there existed a notion that style is something supplementary to, +and distinguishable from, matter; a sort of notion that a writer who +wanted to be classical had first to find and arrange his matter, and +then dress it up elegantly in a costume of style, in order to please +beings called literary critics. + +This is a misapprehension. Style cannot be distinguished from matter. +When a writer conceives an idea he conceives it in a form of words. +That form of words constitutes his style, and it is absolutely +governed by the idea. The idea can only exist in words, and it can +only exist in one form of words. You cannot say exactly the same thing +in two different ways. Slightly alter the expression, and you slightly +alter the idea. Surely it is obvious that the expression cannot +be altered without altering the thing expressed! A writer, having +conceived and expressed an idea, may, and probably will, "polish it +up." But what does he polish up? To say that he polishes up his +style is merely to say that he is polishing up his idea, that he has +discovered faults or imperfections in his idea, and is perfecting it. +An idea exists in proportion as it is expressed; it exists when it +is expressed, and not before. It expresses itself. A clear idea is +expressed clearly, and a vague idea vaguely. You need but take your +own case and your own speech. For just as science is the development +of common-sense, so is literature the development of common daily +speech. The difference between science and common-sense is simply one +of degree; similarly with speech and literature. Well, when you "know +what you think," you succeed in saying what you think, in making +yourself understood. When you "don't know what to think," +your expressive tongue halts. And note how in daily life the +characteristics of your style follow your mood; how tender it is when +you are tender, how violent when you are violent. You have said to +yourself in moments of emotion: "If only I could write--," etc. You +were wrong. You ought to have said: "If only I could _think_--on this +high plane." When you have thought clearly you have never had any +difficulty in saying what you thought, though you may occasionally +have had some difficulty in keeping it to yourself. And when you +cannot express yourself, depend upon it that you have nothing precise +to express, and that what incommodes you is not the vain desire to +express, but the vain desire to _think_ more clearly. All this just to +illustrate how style and matter are co-existent, and inseparable, and +alike. + +You cannot have good matter with bad style. Examine the point more +closely. A man wishes to convey a fine idea to you. He employs a form +of words. That form of words is his style. Having read, you say: "Yes, +this idea is fine." The writer has therefore achieved his end. But in +what imaginable circumstances can you say: "Yes, this idea is fine, +but the style is not fine"? The sole medium of communication between +you and the author has been the form of words. The fine idea has +reached you. How? In the words, by the words. Hence the fineness must +be in the words. You may say, superiorly: "He has expressed himself +clumsily, but I can _see_ what he means." By what light? By something +in the words, in the style. That something is fine. Moreover, if the +style is clumsy, are you sure that you can see what he means? You +cannot be quite sure. And at any rate, you cannot see distinctly. +The "matter" is what actually reaches you, and it must necessarily be +affected by the style. + +Still further to comprehend what style is, let me ask you to think +of a writer's style exactly as you would think of the gestures and +manners of an acquaintance. You know the man whose demeanour is +"always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do you know that his +passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, but +important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or +the whitening of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other +words, his demeanour, fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man +who is always "smoothly polite and agreeable," but who affects you +unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? Because he is +tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is +not real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but +who, nevertheless, impresses you with a sense of dignity and force. +Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so forth _is_ dignity. +You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively guess to be +affectionate--because there is "something in his tone" or "something +in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming +to be contrary to the character, is really in accord with it. The +demeanour never contradicts the character. It is one part of the +character that contradicts another part of the character. For, after +all, the blunt man _is_ blunt, and the awkward man _is_ awkward, and +these characteristics are defects. The demeanour merely expresses +them. The two men would be better if, while conserving their good +qualities, they had the superficial attributes of smoothness and +agreeableness possessed by the gentleman who is unpleasant to you. And +as regards this latter, it is not his superficial attributes which are +unpleasant to you; but his other qualities. In the end the character +is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a consequence of the +character and resembles the character. So with style and matter. +You may argue that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his +tenderness. I do not think so. For his churlishness is really +very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, though a moment's +tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is +churlish, and much more often than he is tender. His demeanour is +merely just to his character. So, when a writer annoys you for ten +pages and then enchants you for ten lines, you must not explode +against his style. You must not say that his style won't let his +matter "come out." You must remember the churlish, tender man. The +more you reflect, the more clearly you will see that faults and +excellences of style are faults and excellences of matter itself. + +One of the most striking illustrations of this neglected truth is +Thomas Carlyle. How often has it been said that Carlyle's matter +is marred by the harshness and the eccentricities of his style? But +Carlyle's matter is harsh and eccentric to precisely the same degree +as his style is harsh and eccentric. Carlyle was harsh and eccentric. +His behaviour was frequently ridiculous, if it were not abominable. +His judgments were often extremely bizarre. When you read one of +Carlyle's fierce diatribes, you say to yourself: "This is splendid. +The man's enthusiasm for justice and truth is glorious." But you also +say: "He is a little unjust and a little untruthful. He goes too far. +He lashes too hard." These things are not the style; they are the +matter. And when, as in his greatest moments, he is emotional and +restrained at once, you say: "This is the real Carlyle." Kindly notice +how perfect the style has become! No harshnesses or eccentricities +now! And if that particular matter is the "real" Carlyle, then that +particular style is Carlyle's "real" style. But when you say "real" +you would more properly say "best." "This is the best Carlyle." If +Carlyle had always been at his best he would have counted among the +supreme geniuses of the world. But he was a mixture. His style is the +expression of the mixture. The faults are only in the style because +they are in the matter. + +You will find that, in classical literature, the style always follows +the mood of the matter. Thus, Charles Lamb's essay on _Dream Children_ +begins quite simply, in a calm, narrative manner, enlivened by a +certain quippishness concerning the children. The style is grave when +great-grandmother Field is the subject, and when the author passes +to a rather elaborate impression of the picturesque old mansion it +becomes as it were consciously beautiful. This beauty is intensified +in the description of the still more beautiful garden. But the real +dividing point of the essay occurs when Lamb approaches his elder +brother. He unmistakably marks the point with the phrase: "_Then, in +somewhat a more heightened tone_, I told how," etc. Henceforward the +style increases in fervour and in solemnity until the culmination of +the essay is reached: "And while I stood gazing, both the children +gradually grew fainter to my view, receding and still receding till +nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost +distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the +effects of speech...." Throughout, the style is governed by the +matter. "Well," you say, "of course it is. It couldn't be otherwise. +If it were otherwise it would be ridiculous. A man who made love as +though he were preaching a sermon, or a man who preached a sermon as +though he were teasing schoolboys, or a man who described a death as +though he were describing a practical joke, must necessarily be either +an ass or a lunatic." Just so. You have put it in a nutshell. You have +disposed of the problem of style so far as it can be disposed of. + +But what do those people mean who say: "I read such and such an author +for the beauty of his style alone"? Personally, I do not clearly know +what they mean (and I have never been able to get them to explain), +unless they mean that they read for the beauty of sound alone. When +you read a book there are only three things of which you may be +conscious: (1) The significance of the words, which is inseparably +bound up with the thought. (2) The look of the printed words on the +page--I do not suppose that anybody reads any author for the visual +beauty of the words on the page. (3) The sound of the words, either +actually uttered or imagined by the brain to be uttered. Now it is +indubitable that words differ in beauty of sound. To my mind one +of the most beautiful words in the English language is "pavement." +Enunciate it, study its sound, and see what you think. It is also +indubitable that certain combinations of words have a more beautiful +sound than certain other combinations. Thus Tennyson held that the +most beautiful line he ever wrote was: + + The mellow ouzel fluting in the elm. + +Perhaps, as sound, it was. Assuredly it makes a beautiful succession +of sounds, and recalls the bird-sounds which it is intended to +describe. But does it live in the memory as one of the rare great +Tennysonian lines? It does not. It has charm, but the charm is merely +curious or pretty. A whole poem composed of lines with no better +recommendation than that line has would remain merely curious or +pretty. It would not permanently interest. It would be as insipid as a +pretty woman who had nothing behind her prettiness. It would not live. +One may remark in this connection how the merely verbal felicities of +Tennyson have lost our esteem. Who will now proclaim the _Idylls of +the King_ as a masterpiece? Of the thousands of lines written by +him which please the ear, only those survive of which the matter is +charged with emotion. No! As regards the man who professes to read an +author "for his style alone," I am inclined to think either that he +will soon get sick of that author, or that he is deceiving himself and +means the author's general temperament--not the author's verbal style, +but a peculiar quality which runs through all the matter written by +the author. Just as one may like a man for something which is always +coming out of him, which one cannot define, and which is of the very +essence of the man. + +In judging the style of an author, you must employ the same canons +as you use in judging men. If you do this you will not be tempted +to attach importance to trifles that are negligible. There can be no +lasting friendship without respect. If an author's style is such +that you cannot _respect_ it, then you may be sure that, despite +any present pleasure which you may obtain from that author, there is +something wrong with his matter, and that the pleasure will soon cloy. +You must examine your sentiments towards an author. If when you have +read an author you are pleased, without being conscious of aught but +his mellifluousness, just conceive what your feelings would be after +spending a month's holiday with a merely mellifluous man. If an +author's style has pleased you, but done nothing except make you +giggle, then reflect upon the ultimate tediousness of the man who can +do nothing but jest. On the other hand, if you are impressed by what +an author has said to you, but are aware of verbal clumsinesses in his +work, you need worry about his "bad style" exactly as much and exactly +as little as you would worry about the manners of a kindhearted, +keen-brained friend who was dangerous to carpets with a tea-cup in his +hand. The friend's antics in a drawing-room are somewhat regrettable, +but you would not say of him that his manners were bad. Again, if +an author's style dazzles you instantly and blinds you to everything +except its brilliant self, ask your soul, before you begin to admire +his matter, what would be your final opinion of a man who at the first +meeting fired his personality into you like a broadside. Reflect +that, as a rule, the people whom you have come to esteem communicated +themselves to you gradually, that they did not begin the entertainment +with fireworks. In short, look at literature as you would look at +life, and you cannot fail to perceive that, essentially, the style +is the man. Decidedly you will never assert that you care nothing for +style, that your enjoyment of an author's matter is unaffected by his +style. And you will never assert, either, that style alone suffices +for you. + +If you are undecided upon a question of style, whether leaning to +the favourable or to the unfavourable, the most prudent course is to +forget that literary style exists. For, indeed, as style is understood +by most people who have not analysed their impressions under the +influence of literature, there _is_ no such thing as literary style. +You cannot divide literature into two elements and say: This is matter +and that style. Further, the significance and the worth of +literature are to be comprehended and assessed in the same way as the +significance and the worth of any other phenomenon: by the exercise +of common-sense. Common-sense will tell you that nobody, not even a +genius, can be simultaneously vulgar and distinguished, or beautiful +and ugly, or precise and vague, or tender and harsh. And common-sense +will therefore tell you that to try to set up vital contradictions +between matter and style is absurd. When there is a superficial +contradiction, one of the two mutually-contradicting qualities is of +far less importance than the other. If you refer literature to the +standards of life, common-sense will at once decide which quality +should count heaviest in your esteem. You will be in no danger of +weighing a mere maladroitness of manner against a fine trait of +character, or of letting a graceful deportment blind you to a +fundamental vacuity. When in doubt, ignore style, and think of the +matter as you would think of an individual. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR + + +Having disposed, so far as is possible and necessary, of that +formidable question of style, let us now return to Charles Lamb, whose +essay on _Dream Children_ was the originating cause of our inquiry +into style. As we have made a beginning of Lamb, it will be well to +make an end of him. In the preliminary stages of literary culture, +nothing is more helpful, in the way of kindling an interest and +keeping it well alight, than to specialise for a time on one author, +and particularly on an author so frankly and curiously "human" as +Lamb is. I do not mean that you should imprison yourself with Lamb's +complete works for three months, and read nothing else. I mean that +you should regularly devote a proportion of your learned leisure to +the study of Lamb until you are acquainted with all that is important +in his work and about his work. (You may buy the complete works in +prose and verse of Charles and Mary Lamb, edited by that unsurpassed +expert Mr. Thomas Hutchison, and published by the Oxford University +Press, in two volumes for four shillings the pair!) There is no reason +why you should not become a modest specialist in Lamb. He is the very +man for you; neither voluminous, nor difficult, nor uncomfortably +lofty; always either amusing or touching; and--most important--himself +passionately addicted to literature. You cannot like Lamb without +liking literature in general. And you cannot read Lamb without +learning about literature in general; for books were his hobby, and he +was a critic of the first rank. His letters are full of literariness. +You will naturally read his letters; you should not only be infinitely +diverted by them (there are no better epistles), but you should +receive from them much light on the works. + +It is a course of study that I am suggesting to you. It means a +certain amount of sustained effort. It means slightly more resolution, +more pertinacity, and more expenditure of brain-tissue than are +required for reading a newspaper. It means, in fact, "work." Perhaps +you did not bargain for work when you joined me. But I do not think +that the literary taste can be satisfactorily formed unless one is +prepared to put one's back into the affair. And I may prophesy to +you, by way of encouragement, that, in addition to the advantages of +familiarity with masterpieces, of increased literary knowledge, and +of a wide introduction to the true bookish atmosphere and "feel" of +things, which you will derive from a comprehensive study of Charles +Lamb, you will also be conscious of a moral advantage--the very +important and very inspiring advantage of really "knowing something +about something." You will have achieved a definite step; you will be +proudly aware that you have put yourself in a position to judge as an +expert whatever you may hear or read in the future concerning Charles +Lamb. This legitimate pride and sense of accomplishment will stimulate +you to go on further; it will generate steam. I consider that this +indirect moral advantage even outweighs, for the moment, the direct +literary advantages. + +Now, I shall not shut my eyes to a possible result of your diligent +intercourse with Charles Lamb. It is possible that you may be +disappointed with him. It is--shall I say?--almost probable that you +will be disappointed with him, at any rate partially. You will have +expected more joy in him than you have received. I have referred in +a previous chapter to the feeling of disappointment which often comes +from first contacts with the classics. The neophyte is apt to find +them--I may as well out with the word--dull. You may have found Lamb +less diverting, less interesting, than you hoped. You may have had +to whip yourself up again and again to the effort of reading him. In +brief, Lamb has not, for you, justified his terrific reputation. If +a classic is a classic because it gives _pleasure_ to succeeding +generations of the people who are most keenly interested in +literature, and if Lamb frequently strikes you as dull, then evidently +there is something wrong. The difficulty must be fairly fronted, +and the fronting of it brings us to the very core of the business of +actually forming the taste. If your taste were classical you would +discover in Lamb a continual fascination; whereas what you in fact do +discover in Lamb is a not unpleasant flatness, enlivened by a vague +humour and an occasional pathos. You ought, according to theory, to be +enthusiastic; but you are apathetic, or, at best, half-hearted. There +is a gulf. How to cross it? + +To cross it needs time and needs trouble. The following considerations +may aid. In the first place, we have to remember that, in coming +into the society of the classics in general and of Charles Lamb in +particular, we are coming into the society of a mental superior. What +happens usually in such a case? We can judge by recalling what happens +when we are in the society of a mental inferior. We say things of +which he misses the import; we joke, and he does not smile; what makes +him laugh loudly seems to us horseplay or childish; he is blind to +beauties which ravish us; he is ecstatic over what strikes us as +crude; and his profound truths are for us trite commonplaces. His +perceptions are relatively coarse; our perceptions are relatively +subtle. We try to make him understand, to make him see, and if he is +aware of his inferiority we may have some success. But if he is not +aware of his inferiority, we soon hold our tongues and leave him alone +in his self-satisfaction, convinced that there is nothing to be done +with him. Every one of us has been through this experience with a +mental inferior, for there is always a mental inferior handy, just +as there is always a being more unhappy than we are. In approaching a +classic, the true wisdom is to place ourselves in the position of the +mental inferior, aware of mental inferiority, humbly stripping off all +conceit, anxious to rise out of that inferiority. Recollect that +we always regard as quite hopeless the mental inferior who does +not suspect his own inferiority. Our attitude towards Lamb must be: +"Charles Lamb was a greater man than I am, cleverer, sharper, subtler, +finer, intellectually more powerful, and with keener eyes for beauty. +I must brace myself to follow his lead." Our attitude must resemble +that of one who cocks his ear and listens with all his soul for a +distant sound. + +To catch the sound we really must listen. That is to say, we must read +carefully, with our faculties on the watch. We must read slowly and +perseveringly. A classic has to be wooed and is worth the wooing. +Further, we must disdain no assistance. I am not in favour of studying +criticism of classics before the classics themselves. My notion is to +study the work and the biography of a classical writer together, and +then to read criticism afterwards. I think that in reprints of the +classics the customary "critical introduction" ought to be put at +the end, and not at the beginning, of the book. The classic should +be allowed to make his own impression, however faint, on the virginal +mind of the reader. But afterwards let explanatory criticism be read +as much as you please. Explanatory criticism is very useful; nearly +as useful as pondering for oneself on what one has read! Explanatory +criticism may throw one single gleam that lights up the entire +subject. + +My second consideration (in aid of crossing the gulf) touches the +quality of the pleasure to be derived from a classic. It is never a +violent pleasure. It is subtle, and it will wax in intensity, but +the idea of violence is foreign to it. The artistic pleasures of +an uncultivated mind are generally violent. They proceed from +exaggeration in treatment, from a lack of balance, from attaching too +great an importance to one aspect (usually superficial), while quite +ignoring another. They are gross, like the joy of Worcester sauce on +the palate. Now, if there is one point common to all classics, it is +the absence of exaggeration. The balanced sanity of a great mind makes +impossible exaggeration, and, therefore, distortion. The beauty of a +classic is not at all apt to knock you down. It will steal over you, +rather. Many serious students are, I am convinced, discouraged in the +early stages because they are expecting a wrong kind of pleasure. They +have abandoned Worcester sauce, and they miss it. They miss the coarse +_tang_. They must realise that indulgence in the _tang_ means the +sure and total loss of sensitiveness--sensitiveness even to the _tang_ +itself. They cannot have crudeness and fineness together. They must +choose, remembering that while crudeness kills pleasure, fineness ever +intensifies it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SYSTEM IN HEADING + + +You have now definitely set sail on the sea of literature. You are +afloat, and your anchor is up. I think I have given adequate warning +of the dangers and disappointments which await the unwary and the +sanguine. The enterprise in which you are engaged is not facile, nor +is it short. I think I have sufficiently predicted that you will +have your hours of woe, during which you may be inclined to send to +perdition all writers, together with the inventor of printing. But if +you have become really friendly with Lamb; if you know Lamb, or even +half of him; if you have formed an image of him in your mind, and can, +as it were, hear him brilliantly stuttering while you read his essays +or letters, then certainly you are in a fit condition to proceed and +you want to know in which direction you are to proceed. Yes, I have +caught your terrified and protesting whisper: "I hope to heaven he +isn't going to prescribe a Course of English Literature, because I +feel I shall never be able to do it!" I am not. If your object in life +was to be a University Extension Lecturer in English literature, +then I should prescribe something drastic and desolating. But as your +object, so far as I am concerned, is simply to obtain the highest and +most tonic form of artistic pleasure of which you are capable, I shall +not prescribe any regular course. Nay, I shall venture to dissuade +you from any regular course. No man, and assuredly no beginner, can +possibly pursue a historical course of literature without wasting a +lot of weary time in acquiring mere knowledge which will yield neither +pleasure nor advantage. In the choice of reading the individual must +count; caprice must count, for caprice is often the truest index to +the individuality. Stand defiantly on your own feet, and do not excuse +yourself to yourself. You do not exist in order to honour literature +by becoming an encyclopædia of literature. Literature exists for your +service. Wherever you happen to be, that, for you, is the centre of +literature. + +Still, for your own sake you must confine yourself for a long time +to recognised classics, for reasons already explained. And though you +should not follow a course, you must have a system or principle. Your +native sagacity will tell you that caprice, left quite unfettered, +will end by being quite ridiculous. The system which I recommend is +embodied in this counsel: Let one thing lead to another. In the sea of +literature every part communicates with every other part; there are no +land-locked lakes. It was with an eye to this system that I originally +recommended you to start with Lamb. Lamb, if you are his intimate, has +already brought you into relations with a number of other prominent +writers with whom you can in turn be intimate, and who will be +particularly useful to you. Among these are Wordsworth, Coleridge, +Southey, Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt. You cannot know Lamb without knowing +these men, and some of them are of the highest importance. From the +circle of Lamb's own work you may go off at a tangent at various +points, according to your inclination. If, for instance, you are drawn +towards poetry, you cannot, in all English literature, make a better +start than with Wordsworth. And Wordsworth will send you backwards +to a comprehension of the poets against whose influence Wordsworth +fought. When you have understood Wordsworth's and Coleridge's _Lyrical +Ballads_, and Wordsworth's defence of them, you will be in a position +to judge poetry in general. If, again, your mind hankers after an +earlier and more romantic literature, Lamb's _Specimens of English +Dramatic Poets Contemporary with Shakspere_ has already, in an +enchanting fashion, piloted you into a vast gulf of "the sea which is +Shakspere." + +Again, in Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt you will discover essayists inferior +only to Lamb himself, and critics perhaps not inferior. Hazlitt +is unsurpassed as a critic. His judgments are convincing and his +enthusiasm of the most catching nature. Having arrived at Hazlitt or +Leigh Hunt, you can branch off once more at any one of ten thousand +points into still wider circles. And thus you may continue up and down +the centuries as far as you like, yea, even to Chaucer. If you chance +to read Hazlitt on _Chaucer and Spenser_, you will probably put +your hat on instantly and go out and buy these authors; such is his +communicating fire! I need not particularise further. Commencing with +Lamb, and allowing one thing to lead to another, you cannot fail to be +more and more impressed by the peculiar suitability to your needs of +the Lamb entourage and the Lamb period. For Lamb lived in a time of +universal rebirth in English literature. Wordsworth and Coleridge +were re-creating poetry; Scott was re-creating the novel; Lamb was +re-creating the human document; and Hazlitt, Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, +and others were re-creating criticism. Sparks are flying all about the +place, and it will be not less than a miracle if something combustible +and indestructible in you does not take fire. + +I have only one cautionary word to utter. You may be saying to +yourself: "So long as I stick to classics I cannot go wrong." You can +go wrong. You can, while reading naught but very fine stuff, commit +the grave error of reading too much of one kind of stuff. Now there +are two kinds, and only two kinds. These two kinds are not prose and +poetry, nor are they divided the one from the other by any differences +of form or of subject. They are the inspiring kind and the informing +kind. No other genuine division exists in literature. Emerson, I +think, first clearly stated it. His terms were the literature of +"power" and the literature of "knowledge." In nearly all great +literature the two qualities are to be found in company, but one +usually predominates over the other. An example of the exclusively +inspiring kind is Coleridge's _Kubla Khan_. I cannot recall any +first-class example of the purely informing kind. The nearest approach +to it that I can name is Spencer's _First Principles_, which, however, +is at least once highly inspiring. An example in which the inspiring +quality predominates is _Ivanhoe_; and an example in which the +informing quality predominates is Hazlitt's essays on Shakespeare's +characters. You must avoid giving undue preference to the kind in +which the inspiring quality predominates or to the kind in which the +informing quality predominates. Too much of the one is enervating; too +much of the other is desiccating. If you stick exclusively to the +one you may become a mere debauchee of the emotions; if you stick +exclusively to the other you may cease to live in any full sense. I do +not say that you should hold the balance exactly even between the two +kinds. Your taste will come into the scale. What I say is that neither +kind must be neglected. + +Lamb is an instance of a great writer whom anybody can understand and +whom a majority of those who interest themselves in literature can +more or less appreciate. He makes no excessive demand either on the +intellect or on the faculty of sympathetic emotion. On both sides of +Lamb, however, there lie literatures more difficult, more recondite. +The "knowledge" side need not detain us here; it can be mastered by +concentration and perseverance. But the "power" side, which comprises +the supreme productions of genius, demands special consideration. +You may have arrived at the point of keenly enjoying Lamb and yet be +entirely unable to "see anything in" such writings as _Kubla Khan_ or +Milton's _Comus_; and as for _Hamlet_ you may see nothing in it but a +sanguinary tale "full of quotations." Nevertheless it is the supreme +productions which are capable of yielding the supreme pleasures, and +which _will_ yield the supreme pleasures when the pass-key to them +has been acquired. This pass-key is a comprehension of the nature of +poetry. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +VERSE + + +There is a word, a "name of fear," which rouses terror in the heart +of the vast educated majority of the English-speaking race. The +most valiant will fly at the mere utterance of that word. The most +broad-minded will put their backs up against it. The most rash will +not dare to affront it. I myself have seen it empty buildings that had +been full; and I know that it will scatter a crowd more quickly than +a hose-pipe, hornets, or the rumour of plague. Even to murmur it is +to incur solitude, probably disdain, and possibly starvation, as +historical examples show. That word is "poetry." + +The profound objection of the average man to poetry can scarcely +be exaggerated. And when I say the average man, I do not mean the +"average sensual man"--any man who gets on to the top of the omnibus; +I mean the average lettered man, the average man who does care a +little for books and enjoys reading, and knows the classics by name +and the popular writers by having read them. I am convinced that not +one man in ten who reads, reads poetry--at any rate, knowingly. I +am convinced, further, that not one man in ten who goes so far as +knowingly to _buy_ poetry ever reads it. You will find everywhere men +who read very widely in prose, but who will say quite callously, +"No, I never read poetry." If the sales of modern poetry, distinctly +labelled as such, were to cease entirely to-morrow not a publisher +would fail; scarcely a publisher would be affected; and not a poet +would die--for I do not believe that a single modern English poet +is living to-day on the current proceeds of his verse. For a country +which possesses the greatest poetical literature in the world this +condition of affairs is at least odd. What makes it odder is that, +occasionally, very occasionally, the average lettered man will have +a fit of idolatry for a fine poet, buying his books in tens of +thousands, and bestowing upon him immense riches. As with Tennyson. +And what makes it odder still is that, after all, the average lettered +man does not truly dislike poetry; he only dislikes it when it takes +a certain form. He will read poetry and enjoy it, provided he is not +aware that it is poetry. Poetry can exist authentically either in +prose or in verse. Give him poetry concealed in prose and there is a +chance that, taken off his guard, he will appreciate it. But show him +a page of verse, and he will be ready to send for a policeman. The +reason of this is that, though poetry may come to pass either in prose +or in verse, it does actually happen far more frequently in verse than +in prose; nearly all the very greatest poetry is in verse; verse is +identified with the very greatest poetry, and the very greatest poetry +can only be understood and savoured by people who have put themselves +through a considerable mental discipline. To others it is an +exasperating weariness. Hence chiefly the fearful prejudice of the +average lettered man against the mere form of verse. + +The formation of literary taste cannot be completed until that +prejudice has been conquered. My very difficult task is to suggest +a method of conquering it. I address myself exclusively to the large +class of people who, if they are honest, will declare that, while they +enjoy novels, essays, and history, they cannot "stand" verse. The case +is extremely delicate, like all nervous cases. It is useless to employ +the arts of reasoning, for the matter has got beyond logic; it is +instinctive. Perfectly futile to assure you that verse will yield a +higher percentage of pleasure than prose! You will reply: "We believe +you, but that doesn't help us." Therefore I shall not argue. I shall +venture to prescribe a curative treatment (doctors do not argue); and +I beg you to follow it exactly, keeping your nerve and your calm. Loss +of self-control might lead to panic, and panic would be fatal. + +First: Forget as completely as you can all your present notions about +the nature of verse and poetry. Take a sponge and wipe the slate of +your mind. In particular, do not harass yourself by thoughts of metre +and verse forms. Second: Read William Hazlitt's essay "On Poetry in +General." This essay is the first in the book entitled _Lectures on +the English Poets_. It can be bought in various forms. I think +the cheapest satisfactory edition is in Routledge's "New Universal +Library" (price 1s. net). I might have composed an essay of my own on +the real harmless nature of poetry in general, but it could only have +been an echo and a deterioration of Hazlitt's. He has put the truth +about poetry in a way as interesting, clear, and reassuring as anyone +is ever likely to put it. I do not expect, however, that you will +instantly gather the full message and enthusiasm of the essay. It +will probably seem to you not to "hang together." Still, it will leave +bright bits of ideas in your mind. Third: After a week's interval read +the essay again. On a second perusal it will appear more persuasive to +you. + +Fourth: Open the Bible and read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. It +is the chapter which begins, "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," and +ends, "They shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not +faint." This chapter will doubtless be more or less familiar to you. +It cannot fail (whatever your particular _ism_) to impress you, to +generate in your mind sensations which you recognise to be of a lofty +and unusual order, and which you will admit to be pleasurable. You +will probably agree that the result of reading this chapter (even if +your particular _ism_ is opposed to its authority) is finer than the +result of reading a short story in a magazine or even an essay by +Charles Lamb. Now the pleasurable sensations induced by the fortieth +chapter of Isaiah are among the sensations usually induced by +high-class poetry. The writer of it was a very great poet, and what +he wrote is a very great poem. Fifth: After having read it, go back to +Hazlitt, and see if you can find anything in Hazlitt's lecture which +throws light on the psychology of your own emotions upon reading +Isaiah. + +Sixth: The next step is into unmistakable verse. It is to read one of +Wordsworth's short narrative poems, _The Brothers_. There are editions +of Wordsworth at a shilling, but I should advise the "Golden Treasury" +Wordsworth (2s. 6d. net), because it contains the famous essay by +Matthew Arnold, who made the selection. I want you to read this poem +aloud. You will probably have to hide yourself somewhere in order to +do so, for, of course, you would not, as yet, care to be overheard +spouting poetry. Be good enough to forget that _The Brothers_ is +poetry. _The Brothers_ is a short story, with a plain, clear plot. +Read it as such. Read it simply for the story. It is very important +at this critical stage that you should not embarrass your mind with +preoccupations as to the _form_ in which Wordsworth has told his +story. Wordsworth's object was to tell a story as well as he could: +just that. In reading aloud do not pay any more attention to the metre +than you feel naturally inclined to pay. After a few lines the metre +will present itself to you. Do not worry as to what kind of metre it +is. When you have finished the perusal, examine your sensations.... + +Your sensations after reading this poem, and perhaps one or two other +narrative poems of Wordsworth, such as _Michael_, will be different +from the sensations produced in you by reading an ordinary, or even a +very extraordinary, short story in prose. They may not be so sharp, so +clear and piquant, but they will probably be, in their mysteriousness +and their vagueness, more impressive. I do not say that they will be +diverting. I do not go so far as to say that they will strike you as +pleasing sensations. (Be it remembered that I am addressing myself +to an imaginary tyro in poetry.) I would qualify them as being +"disturbing." Well, to disturb the spirit is one of the greatest aims +of art. And a disturbance of spirit is one of the finest pleasures +that a highly-organised man can enjoy. But this truth can only be +really learnt by the repetitions of experience. As an aid to the more +exhaustive examination of your feelings under Wordsworth, in order +that you may better understand what he was trying to effect in you, +and the means which he employed, I must direct you to Wordsworth +himself. Wordsworth, in addition to being a poet, was unsurpassed as a +critic of poetry. What Hazlitt does for poetry in the way of creating +enthusiasm Wordsworth does in the way of philosophic explanation. And +Wordsworth's explanations of the theory and practice of poetry are +written for the plain man. They pass the comprehension of nobody, and +their direct, unassuming, and calm simplicity is extremely persuasive. +Wordsworth's chief essays in throwing light on himself are the +"Advertisement," "Preface," and "Appendix" to _Lyrical Ballads_; the +letters to Lady Beaumont and "the Friend" and the "Preface" to the +Poems dated 1815. All this matter is strangely interesting and of +immense educational value. It is the first-class expert talking at +ease about his subject. The essays relating to _Lyrical Ballads_ will +be the most useful for you. You will discover these precious documents +in a volume entitled _Wordsworth's Literary Criticism_ (published by +Henry Frowde, 2s. 6d.), edited by that distinguished Wordsworthian +Mr. Nowell C. Smith. It is essential that the student of poetry should +become possessed, honestly or dishonestly, either of this volume or +of the matter which it contains. There is, by the way, a volume of +Wordsworth's prose in the Scott Library (1s.). Those who have not +read Wordsworth on poetry can have no idea of the naïve charm and the +helpful radiance of his expounding. I feel that I cannot too strongly +press Wordsworth's criticism upon you. + +Between Wordsworth and Hazlitt you will learn all that it behoves you +to know of the nature, the aims, and the results of poetry. It is no +part of my scheme to dot the "i's" and cross the "t's" of Wordsworth +and Hazlitt. I best fulfil my purpose in urgently referring you to +them. I have only a single point of my own to make--a psychological +detail. One of the main obstacles to the cultivation of poetry in the +average sensible man is an absurdly inflated notion of the ridiculous. +At the bottom of that man's mind is the idea that poetry is "silly." +He also finds it exaggerated and artificial; but these two accusations +against poetry can be satisfactorily answered. The charge of +silliness, of being ridiculous, however, cannot be refuted by +argument. There is no logical answer to a guffaw. This sense of the +ridiculous is merely a bad, infantile habit, in itself grotesquely +ridiculous. You may see it particularly in the theatre. Not the +greatest dramatist, not the greatest composer, not the greatest actor +can prevent an audience from laughing uproariously at a tragic moment +if a cat walks across the stage. But why ruin the scene by laughter? +Simply because the majority of any audience is artistically childish. +This sense of the ridiculous can only be crushed by the exercise of +moral force. It can only be cowed. If you are inclined to laugh when a +poet expresses himself more powerfully than you express yourself, when +a poet talks about feelings which are not usually mentioned in daily +papers, when a poet uses words and images which lie outside your +vocabulary and range of thought, then you had better take yourself in +hand. You have to decide whether you will be on the side of the angels +or on the side of the nincompoops. There is no surer sign of imperfect +development than the impulse to snigger at what is unusual, naïve, or +exuberant. And if you choose to do so, you can detect the cat walking +across the stage in the sublimest passages of literature. But more +advanced souls will grieve for you. + +The study of Wordsworth's criticism makes the seventh step in my +course of treatment. The eighth is to return to those poems of +Wordsworth's which you have already perused, and read them again in +the full light of the author's defence and explanation. Read as much +Wordsworth as you find you can assimilate, but do not attempt either +of his long poems. The time, however, is now come for a long poem. +I began by advising narrative poetry for the neophyte, and I shall +persevere with the prescription. I mean narrative poetry in the +restricted sense; for epic poetry is narrative. _Paradise Lost_ is +narrative; so is _The Prelude_. I suggest neither of these great +works. My choice falls on Elizabeth Browning's _Aurora Leigh_. If you +once work yourself "into" this poem, interesting yourself primarily +(as with Wordsworth) in the events of the story, and not allowing +yourself to be obsessed by the fact that what you are reading is +"poetry"--if you do this, you are not likely to leave it unfinished. +And before you reach the end you will have encountered _en route_ +pretty nearly all the moods of poetry that exist: tragic, humorous, +ironic, elegiac, lyric--everything. You will have a comprehensive +acquaintance with a poet's mind. I guarantee that you will come safely +through if you treat the work as a novel. For a novel it effectively +is, and a better one than any written by Charlotte Brontë or George +Eliot. In reading, it would be well to mark, or take note of, the +passages which give you the most pleasure, and then to compare these +passages with the passages selected for praise by some authoritative +critic. _Aurora Leigh_ can be got in the "Temple Classics" (1s. 6d.), +or in the "Canterbury Poets" (1s.). The indispensable biographical +information about Mrs. Browning can be obtained from Mr. J.H. Ingram's +short Life of her in the "Eminent Women" Series (1s. 6d.), or from +_Robert Browning_, by William Sharp ("Great Writers" Series, 1s.). + +This accomplished, you may begin to choose your poets. Going back +to Hazlitt, you will see that he deals with, among others, Chaucer, +Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Chatterton, Burns, and +the Lake School. You might select one of these, and read under his +guidance. Said Wordsworth: "I was impressed by the conviction that +there were four English poets whom I must have continually before me +as examples--Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, and Milton." (A word to +the wise!) Wordsworth makes a fifth to these four. Concurrently with +the careful, enthusiastic study of one of the undisputed classics, +modern verse should be read. (I beg you to accept the following +statement: that if the study of classical poetry inspires you with a +distaste for modern poetry, then there is something seriously wrong +in the method of your development.) You may at this stage (and not +before) commence an inquiry into questions of rhythm, verse-structure, +and rhyme. There is, I believe, no good, concise, cheap handbook to +English prosody; yet such a manual is greatly needed. The only one +with which I am acquainted is Tom Hood the younger's _Rules of Rhyme: +A Guide to English Versification_. Again, the introduction to Walker's +_Rhyming Dictionary_ gives a fairly clear elementary account of the +subject. Ruskin also has written an excellent essay on verse-rhythms. +With a manual in front of you, you can acquire in a couple of hours a +knowledge of the formal principles in which the music of English verse +is rooted. The business is trifling. But the business of appreciating +the inmost spirit of the greatest verse is tremendous and lifelong. It +is not something that can be "got up." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +BROAD COUNSELS + + +I have now set down what appear to me to be the necessary +considerations, recommendations, exhortations, and dehortations in aid +of this delicate and arduous enterprise of forming the literary taste. +I have dealt with the theory of literature, with the psychology of the +author, and--quite as important--with the psychology of the reader. +I have tried to explain the author to the reader and the reader to +himself. To go into further detail would be to exceed my original +intention, with no hope of ever bringing the constantly-enlarging +scheme to a logical conclusion. My aim is not to provide a map, but a +compass--two very different instruments. In the way of general advice +it remains for me only to put before you three counsels which apply +more broadly than any I have yet offered to the business of reading. + +You have within yourself a touchstone by which finally you can, and +you must, test every book that your brain is capable of comprehending. +Does the book seem to you to be sincere and true? If it does, then you +need not worry about your immediate feelings, or the possible future +consequences of the book. You will ultimately like the book, and you +will be justified in liking it. Honesty, in literature as in life, +is the quality that counts first and counts last. But beware of your +immediate feelings. Truth is not always pleasant. The first glimpse +of truth is, indeed, usually so disconcerting as to be positively +unpleasant, and our impulse is to tell it to go away, for we will have +no truck with it. If a book arouses your genuine contempt, you may +dismiss it from your mind. Take heed, however, lest you confuse +contempt with anger. If a book really moves you to anger, the chances +are that it is a good book. Most good books have begun by causing +anger which disguised itself as contempt. Demanding honesty from your +authors, you must see that you render it yourself. And to be honest +with oneself is not so simple as it appears. One's sensations and +one's sentiments must be examined with detachment. When you have +violently flung down a book, listen whether you can hear a faint voice +saying within you: "It's true, though!" And if you catch the whisper, +better yield to it as quickly as you can. For sooner or later the +voice will win. Similarly, when you are hugging a book, keep your +ear cocked for the secret warning: "Yes, but it isn't true." For bad +books, by flattering you, by caressing, by appealing to the weak or +the base in you, will often persuade you what fine and splendid books +they are. (Of course, I use the word "true" in a wide and essential +significance. I do not necessarily mean true to literal fact; I +mean true to the plane of experience in which the book moves. The +truthfulness of _Ivanhoe_, for example, cannot be estimated by +the same standards as the truthfulness of Stubbs's _Constitutional +History_.) In reading a book, a sincere questioning of oneself, "Is it +true?" and a loyal abiding by the answer, will help more surely than +any other process of ratiocination to form the taste. I will not +assert that this question and answer are all-sufficient. A true book +is not always great. But a great book is never untrue. + +My second counsel is: In your reading you must have in view some +definite aim--some aim other than the wish to derive pleasure. I +conceive that to give pleasure is the highest end of any work of art, +because the pleasure procured from any art is tonic, and transforms +the life into which it enters. But the maximum of pleasure can only +be obtained by regular effort, and regular effort implies the +organisation of that effort. Open-air walking is a glorious exercise; +it is the walking itself which is glorious. Nevertheless, when setting +out for walking exercise, the sane man generally has a subsidiary aim +in view. He says to himself either that he will reach a given point, +or that he will progress at a given speed for a given distance, or +that he will remain on his feet for a given time. He organises his +effort, partly in order that he may combine some other advantage with +the advantage of walking, but principally in order to be sure that +the effort shall be an adequate effort. The same with reading. Your +paramount aim in poring over literature is to enjoy, but you will not +fully achieve that aim unless you have also a subsidiary aim which +necessitates the measurement of your energy. Your subsidiary aim may +be æsthetic, moral, political, religious, scientific, erudite; you +may devote yourself to a man, a topic, an epoch, a nation, a branch of +literature, an idea--you have the widest latitude in the choice of +an objective; but a definite objective you must have. In my earlier +remarks as to method in reading, I advocated, without insisting on, +regular hours for study. But I both advocate and insist on the fixing +of a date for the accomplishment of an allotted task. As an instance, +it is not enough to say: "I will inform myself completely as to the +Lake School." It is necessary to say: "I will inform myself completely +as to the Lake School before I am a year older." Without this +precautionary steeling of the resolution the risk of a humiliating +collapse into futility is enormously magnified. + +My third counsel is: Buy a library. It is obvious that you cannot +read unless you have books. I began by urging the constant purchase +of books--any books of approved quality, without reference to their +immediate bearing upon your particular case. The moment has now come +to inform you plainly that a bookman is, amongst other things, a man +who possesses many books. A man who does not possess many books is +not a bookman. For years literary authorities have been favouring +the literary public with wondrously selected lists of "the best +books"--the best novels, the best histories, the best poems, the best +works of philosophy--or the hundred best or the fifty best of all +sorts. The fatal disadvantage of such lists is that they leave out +large quantities of literature which is admittedly first-class. The +bookman cannot content himself with a selected library. He wants, as a +minimum, a library reasonably complete in all departments. With such a +basis acquired, he can afterwards wander into those special byways +of book-buying which happen to suit his special predilections. Every +Englishman who is interested in any branch of his native literature, +and who respects himself, ought to own a comprehensive and inclusive +library of English literature, in comely and adequate editions. You +may suppose that this counsel is a counsel of perfection. It is +not. Mark Pattison laid down a rule that he who desired the name +of book-lover must spend five per cent. of his income on books. The +proposal does not seem extravagant, but even on a smaller percentage +than five the average reader of these pages may become the owner, in +a comparatively short space of time, of a reasonably complete English +library, by which I mean a library containing the complete works +of the supreme geniuses, representative important works of all the +first-class men in all departments, and specimen works of all the +men of the second rank whose reputation is really a living reputation +to-day. The scheme for a library, which I now present, begins before +Chaucer and ends with George Gissing, and I am fairly sure that the +majority of people will be startled at the total inexpensiveness of +it. So far as I am aware, no such scheme has ever been printed before. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I + +[For much counsel and correction in the matter of editions and prices +I am indebted to my old and valued friend, Charles Young, head of the +firm of Lamley & Co., booksellers, South Kensington.] + + +For the purposes of book-buying, I divide English literature, not +strictly into historical epochs, but into three periods which, +while scarcely arbitrary from the historical point of view, have +nevertheless been calculated according to the space which they will +occupy on the shelves and to the demands which they will make on the +purse: + +I. From the beginning to John Dryden, or roughly, to the end of the +seventeenth century. + +II. From William Congreve to Jane Austen, or roughly, the eighteenth +century. + +III. From Sir Walter Scott to the last deceased author who is +recognised as a classic, or roughly, the nineteenth century. + +Period III. will bulk the largest and cost the most; not necessarily +because it contains more absolutely great books than the other periods +(though in my opinion it _does_), but because it is nearest to us, and +therefore fullest of interest for us. + +I have not confined my choice to books of purely literary +interest--that is to say, to works which are primarily works of +literary art. Literature is the vehicle of philosophy, science, +morals, religion, and history; and a library which aspires to be +complete must comprise, in addition to imaginative works, all these +branches of intellectual activity. Comprising all these branches, it +cannot avoid comprising works of which the purely literary interest is +almost nil. + +On the other hand, I have excluded from consideration:-- + +i. Works whose sole importance is that they form a link in the chain +of development. For example, nearly all the productions of authors +between Chaucer and the beginning of the Elizabethan period, such as +Gower, Hoccleve, and Skelton, whose works, for sufficient reason, are +read only by professors and students who mean to be professors. + +ii. Works not originally written in English, such as the works of +that very great philosopher Roger Bacon, of whom this isle ought to be +prouder than it is. To this rule, however, I have been constrained +to make a few exceptions. Sir Thomas More's _Utopia_ was written +in Latin, but one does not easily conceive a library to be complete +without it. And could one exclude Sir Isaac Newton's _Principia_, the +masterpiece of the greatest physicist that the world has ever +seen? The law of gravity ought to have, and does have, a powerful +sentimental interest for us. + +iii. Translations from foreign literature into English. + + +Here, then, are the lists for the first period: + + + PROSE WRITERS £ s. d. + + Bede, _Ecclesiastical History_: Temple + Classics. 0 1 6 + + Sir Thomas Malory, _Morte d'Arthur_: + Everyman's Library (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Sir Thomas More, _Utopia_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + George Cavendish, _Life of Cardinal + Wolsey_: New Universal Library. 0 1 0 + + Richard Hakluyt, _Voyages_: Everyman's + Library (8 vols.) 0 8 0 + + Richard Hooker, _Ecclesiastical Polity_: + Everyman's Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Francis Bacon, _Works_: Newnes's Thinpaper + Classics. 0 2 0 + + Thomas Dekker, _Gull's Horn-Book_: King's + Classics. 0 1 6 + + Lord Herbert of Cherbury, _Autobiography_: + Scott Library. 0 1 0 + + John Selden, _Table-Talk_: New Universal + Library. 0 1 0 + + Thomas Hobbes, _Leviathan_: New Universal + Library. 0 1 0 + + James Howell, _Familiar Letters_: Temple + Classics (3 vols.) 0 4 6 + + Sir Thomas Browne, _Religio Medici_, etc.: + Everyman's Library. 0 1 0 + + Jeremy Taylor, _Holy Living and Holy + Dying_: Temple Classics (3 vols.) 0 4 6 + + Izaak Walton, _Compleat Angler_: Everyman's + Library. 0 1 0 + + John Bunyan, _Pilgrim's Progress_: + World's Classics. 0 1 0 + + Sir William Temple, _Essay on Gardens + of Epicurus_: King's Classics. 0 1 6 + + John Evelyn, _Diary_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Pepys, _Diary_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + _________ + £2 1 6 + + +The principal omission from the above list is _The Paston Letters_, +which I should probably have included had the enterprise of publishers +been sufficient to put an edition on the market at a cheap price. +Other omissions include the works of Caxton and Wyclif, and such +books as Camden's _Britannia_, Ascham's _Schoolmaster_, and Fuller's +_Worthies_, whose lack of first-rate value as literature is not +adequately compensated by their historical interest. As to the Bible, +in the first place it is a translation, and in the second I assume +that you already possess a copy. + + + POETS £ s. d. + + _Beowulf_, Routledge's London Library 0 2 6 + + GEOFFREY CHAUCER, _Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + Nicolas Udall, _Ralph Roister-Doister_: + Temple Dramatists 0 1 0 + + EDMUND SPENSER, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + + Thomas Lodge, _Rosalynde_: Caxton Series 0 1 0 + + Robert Greene, _Tragical Reign of Selimus_: + Temple Dramatists 0 1 0 + + Michael Drayton, _Poems_: Newnes's Pocket + Classics 0 8 6 + + CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, _Works_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, _Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + Thomas Campion, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Ben Jonson, _Plays_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + John Donne, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + John Webster, Cyril Tourneur, _Plays_: + Mermaid Series 0 2 6 + + Philip Massinger, _Plays_: Cunningham + Edition 0 3 6 + + Beaumont and Fletcher, _Plays_: a Selection + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + John Ford, _Plays_: Mermaid Series 0 2 6 + + George Herbert, _The Temple_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + ROBERT HERRICK, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Edmund Waller, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Sir John Suckling, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Abraham Cowley, _English Poems_: Cambridge + University Press 0 4 6 + + Richard Crashaw, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Henry Vaughan, _Poems_: Methuen's + Little Library 0 1 6 + + Samuel Butler, _Hudibras_: Cambridge + University Press 0 4 6 + + JOHN MILTON, _Poetical Works_: Oxford + Cheap Edition 0 2 0 + + JOHN MILTON, _Select Prose Works_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Andrew Marvell, _Poems_: Methuen's Little + Library 0 1 6 + + John Dryden, _Poetical Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + [Thomas Percy], _Reliques of Ancient + English Poetry_: Everyman's Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Spenser" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Jonson" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Shakspere" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + _________ + £3 7 6 + + +There were a number of brilliant minor writers in the seventeenth +century whose best work, often trifling in bulk, either scarcely +merits the acquisition of a separate volume for each author, or cannot +be obtained at all in a modern edition. Such authors, however, may not +be utterly neglected in the formation of a library. It is to meet this +difficulty that I have included the last three volumes on the above +list. Professor Arber's anthologies are full of rare pieces, and +comprise admirable specimens of the verse of Samuel Daniel, Giles +Fletcher, Countess of Pembroke, James I., George Peele, Sir Walter +Raleigh, Thomas Sackville, Sir Philip Sidney, Drummond of Hawthornden, +Thomas Heywood, George Wither, Sir Henry Wotton, Sir William Davenant, +Thomas Randolph, Frances Quarles, James Shirley, and other greater and +lesser poets. + +I have included all the important Elizabethan dramatists except John +Marston, all the editions of whose works, according to my researches, +are out of print. + +In the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods talent was so extraordinarily +plentiful that the standard of excellence is quite properly raised, +and certain authors are thus relegated to the third, or excluded, +class who in a less fertile period would have counted as at least +second-class. + + + SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD. £ s. d. + + 19 prose authors in 36 volumes costing 2 1 6 + 29 poets in 36 " " 3 7 6 + __ __ _________ + 48 72 £5 9 0 + + +In addition, scores of authors of genuine interest are represented in +the anthologies. + +The prices given are gross, and in many instances there is a 25 +per cent. discount to come off. All the volumes can be procured +immediately at any bookseller's. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II + + +After dealing with the formation of a library of authors up to John +Dryden, I must logically arrange next a scheme for the period covered +roughly by the eighteenth century. There is, however, no reason why +the student in quest of a library should follow the chronological +order. Indeed, I should advise him to attack the nineteenth century +before the eighteenth, for the reason that, unless his taste +happens to be peculiarly "Augustan," he will obtain a more immediate +satisfaction and profit from his acquisitions in the nineteenth +century than in the eighteenth. There is in eighteenth-century +literature a considerable proportion of what I may term "unattractive +excellence," which one must have for the purposes of completeness, +but which may await actual perusal until more pressing and more human +books have been read. I have particularly in mind the philosophical +authors of the century. + + + PROSE WRITERS. £ s. d. + + JOHN LOCKE, _Philosophical Works_: Bohn's + Edition (2 vols.) 0 7 0 + + SIR ISAAC NEWTON, _Principia_ (sections 1, + 2, and 3): Macmillans 0 12 0 + + Gilbert Burnet, _History of His Own Time_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + William Wycherley, _Best Plays_: Mermaid + Series 0 2 6 + + WILLIAM CONGREVE, _Best Plays_: Mermaid + Series 0 2 6 + + Jonathan Swift, _Tale of a Tub_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Jonathan Swift, _Gulliver's Travels_: + Temple Classics 0 1 6 + + DANIEL DEFOE, _Robinson Crusoe_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + DANIEL DEFOE, _Journal of the Plague + Year_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Joseph Addison, Sir Richard Steele, + _Essays_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + William Law, _Serious Call_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Lady Mary W. Montagu, _Letters_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + George Berkeley, _Principles of Human + Knowledge_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + SAMUEL RICHARDSON, _Clarissa_ (abridged): + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + John Wesley, _Journal_: Everyman's + Library (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Tom Jones_: Routledge's + Edition 0 2 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Amelia_: Routledge's + Edition 0 2 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Joseph Andrews_: + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + David Hume, _Essays_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + LAURENCE STERNE, _Tristram Shandy_: + World's Classics 0 1 0 + + LAURENCE STERNE, _Sentimental Journey_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Horace Walpole, _Castle of Otranto_: King's + Classics 0 1 6 + + Tobias Smollett, _Humphrey Clinker_: + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + Tobias Smollett, _Travels through France + and Italy_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + ADAM SMITH, _Wealth of Nations_: World's + Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Johnson, _Lives of the Poets_: + World's Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Johnson, _Rasselas_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + JAMES BOSWELL, _Life of Johnson_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Oliver Goldsmith, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + + Henry Mackenzie, _The Man of Feeling_: + Cassell's National Library 0 0 6 + + Sir Joshua Reynolds, _Discourses on Art_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Edmund Burke, _Reflections on the French + Revolution_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Edmund Burke, _Thoughts on the Present + Discontents_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + EDWARD GIBBON, _Decline and Fall of the + Roman Empire_: World's Classics + (7 vols.) 0 7 0 + + Thomas Paine, _Rights of Man_: Watts + and Co.'s Edition 0 1 0 + + RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, _Plays_: + World's Classics 0 1 0 + + Fanny Burney, _Evelina_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Gilbert White, _Natural History of Selborne_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Arthur Young, _Travels in France_: York + Library 0 2 0 + + Mungo Park, _Travels_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Jeremy Bentham, _Introduction to the + Principles of Morals_: Clarendon + Press 0 6 6 + + THOMAS ROBERT MALTHUS, _Essay on the + Principle of Population_: Ward, + Lock's Edition 0 3 0 + + William Godwin, _Caleb Williams_: + Newnes's Edition 0 1 0 + + Maria Edgeworth, _Helen_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Edition 0 2 6 + + JANE AUSTEN, _Novels_: Nelson's New + Century Library (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + James Morier, _Hadji Baba_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Novels 0 2 6 + __________ + £5 1 0 + + +The principal omissions here are Jeremy Collier, whose outcry against +the immorality of the stage is his slender title to remembrance; +Richard Bentley, whose scholarship principally died with him, and +whose chief works are no longer current; and "Junius," who would have +been deservedly forgotten long ago had there been a contemporaneous +Sherlock Holmes to ferret out his identity. + + + POETS. £ s. d. + + Thomas Otway, _Venice Preserved_: Temple + Dramatists 0 1 0 + + Matthew Prior, _Poems on Several Occasions_: + Cambridge English Classics 0 4 6 + + John Gay, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + ALEXANDER POPE, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 0 + + Isaac Watts, _Hymns_: Any hymn-book 0 1 0 + + James Thomson, _The Seasons_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + Charles Wesley, _Hymns_: Any hymn-book 0 1 0 + + THOMAS GRAY, Samuel Johnson, William + Collins, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + James Macpherson (Ossian), _Poems_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + THOMAS CHATTERTON, _Poems_: Muses' + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + WILLIAM COWPER, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM COWPER, _Letters_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + George Crabbe, _Poems_: Methuen's Little + Library 0 1 6 + + WILLIAM BLAKE, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + William Lisle Bowles, Hartley Coleridge, + _Poems_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + ROBERT BURNS, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + __________ + £1 7 0 + + + SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD. + + 39 prose writers in 60 volumes, costing £5 1 0 + 18 poets " 18 " " 1 7 0 + __ __ __________ + 57 78 £6 8 0 + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III + + +The catalogue of necessary authors of this third and last period being +so long, it is convenient to divide the prose writers into Imaginative +and Non-imaginative. + +In the latter half of the period the question of copyright affects our +scheme to a certain extent, because it affects prices. Fortunately +it is the fact that no single book of recognised first-rate general +importance is conspicuously dear. Nevertheless, I have encountered +difficulties in the second rank; I have dealt with them in a spirit +of compromise. I think I may say that, though I should have included +a few more authors had their books been obtainable at a reasonable +price, I have omitted none that I consider indispensable to a +thoroughly representative collection. No living author is included. + +Where I do not specify the edition of a book the original copyright +edition is meant. + + + PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE. £ s. d. + + SIR WALTER SCOTT, _Waverley, Heart of + Midlothian, Quentin Durward, Red-gauntlet, + Ivanhoe_: Everyman's + Library (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + SIR WALTER SCOTT, _Marmion_, etc.: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + Charles Lamb, _Works in Prose and Verse_: + Clarendon Press (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Charles Lamb, _Letters_: Newnes's Thin + Paper Classics 0 2 0 + + Walter Savage Landor, _Imaginary Conversations_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Walter Savage Landor, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Leigh Hunt, _Essays and Sketches_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Thomas Love Peacock, _Principal Novels_: + New Universal Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Mary Russell Mitford, _Our Village_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Michael Scott, _Tom Cringle's Log_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Novels 0 2 6 + + Frederick Marryat, _Mr. Midshipman + Easy_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + John Galt, _Annals of the Parish_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Susan Ferrier, _Marriage_: Routledge's + edition 0 2 0 + + Douglas Jerrold, _Mrs. Caudle's Curtain + Lectures_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + Lord Lytton, _Last Days of Pompeii_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + William Carleton, _Stories_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Charles James Lever, _Harry Lorrequer_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Harrison Ainsworth, _The Tower of London_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + George Henry Borrow, _Bible in Spain, + Lavengro_: New Universal Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Lord Beaconsfield, _Sybil, Coningsby_: + Lane's New Pocket Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + W.M. THACKERAY, _Vanity Fair, Esmond_: + Everyman's Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + W.M. THACKERAY, _Barry Lyndon_, and + _Roundabout Papers_, etc.: + Nelson's New Century Library 0 2 0 + + CHARLES DICKENS, _Works_: Everyman's + Library (18 vols.) 0 18 0 + + Charles Reade, _The Cloister and the Hearth_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Anthony Trollope, _Barchester Towers, + Framley Parsonage_: Lane's New + Pocket Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Charles Kingsley, _Westward Ho!_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Henry Kingsley, _Ravenshoe_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Charlotte Brontë, _Jane Eyre, Shirley, + Villette, Professor, and Poems_: + World's Classics (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Emily Brontë, _Wuthering Heights_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Elizabeth Gaskell, _Cranford_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Elizabeth Gaskell, _Life of Charlotte Brontë_ 0 2 6 + + George Eliot, _Adam Bede, Silas Marner, + The Mill on the Floss_: Everyman's + Library (3 vols.) 0 3 0 + + G.J. Whyte-Melville, _The Gladiators_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Alexander Smith, _Dreamthorpe_: New + Universal Library 0 1 0 + + George Macdonald, _Malcolm_ 0 1 6 + + Walter Pater, _Imaginary Portraits_ 0 6 0 + + Wilkie Collins, _The Woman in White_ 0 1 0 + + R.D. Blackmore, _Lorna Doone_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Samuel Butler, _Erewhon_: Fifield's + Edition 0 2 6 + + Laurence Oliphant, _Altiora Peto_ 0 3 6 + + Margaret Oliphant, _Salem Chapel_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Richard Jefferies, _Story of My Heart_ 0 2 0 + + Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland_: Macmillan's + Cheap Edition 0 1 0 + + John Henry Shorthouse, _John Inglesant_: + Macmillan's Pocket Classics 0 2 0 + + R.L. Stevenson, _Master of Ballantrae, + Virginibus Puerisque_: Pocket Edition + (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + George Gissing, _The Odd Women_: Popular + Edition (bound) 0 0 7 + __________ + £5 0 1 + +Names such as those of Charlotte Yonge and Dinah Craik are omitted +intentionally. + + + PROSE WRITERS: NON-IMAGINATIVE. £ s. d. + + William Hazlitt, _Spirit of the Age_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + William Hazlitt, _English Poets and Comic + Writers_: Bohn's Library 0 3 6 + + Francis Jeffrey, _Essays from Edinburgh + Review_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas de Quincey, _Confessions of an + English Opium-eater_, etc.: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Sydney Smith, _Selected Papers_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + George Finlay, _Byzantine Empire_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + John G. Lockhart, _Life of Scott_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Agnes Strickland, _Life of Queen Elizabeth_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Hugh Miller, _Old Red Sandstone_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + J.H. Newman, _Apologia pro vita sua_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Lord Macaulay, _History of England_, (3), + _Essays_ (2): Everyman's Library (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + A.P. Stanley, _Memorials of Canterbury_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + THOMAS CARLYLE, _French Revolution_ (2), + _Cromwell_ (3), _Sartor Resartus and + Heroes and Hero-Worship_ (1): Everyman's + Library (6 vols.) 0 6 0 + + THOMAS CARLYLE, _Latter-day Pamphlets_: + Chapman and Hall's Edition 0 1 0 + + CHARLES DARWIN, _Origin of Species_: + Murray's Edition 0 1 0 + + CHARLES DARWIN, _Voyage of the Beagle_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + A.W. Kinglake, _Eothen_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + John Stuart Mill, _Auguste Comte and + Positivism_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + John Brown, _Horæ Subsecivæ_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + John Brown, _Rab and His Friends_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Sir Arthur Helps, _Friends in Council_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Mark Pattison, _Life of Milton_: English + Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + F.W. Robertson, _On Religion and Life_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Benjamin Jowett, _Interpretation of Scripture_: + Routledge's London Library 0 2 6 + + George Henry Lewes, _Principles of Success + in Literature_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Alexander Bain, _Mind and Body_ 0 4 0 + + James Anthony Froude, _Dissolution of the + Monasteries_, etc.: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + Mary Wollstonecraft, _Vindication of the + Rights of Women_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + John Tyndall, _Glaciers of the Alps_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Sir Henry Maine, _Ancient Law_: New + Universal Library 0 1 0 + + JOHN RUSKIN, _Seven Lamps_ (1), _Sesame + and Lilies_ (1), _Stones of Venice_ (3): + George Allen's Cheap Edition (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + HERBERT SPENCER, _First Principles_ (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + HERBERT SPENCER, _Education_ 0 1 0 + + Sir Richard Burton, _Narrative of a + Pilgrimage to Mecca_: Bohn's Edition + (2 vols.) 0 7 0 + + J.S. Speke, _Sources of the Nile_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Henry Huxley, _Essays_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + E.A. Freeman, _Europe_: Macmillan's + Primers 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM STUBBS, _Early Plantagenets_ 0 2 0 + + Walter Bagehot, _Lombard Street_ 0 3 6 + + Richard Holt Hutton, _Cardinal Newman_ 0 3 6 + + Sir John Seeley, _Ecce Homo_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + David Masson, _Thomas de Quincey_: + English Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + John Richard Green, _Short History of the + English People_ 0 8 6 + + Sir Leslie Stephen, _Pope_: English Men + of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + Lord Acton, _On the Study of History_ 0 2 6 + + Mandell Creighton, _The Age of Elizabeth_ 0 2 6 + + F.W.H. Myers, _Wordsworth_: English + Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + __________ + £4 10 6 + + +The following authors are omitted, I think justifiably:--Hallam, +Whewell, Grote, Faraday, Herschell, Hamilton, John Wilson, Richard +Owen, Stirling Maxwell, Buckle, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Hamerton, F.D. +Maurice, Henry Sidgwick, and Richard Jebb. + +Lastly, here is the list of poets. In the matter of price per volume +it is the most expensive of all the lists. This is due to the fact +that it contains a larger proportion of copyright works. Where I do +not specify the edition of a book, the original copyright edition is +meant: + + + POETS. £ s. d. + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, _Poetical Works_: + Oxford Edition 0 3 6 + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, _Literary Criticism_: + Nowell Smith's Edition 0 2 6 + + Robert Southey, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Robert Southey, _Life of Nelson_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Poetical Works_: + Newnes's Thin Paper Classics 0 2 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Biographia Literaria_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Lectures on Shakspere_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + JOHN KEATS, _Poetical Works_: Oxford + Edition 0 3 6 + + PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, _Poetical Works_: + Oxford Edition 0 3 6 + + LORD BYRON, _Poems_: E. Hartley Coleridge's + Edition 0 6 0 + + LORD BYRON, _Letters_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Hood, _Poems_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + James and Horace Smith, _Rejected Addresses_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + John Keble, _The Christian Year_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + George Darley, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + T.L. Beddoes, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Moore, _Selected Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + James Clarence Mangan, _Poems_: D.J. + O'Donoghue's Edition 0 3 6 + + W. Mackworth Praed, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + R.S. Hawker, _Cornish Ballads_: C.E. + Byles's Edition 0 5 0 + + Edward FitzGerald, _Omar Khayyam_: + Golden Treasury Series 0 2 6 + + P.J. Bailey, _Festus_: Routledge's Edition 0 3 6 + + Arthur Hugh Clough, _Poems_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + LORD TENNYSON, _Poetical Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + ROBERT BROWNING, _Poetical Works_: + World's Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Elizabeth Browning, _Aurora Leigh_: + Temple Classics 0 1 6 + + Elizabeth Browning, _Shorter Poems_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + P.B. Marston, _Song-tide_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Aubrey de Vere, _Legends of St. Patrick_: + Cassell's National Library 0 0 6 + + MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Poems_: Golden Treasury + Series 0 2 6 + + MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Essays_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Coventry Patmore, _Poems_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + Sydney Dobell, _Poems_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + Eric Mackay, _Love-letters of a Violinist_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + T.E. Brown, _Poems_ 0 7 6 + + C.S. Calverley, _Verses and Translations_ 0 1 6 + + D.G. ROSSETTI, _Poetical Works_ 0 3 6 + + Christina Rossetti, _Selected Poems_: + Golden Treasury Series 0 2 6 + + James Thomson, _City of Dreadful Night_ 0 3 6 + + Jean Ingelow, _Poems_: Red Letter Library 0 1 6 + + William Morris, _The Earthly Paradise_ 0 6 0 + + William Morris, _Early Romances_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Augusta Webster, _Selected Poems_ 0 4 6 + + W.E. Henley, _Poetical Works_ 0 6 0 + + Francis Thompson, _Selected Poems_ 0 5 0 + __________ + £5 7 0 + + +Poets whom I have omitted after hesitation are: Ebenezer Elliott, +Thomas Woolner, William Barnes, Gerald Massey, and Charles Jeremiah +Wells. On the other hand, I have had no hesitation about omitting +David Moir, Felicia Hemans, Aytoun, Sir Edwin Arnold, and Sir Lewis +Morris. I have included John Keble in deference to much enlightened +opinion, but against my inclination. There are two names in the list +which may be somewhat unfamiliar to many readers. James Clarence +Mangan is the author of _My Dark Rosaleen_, an acknowledged +masterpiece, which every library must contain. T.E. Brown is a great +poet, recognised as such by a few hundred people, and assuredly +destined to a far wider fame. I have included FitzGerald because _Omar +Khayyam_ is much less a translation than an original work. + + + SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. + + 83 prose-writers, in 141 volumes, costing £9 10 7 + 38 poets " 46 " " 5 7 0 + __ ___ __________ + 121 187 £14 17 7 + + + GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY. + + Authors. Volumes. Price. + + 1. To Dryden 48 72 £5 9 0 + + 2. Eighteenth Century 57 78 6 8 0 + + 3. Nineteenth Century 121 187 14 17 7 + ___ ___ ________ + 226 337 £26 14 7 + +I think it will be agreed that the total cost of this library is +surprisingly small. By laying out the sum of sixpence a day for three +years you may become the possessor of a collection of books which, +for range and completeness in all branches of literature, will bear +comparison with libraries far more imposing, more numerous, and more +expensive. + +I have mentioned the question of discount. The discount which you +will obtain (even from a bookseller in a small town) will be more than +sufficient to pay for Chambers's _Cyclopædia of English Literature_, +three volumes, price 30s. net. This work is indispensable to a +bookman. Personally, I owe it much. + +When you have read, wholly or in part, a majority of these three +hundred and thirty-five volumes, _with enjoyment_, you may begin to +whisper to yourself that your literary taste is formed; and you may +pronounce judgment on modern works which come before the bar of your +opinion in the calm assurance that, though to err is human, you do at +any rate know what you are talking about. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MENTAL STOCKTAKING + + +Great books do not spring from something accidental in the great +men who wrote them. They are the effluence of their very core, the +expression of the life itself of the authors. And literature cannot be +said to have served its true purpose until it has been translated into +the actual life of him who reads. It does not succeed until it becomes +the vehicle of the vital. Progress is the gradual result of the +unending battle between human reason and human instinct, in which the +former slowly but surely wins. The most powerful engine in this +battle is literature. It is the vast reservoir of true ideas and high +emotions--and life is constituted of ideas and emotions. In a world +deprived of literature, the intellectual and emotional activity of all +but a few exceptionally gifted men would quickly sink and retract to +a narrow circle. The broad, the noble, the generous would tend +to disappear for want of accessible storage. And life would be +correspondingly degraded, because the fallacious idea and the petty +emotion would never feel the upward pull of the ideas and emotions +of genius. Only by conceiving a society without literature can it be +clearly realised that the function of literature is to raise the plain +towards the top level of the peaks. Literature exists so that where +one man has lived finely ten thousand may afterwards live finely. It +is a means of life; it concerns the living essence. + +Of course, literature has a minor function, that of passing the +time in an agreeable and harmless fashion, by giving momentary faint +pleasure. Vast multitudes of people (among whom may be numbered not a +few habitual readers) utilise only this minor function of literature; +by implication they class it with golf, bridge, or soporifics. +Literary genius, however, had no intention of competing with these +devices for fleeting the empty hours; and all such use of literature +may be left out of account. + +You, O serious student of many volumes, believe that you have a +sincere passion for reading. You hold literature in honour, and your +last wish would be to debase it to a paltry end. You are not of those +who read because the clock has just struck nine and one can't go +to bed till eleven. You are animated by a real desire to get out of +literature all that literature will give. And in that aim you keep on +reading, year after year, and the grey hairs come. But amid all this +steady tapping of the reservoir, do you ever take stock of what you +have acquired? Do you ever pause to make a valuation, in terms of your +own life, of that which you are daily absorbing, or imagine you +are absorbing? Do you ever satisfy yourself by proof that you +are absorbing anything at all, that the living waters, instead of +vitalising you, are not running off you as though you were a duck in a +storm? Because, if you omit this mere business precaution, it may well +be that you, too, without knowing it, are little by little joining +the triflers who read only because eternity is so long. It may well be +that even your alleged sacred passion is, after all, simply a sort of +drug-habit. The suggestion disturbs and worries you. You dismiss it +impatiently; but it returns. + +How (you ask, unwillingly) can a man perform a mental stocktaking? How +can he put a value on what he gets from books? How can he effectively +test, in cold blood, whether he is receiving from literature all that +literature has to give him? + +The test is not so vague, nor so difficult, as might appear. + +If a man is not thrilled by intimate contact with nature: with the +sun, with the earth, which is his origin and the arouser of his +acutest emotions-- + +If he is not troubled by the sight of beauty in many forms-- + +If he is devoid of curiosity concerning his fellow-men and his +fellow-animals-- + +If he does not have glimpses of the nuity of all things in an orderly +progress-- + +If he is chronically "querulous, dejected, and envious"-- + +If he is pessimistic-- + +If he is of those who talk about "this age of shams," "this age without +ideals," "this hysterical age," and this heaven-knows-what-age-- + +Then that man, though he reads undisputed classics for twenty hours +a day, though he has a memory of steel, though he rivals Porson +in scholarship and Sainte Beuve in judgment, is not receiving from +literature what literature has to give. Indeed, he is chiefly wasting +his time. Unless he can read differently, it were better for him if +he sold all his books, gave to the poor, and played croquet. He fails +because he has not assimilated into his existence the vital essences +which genius put into the books that have merely passed before his +eyes; because genius has offered him faith, courage, vision, noble +passion, curiosity, love, a thirst for beauty, and he has not taken +the gift; because genius has offered him the chance of living fully, +and he is only half alive, for it is only in the stress of fine ideas +and emotions that a man may be truly said to live. This is not a moral +invention, but a simple fact, which will be attested by all who know +what that stress is. + +What! You talk learnedly about Shakespeare's sonnets! Have you heard +Shakespeare's terrific shout: + + Full many a glorious morning have I seen + Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, + Kissing with golden face the meadows green, + Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy. + +And yet, can you see the sun over the viaduct at Loughborough Junction +of a morning, and catch its rays in the Thames off Dewar's whisky +monument, and not shake with the joy of life? If so, you and +Shakespeare are not yet in communication. What! You pride yourself on +your beautiful edition of Casaubon's translation of _Marcus Aurelius_, +and you savour the cadences of the famous: + + This day I shall have to do with an idle, curious man, with an + unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious + man. All these ill qualities have happened unto him, through + ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I + that understand the nature of that which is good, that it only + is to be desired, and of that which is bad, that it only + is truly odious and shameful: who know, moreover, that this + transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same + blood and seed, but by participation of the same reason and of + the same divine particle--how can I be hurt?... + +And with these cadences in your ears you go and quarrel with a cabman! + +You would be ashamed of your literary self to be caught in ignorance +of Whitman, who wrote: + + Now understand me well--it is provided in the essence of + things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, + shall come forth something to make a greater struggle + necessary. + +And yet, having achieved a motor-car, you lose your temper when it +breaks down half-way up a hill! + +You know your Wordsworth, who has been trying to teach you about: + + The Upholder of the tranquil soul + That tolerates the indignities of Time + And, from the centre of Eternity + All finite motions over-ruling, lives + In glory immutable. + +But you are capable of being seriously unhappy when your suburban +train selects a tunnel for its repose! + +And the A.V. of the Bible, which you now read, not as your forefathers +read it, but with an æsthetic delight, especially in the Apocrypha! +You remember: + + Whatsoever is brought upon thee, take cheerfully, and be + patient when thou art changed to a low estate. For gold + is tried in the fire and acceptable men in the furnace of + adversity. + +And yet you are ready to lie down and die because a woman has scorned +you! Go to! + +You think some of my instances approach the ludicrous? They do. They +are meant to do so. But they are no more ludicrous than life itself. +And they illustrate in the most workaday fashion how you can test +whether your literature fulfils its function of informing and +transforming your existence. + +I say that if daily events and scenes do not constantly recall and +utilise the ideas and emotions contained in the books which you have +read or are reading; if the memory of these books does not quicken the +perception of beauty, wherever you happen to be, does not help you to +correlate the particular trifle with the universal, does not smooth +out irritation and give dignity to sorrow--then you are, consciously +or not, unworthy of your high vocation as a bookman. You may say that +I am preaching a sermon. The fact is, I am. My mood is a severely +moral mood. For when I reflect upon the difference between what +books have to offer and what even relatively earnest readers take the +trouble to accept from them, I am appalled (or should be appalled, did +I not know that the world is moving) by the sheer inefficiency, the +bland, complacent failure of the earnest reader. I am like yourself, +the spectacle of inefficiency rouses my holy ire. + +Before you begin upon another masterpiece, set out in a row the +masterpieces which you are proud of having read during the past year. +Take the first on the list, that book which you perused in all the +zeal of your New Year resolutions for systematic study. Examine the +compartments of your mind. Search for the ideas and emotions which you +have garnered from that book. Think, and recollect when last something +from that book recurred to your memory apropos of your own daily +commerce with humanity. Is it history--when did it throw a light for +you on modern politics? Is it science--when did it show you order in +apparent disorder, and help you to put two and two together into an +inseparable four? Is it ethics--when did it influence your conduct in +a twopenny-halfpenny affair between man and man? Is it a novel--when +did it help you to "understand all and forgive all"? Is it +poetry--when was it a magnifying glass to disclose beauty to you, or +a fire to warm your cooling faith? If you can answer these questions +satisfactorily, your stocktaking as regards the fruit of your traffic +with that book may be reckoned satisfactory. If you cannot answer +them satisfactorily, then either you chose the book badly or your +impression that you _read_ it is a mistaken one. + +When the result of this stocktaking forces you to the conclusion that +your riches are not so vast as you thought them to be, it is necessary +to look about for the causes of the misfortune. The causes may be +several. You may have been reading worthless books. This, however, +I should say at once, is extremely unlikely. Habitual and confirmed +readers, unless they happen to be reviewers, seldom read worthless +books. In the first place, they are so busy with books of proved value +that they have only a small margin of leisure left for very modern +works, and generally, before they can catch up with the age, Time or +the critic has definitely threshed for them the wheat from the +chaff. No! Mediocrity has not much chance of hood-winking the serious +student. + +It is less improbable that the serious student has been choosing his +books badly. He may do this in two ways--absolutely and relatively. +Every reader of long standing has been through the singular experience +of suddenly _seeing_ a book with which his eyes have been familiar for +years. He reads a book with a reputation and thinks: "Yes, this is a +good book. This book gives me pleasure." And then after an interval, +perhaps after half a lifetime, something mysterious happens to his +mental sight. He picks up the book again, and sees a new and profound +significance in every sentence, and he says: "I was perfectly blind +to this book before." Yet he is no cleverer than he used to be. Only +something has happened to him. Let a gold watch be discovered by a +supposititious man who has never heard of watches. He has a sense of +beauty. He admires the watch, and takes pleasure in it. He says: +"This is a beautiful piece of bric-à-brac; I fully appreciate this +delightful trinket." Then imagine his feelings when someone comes +along with the key; imagine the light flooding his brain. Similar +incidents occur in the eventful life of the constant reader. He has no +key, and never suspects that there exists such a thing as a key. That +is what I call a choice absolutely bad. + +The choice is relatively bad when, spreading over a number of books, +it pursues no order, and thus results in a muddle of faint impressions +each blurring the rest. Books must be allowed to help one another; +they must be skilfully called in to each other's aid. And that this +may be accomplished some guiding principle is necessary. "And what," +you demand, "should that guiding principle be?" How do I know? Nobody, +fortunately, can make your principles for you. You have to make them +for yourself. But I will venture upon this general observation: that +in the mental world what counts is not numbers but co-ordination. +As regards facts and ideas, the great mistake made by the average +well-intentioned reader is that he is content with the names of things +instead of occupying himself with the causes of things. He seeks +answers to the question What? instead of to the question Why? He +studies history, and never guesses that all history is caused by the +facts of geography. He is a botanical expert, and can take you to +where the _Sibthorpia europæa_ grows, and never troubles to wonder +what the earth would be without its cloak of plants. He wanders +forth of starlit evenings and will name you with unction all the +constellations from Andromeda to the Scorpion; but if you ask him why +Venus can never be seen at midnight, he will tell you that he has not +bothered with the scientific details. He has not learned that names +are nothing, and the satisfaction of the lust of the eye a trifle +compared to the imaginative vision of which scientific "details" are +the indispensable basis. + +Most reading, I am convinced, is unphilosophical; that is to say, it +lacks the element which more than anything else quickens the poetry of +life. Unless and until a man has formed a scheme of knowledge, be it +a mere skeleton, his reading must necessarily be unphilosophical. +He must have attained to some notion of the inter-relations of the +various branches of knowledge before he can properly comprehend the +branch in which he specialises. If he has not drawn an outline map +upon which he can fill in whatever knowledge comes to him, as it +comes, and on which he can trace the affinity of every part with every +other part, he is assuredly frittering away a large percentage of his +efforts. There are certain philosophical works which, once they are +mastered, seem to have performed an operation for cataract, so that +he who was blind, having read them, henceforward sees cause and effect +working in and out everywhere. To use another figure, they leave +stamped on the brain a chart of the entire province of knowledge. + +Such a work is Spencer's _First Principles_. I know that it is +nearly useless to advise people to read _First Principles_. They are +intimidated by the sound of it; and it costs as much as a dress-circle +seat at the theatre. But if they would, what brilliant stocktakings +there might be in a few years! Why, if they would only read such +detached essays as that on "Manners and Fashion," or "The Genesis of +Science" (in a sixpenny volume of Spencer's _Essays_, published +by Watts and Co.), the magic illumination, the necessary power of +"synthetising" things, might be vouch-safed to them. In any case, +the lack of some such disciplinary, co-ordinating measure will amply +explain many disastrous stocktakings. The manner in which one single +ray of light, one single precious hint, will clarify and energise the +whole mental life of him who receives it, is among the most wonderful +and heavenly of intellectual phenomena. Some men search for that light +and never find it. But most men never search for it. + +The superlative cause of disastrous stocktakings remains, and it +is much more simple than the one with which I have just dealt. It +consists in the absence of meditation. People read, and read, and +read, blandly unconscious of their effrontery in assuming that they +can assimilate without any further effort the vital essence which the +author has breathed into them. They cannot. And the proof that they do +not is shown all the time in their lives. I say that if a man does not +spend at least as much time in actively and definitely thinking about +what he has read as he has spent in reading, he is simply insulting +his author. If he does not submit himself to intellectual and +emotional fatigue in classifying the communicated ideas, and +in emphasising on his spirit the imprint of the communicated +emotions--then reading with him is a pleasant pastime and nothing +else. This is a distressing fact. But it is a fact. It is distressing, +for the reason that meditation is not a popular exercise. If a friend +asks you what you did last night, you may answer, "I was reading," and +he will be impressed and you will be proud. But if you answer, "I +was meditating," he will have a tendency to smile and you will have a +tendency to blush. I know this. I feel it myself. (I cannot offer any +explanation.) But it does not shake my conviction that the absence of +meditation is the main origin of disappointing stocktakings. + + + + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + +NOVELS + + A MAN FROM THE NORTH + ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS + LEONORA + A GREAT MAN + SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE + WHOM GOD HATH JOINED + BURIED ALIVE + THE OLD WIVES' TALE + THE GLIMPSE + HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND + CLAYHANGER + THE CARD + +FANTASIAS + + THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL + THE GATES OF WRATH + TERESA OF WATLING STREET + THE LOOT OF CITIES + HUGO + THE GHOST + THE CITY OF PLEASURE + +SHORT STORIES + + TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS + THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS + +BELLES-LETTRES + + JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN + FAME AND FICTION + HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR + THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR + THE REASONABLE LIFE + HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY + THE HUMAN MACHINE + LITERARY TASTE + MENTAL EFFICIENCY + +DRAMA + + POLITE FARCES + CUPID AND COMMONSENSE + WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS + + +(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS) + + THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE + THE STATUE: A ROMANCE + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT*** + + +******* This file should be named 13852-8.txt or 13852-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/5/13852 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Literary Taste: How to Form It</p> +<p>Author: Arnold Bennett</p> +<p>Release Date: October 25, 2004 [eBook #13852]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT***</p> +<br /><br /><h4>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Alison Hadwin,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h4><br /><br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="pageiii" id="pageiii"></a>[pg iii]</span> + <h1>LITERARY TASTE</h1> + <h2>HOW TO FORM IT</h2> + <h3>WITH DETAILED INSTRUCTIONS FOR</h3> + <h3>COLLECTING A COMPLETE LIBRARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE</h3> + <h3>BY</h3> + <h2>ARNOLD BENNETT</h2> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="pageiv" id="pageiv"></a>[pg iv]</span> + <h5><i>First Published</i> 1909</h5> + <br /> + <br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> + + <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagev" id="pagev"></a>[pg v]</span> + <h2>CONTENTS</h2> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER I</p> + <p>THE AIM <a href="#page1">1</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER II</p> + <p>YOUR PARTICULAR CASE <a href="#page9">9</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER III</p> + <p>WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC <a href="#page18">18</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER IV</p> + <p>WHERE TO BEGIN <a href="#page26">26</a><br /> + </p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagevi" id="pagevi"></a>[pg vi]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER V</p> + <p>HOW TO READ A CLASSIC <a href="#page34">34</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER VI</p> + <p>THE QUESTION OF STYLE <a href="#page43">43</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER VII</p> + <p>WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR <a href="#page59">59</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER VIII</p> + <p>SYSTEM IN READING <a href="#page68">68</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER IX</p> + <p>VERSE <a href="#page76">76</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER X</p> + <p>BROAD COUNSELS <a href="#page91">91</a><br /> + </p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagevii" id="pagevii"></a>[pg vii]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER XI</p> + <p>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I <a href="#page99">99</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER XII</p> + <p>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II <a href="#page108">108</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER XIII</p> + <p>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III <a href="#page114">114</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>CHAPTER XIV</p> + <p>MENTAL STOCKTAKING <a href="#page127">127</a><br /> + </p> + </div> + </div> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page1" id="page1"></a>[pg 1]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + <h2>THE AIM</h2> + <p>At the beginning a misconception must be removed from the path. Many people, if + not most, look on literary taste as an elegant accomplishment, by acquiring which + they will complete themselves, and make themselves finally fit as members of a + correct society. They are secretly ashamed of their ignorance of literature, in the + same way as they would be ashamed of their ignorance of etiquette at a high + entertainment, or of their inability to ride a horse if suddenly called upon to do + so. There are certain things that a man ought to know, or to know about, and + literature is one of them: such is their idea. They have learnt to dress themselves + with propriety, and to behave with propriety on all occasions; they are fairly "up" + in the questions of the day; by industry <span class="pagenum"><a name="page2" + id="page2"></a>[pg 2]</span> and enterprise they are succeeding in their vocations; + it behoves them, then, not to forget that an acquaintance with literature is an + indispensable part of a self-respecting man's personal baggage. Painting doesn't + matter; music doesn't matter very much. But "everyone is supposed to know" about + literature. Then, literature is such a charming distraction! Literary taste thus + serves two purposes: as a certificate of correct culture and as a private pastime. A + young professor of mathematics, immense at mathematics and games, dangerous at chess, + capable of Haydn on the violin, once said to me, after listening to some chat on + books, "Yes, I must take up literature." As though saying: "I was rather forgetting + literature. However, I've polished off all these other things. I'll have a shy at + literature now."</p> + <p>This attitude, or any attitude which resembles it, is wrong. To him who really + comprehends what literature is, and what the function of literature is, this attitude + is simply ludicrous. It is also fatal to the formation of literary taste. <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page3" id="page3"></a>[pg 3]</span> People who regard + literary taste simply as an accomplishment, and literature simply as a distraction, + will never truly succeed either in acquiring the accomplishment or in using it + half-acquired as a distraction; though the one is the most perfect of distractions, + and though the other is unsurpassed by any other accomplishment in elegance or in + power to impress the universal snobbery of civilised mankind. Literature, instead of + being an accessory, is the fundamental <i>sine qua non</i> of complete living. I am + extremely anxious to avoid rhetorical exaggerations. I do not think I am guilty of + one in asserting that he who has not been "presented to the freedom" of literature + has not wakened up out of his prenatal sleep. He is merely not born. He can't see; he + can't hear; he can't feel, in any full sense. He can only eat his dinner. What more + than anything else annoys people who know the true function of literature, and have + profited thereby, is the spectacle of so many thousands of individuals going about + under the delusion that they are alive, when, as a fact, they are no nearer being + alive than a bear in winter.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>[pg 4]</span> + <p>I will tell you what literature is! No—I only wish I could. But I can't. No + one can. Gleams can be thrown on the secret, inklings given, but no more. I will try + to give you an inkling. And, to do so, I will take you back into your own history, or + forward into it. That evening when you went for a walk with your faithful friend, the + friend from whom you hid nothing—or almost nothing ...! You were, in truth, + somewhat inclined to hide from him the particular matter which monopolised your mind + that evening, but somehow you contrived to get on to it, drawn by an overpowering + fascination. And as your faithful friend was sympathetic and discreet, and flattered + you by a respectful curiosity, you proceeded further and further into the said + matter, growing more and more confidential, until at last you cried out, in a + terrific whisper: "My boy, she is simply miraculous!" At that moment you were in the + domain of literature.</p> + <p>Let me explain. Of course, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, she was not + miraculous. Your faithful friend had <span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" + id="page5"></a>[pg 5]</span> never noticed that she was miraculous, nor had about + forty thousand other fairly keen observers. She was just a girl. Troy had not been + burnt for her. A girl cannot be called a miracle. If a girl is to be called a + miracle, then you might call pretty nearly anything a miracle.... That is just it: + you might. You can. You ought. Amid all the miracles of the universe you had just + wakened up to one. You were full of your discovery. You were under a divine impulsion + to impart that discovery. You had a strong sense of the marvellous beauty of + something, and you had to share it. You were in a passion about something, and you + had to vent yourself on somebody. You were drawn towards the whole of the rest of the + human race. Mark the effect of your mood and utterance on your faithful friend. He + knew that she was not a miracle. No other person could have made him believe that she + was a miracle. But you, by the force and sincerity of your own vision of her, and by + the fervour of your desire to make him participate in your vision, did for quite a + long time cause him to feel that <span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" + id="page6"></a>[pg 6]</span> he had been blind to the miracle of that girl.</p> + <p>You were producing literature. You were alive. Your eyes were unlidded, your ears + were unstopped, to some part of the beauty and the strangeness of the world; and a + strong instinct within you forced you to tell someone. It was not enough for you that + you saw and heard. Others had to see and hear. Others had to be wakened up. And they + were! It is quite possible—I am not quite sure—that your faithful friend + the very next day, or the next month, looked at some other girl, and suddenly saw + that she, too, was miraculous! The influence of literature!</p> + <p>The makers of literature are those who have seen and felt the miraculous + interestingness of the universe. And the greatest makers of literature are those + whose vision has been the widest, and whose feeling has been the most intense. Your + own fragment of insight was accidental, and perhaps temporary. <i>Their</i> lives are + one long ecstasy of denying that the world is a dull place. Is it nothing to <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>[pg 7]</span> you to learn to + understand that the world is not a dull place? Is it nothing to you to be led out of + the tunnel on to the hillside, to have all your senses quickened, to be invigorated + by the true savour of life, to feel your heart beating under that correct necktie of + yours? These makers of literature render you their equals.</p> + <p>The aim of literary study is not to amuse the hours of leisure; it is to awake + oneself, it is to be alive, to intensify one's capacity for pleasure, for sympathy, + and for comprehension. It is not to affect one hour, but twenty-four hours. It is to + change utterly one's relations with the world. An understanding appreciation of + literature means an understanding appreciation of the world, and it means nothing + else. Not isolated and unconnected parts of life, but all of life, brought together + and correlated in a synthetic map! The spirit of literature is unifying; it joins the + candle and the star, and by the magic of an image shows that the beauty of the + greater is in the less. And, not content with the disclosure of beauty and the + bringing together of all things whatever <span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" + id="page8"></a>[pg 8]</span> within its focus, it enforces a moral wisdom by the + tracing everywhere of cause and effect. It consoles doubly—by the revelation of + unsuspected loveliness, and by the proof that our lot is the common lot. It is the + supreme cry of the discoverer, offering sympathy and asking for it in a single + gesture. In attending a University Extension Lecture on the sources of Shakespeare's + plots, or in studying the researches of George Saintsbury into the origins of English + prosody, or in weighing the evidence for and against the assertion that Rousseau was + a scoundrel, one is apt to forget what literature really is and is for. It is well to + remind ourselves that literature is first and last a means of life, and that the + enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an enterprise of learning how best to + use this means of life. People who don't want to live, people who would sooner + hibernate than feel intensely, will be wise to eschew literature. They had better, to + quote from the finest passage in a fine poem, "sit around and eat blackberries." The + sight of a "common bush afire with God" might upset their nerves.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>[pg 9]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + <h2>YOUR PARTICULAR CASE</h2> + <p>The attitude of the average decent person towards the classics of his own tongue + is one of distrust—I had almost said, of fear. I will not take the case of + Shakespeare, for Shakespeare is "taught" in schools; that is to say, the Board of + Education and all authorities pedagogic bind themselves together in a determined + effort to make every boy in the land a lifelong enemy of Shakespeare. (It is a mercy + they don't "teach" Blake.) I will take, for an example, Sir Thomas Browne, as to whom + the average person has no offensive juvenile memories. He is bound to have read + somewhere that the style of Sir Thomas Browne is unsurpassed by anything in English + literature. One day he sees the <i>Religio Medici</i> in a shop-window (or, rather, + outside a shop-window, for he would hesitate about <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page10" id="page10"></a>[pg 10]</span> entering a bookshop), and he buys it, by + way of a mild experiment. He does not expect to be enchanted by it; a profound + instinct tells him that Sir Thomas Browne is "not in his line"; and in the result he + is even less enchanted than he expected to be. He reads the introduction, and he + glances at the first page or two of the work. He sees nothing but words. The work + makes no appeal to him whatever. He is surrounded by trees, and cannot perceive the + forest. He puts the book away. If Sir Thomas Browne is mentioned, he will say, "Yes, + very fine!" with a feeling of pride that he has at any rate bought and inspected Sir + Thomas Browne. Deep in his heart is a suspicion that people who get enthusiastic + about Sir Thomas Browne are vain and conceited <i>poseurs</i>. After a year or so, + when he has recovered from the discouragement caused by Sir Thomas Browne, he may, if + he is young and hopeful, repeat the experiment with Congreve or Addison. Same sequel! + And so on for perhaps a decade, until his commerce with the classics finally expires! + That, magazines and newish fiction apart, is <span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" + id="page11"></a>[pg 11]</span> the literary history of the average decent person.</p> + <p>And even your case, though you are genuinely preoccupied with thoughts of + literature, bears certain disturbing resemblances to the drab case of the average + person. You do not approach the classics with gusto—anyhow, not with the same + gusto as you would approach a new novel by a modern author who had taken your fancy. + You never murmured to yourself, when reading Gibbon's <i>Decline and Fall</i> in bed: + "Well, I really must read one more chapter before I go to sleep!" Speaking generally, + the classics do not afford you a pleasure commensurate with their renown. You peruse + them with a sense of duty, a sense of doing the right thing, a sense of "improving + yourself," rather than with a sense of gladness. You do not smack your lips; you say: + "That is good for me." You make little plans for reading, and then you invent excuses + for breaking the plans. Something new, something which is not a classic, will surely + draw you away from a classic. It is all very well for you to <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page12" id="page12"></a>[pg 12]</span> pretend to agree with the verdict of the + elect that <i>Clarissa Harlowe</i> is one of the greatest novels in the world—a + new Kipling, or even a new number of a magazine, will cause you to neglect + <i>Clarissa Harlowe</i>, just as though Kipling, etc., could not be kept for a few + days without turning sour! So that you have to ordain rules for yourself, as: "I will + not read anything else until I have read Richardson, or Gibbon, for an hour each + day." Thus proving that you regard a classic as a pill, the swallowing of which + merits jam! And the more modern a classic is, the more it resembles the stuff of the + year and the less it resembles the classics of the centuries, the more easy and + enticing do you find that classic. Hence you are glad that George Eliot, the + Brontës, Thackeray, are considered as classics, because you really <i>do</i> + enjoy them. Your sentiments concerning them approach your sentiments concerning a + "rattling good story" in a magazine.</p> + <p>I may have exaggerated—or, on the other hand, I may have + understated—the unsatisfactory characteristics of your particular <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>[pg 13]</span> case, but it is + probable that in the mirror I hold up you recognise the rough outlines of your + likeness. You do not care to admit it; but it is so. You are not content with + yourself. The desire to be more truly literary persists in you. You feel that there + is something wrong in you, but you cannot put your finger on the spot. Further, you + feel that you are a bit of a sham. Something within you continually forces you to + exhibit for the classics an enthusiasm which you do not sincerely feel. You even try + to persuade yourself that you are enjoying a book, when the next moment you drop it + in the middle and forget to resume it. You occasionally buy classical works, and do + not read them at all; you practically decide that it is enough to possess them, and + that the mere possession of them gives you a <i>cachet</i>. The truth is, you are a + sham. And your soul is a sea of uneasy remorse. You reflect: "According to what + Matthew Arnold says, I ought to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's <i>Prelude</i>. + And I am not. Why am I not? Have I got to be learned, to undertake a vast course of + study, in order <span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>[pg 14]</span> + to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's <i>Prelude</i>? Or am I born without the + faculty of pure taste in literature, despite my vague longings? I do wish I could + smack my lips over Wordsworth's <i>Prelude</i> as I did over that splendid story by + H.G. Wells, <i>The Country of the Blind</i>, in the <i>Strand Magazine</i>!" ... Yes, + I am convinced that in your dissatisfied, your diviner moments, you address yourself + in these terms. I am convinced that I have diagnosed your symptoms.</p> + <p>Now the enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an agreeable one; if it is + not agreeable it cannot succeed. But this does not imply that it is an easy or a + brief one. The enterprise of beating Colonel Bogey at golf is an agreeable one, but + it means honest and regular work. A fact to be borne in mind always! You are + certainly not going to realise your ambition—and so great, so influential an + ambition!—by spasmodic and half-hearted effort. You must begin by making up + your mind adequately. You must rise to the height of the affair. You must approach a + grand undertaking in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>[pg + 15]</span> grand manner. You ought to mark the day in the calendar as a solemnity. + Human nature is weak, and has need of tricky aids, even in the pursuit of happiness. + Time will be necessary to you, and time regularly and sacredly set apart. Many people + affirm that they cannot be regular, that regularity numbs them. I think this is true + of a very few people, and that in the rest the objection to regularity is merely an + attempt to excuse idleness. I am inclined to think that you personally are capable of + regularity. And I am sure that if you firmly and constantly devote certain specific + hours on certain specific days of the week to this business of forming your literary + taste, you will arrive at the goal much sooner. The simple act of resolution will + help you. This is the first preliminary.</p> + <p>The second preliminary is to surround yourself with books, to create for yourself + a bookish atmosphere. The merely physical side of books is important—more + important than it may seem to the inexperienced. Theoretically (save for works of + reference), a student has need <span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" + id="page16"></a>[pg 16]</span> for but one book at a time. Theoretically, an amateur + of literature might develop his taste by expending sixpence a week, or a penny a day, + in one sixpenny edition of a classic after another sixpenny edition of a classic, and + he might store his library in a hat-box or a biscuit-tin. But in practice he would + have to be a monster of resolution to succeed in such conditions. The eye must be + flattered; the hand must be flattered; the sense of owning must be flattered. + Sacrifices must be made for the acquisition of literature. That which has cost a + sacrifice is always endeared. A detailed scheme of buying books will come later, in + the light of further knowledge. For the present, buy—buy whatever has received + the <i>imprimatur</i> of critical authority. Buy without any immediate reference to + what you will read. Buy! Surround yourself with volumes, as handsome as you can + afford. And for reading, all that I will now particularly enjoin is a general and + inclusive tasting, in order to attain a sort of familiarity with the look of + "literature in all its branches." A turning over of the pages of a volume of + Chambers's <span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>[pg 17]</span> + <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>, the third for preference, may be + suggested as an admirable and a diverting exercise. You might mark the authors that + flash an appeal to you.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>[pg 18]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + <h2>WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC</h2> + <p>The large majority of our fellow-citizens care as much about literature as they + care about aeroplanes or the programme of the Legislature. They do not ignore it; + they are not quite indifferent to it. But their interest in it is faint and + perfunctory; or, if their interest happens to be violent, it is spasmodic. Ask the + two hundred thousand persons whose enthusiasm made the vogue of a popular novel ten + years ago what they think of that novel now, and you will gather that they have + utterly forgotten it, and that they would no more dream of reading it again than of + reading Bishop Stubbs's <i>Select Charters</i>. Probably if they did read it again + they would not enjoy it—not because the said novel is a whit worse now than it + was ten years ago; not because their taste has improved—but because they have + not had <span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>[pg 19]</span> + sufficient practice to be able to rely on their taste as a means of permanent + pleasure. They simply don't know from one day to the next what will please them.</p> + <p>In the face of this one may ask: Why does the great and universal fame of + classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of classical authors is + entirely independent of the majority. Do you suppose that if the fame of Shakespeare + depended on the man in the street it would survive a fortnight? The fame of classical + authors is originally made, and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when a + first-class author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, the majority have + never appreciated him so sincerely as they have appreciated second-rate men. He has + always been reinforced by the ardour of the passionate few. And in the case of an + author who has emerged into glory after his death the happy sequel has been due + solely to the obstinate perseverance of the few. They could not leave him alone; they + would not. They kept on savouring him, and talking about him, and buying him, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>[pg 20]</span> they generally + behaved with such eager zeal, and they were so authoritative and sure of themselves, + that at last the majority grew accustomed to the sound of his name and placidly + agreed to the proposition that he was a genius; the majority really did not care very + much either way.</p> + <p>And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius is kept alive from one + generation to another. These few are always at work. They are always rediscovering + genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm are exhaustless, so that there is little + chance of genius being ignored. And, moreover, they are always working either for or + against the verdicts of the majority. The majority can make a reputation, but it is + too careless to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few agree with the + majority in a particular instance, they will frequently remind the majority that such + and such a reputation has been made, and the majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By + the way, we must not forget that such and such a reputation exists." Without that + persistent memory-jogging the reputation <span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" + id="page21"></a>[pg 21]</span> would quickly fall into the oblivion which is death. + The passionate few only have their way by reason of the fact that they are genuinely + interested in literature, that literature matters to them. They conquer by their + obstinacy alone, by their eternal repetition of the same statements. Do you suppose + they could prove to the man in the street that Shakespeare was a great artist? The + said man would not even understand the terms they employed. But when he is told ten + thousand times, and generation after generation, that Shakespeare was a great artist, + the said man believes—not by reason, but by faith. And he too repeats that + Shakespeare was a great artist, and he buys the complete works of Shakespeare and + puts them on his shelves, and he goes to see the marvellous stage-effects which + accompany <i>King Lear</i> or <i>Hamlet</i>, and comes back religiously convinced + that Shakespeare was a great artist. All because the passionate few could not keep + their admiration of Shakespeare to themselves. This is not cynicism; but truth. And + it is important that those who wish to form their literary taste should grasp it.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>[pg 22]</span> + <p>What causes the passionate few to make such a fuss about literature? There can be + only one reply. They find a keen and lasting pleasure in literature. They enjoy + literature as some men enjoy beer. The recurrence of this pleasure naturally keeps + their interest in literature very much alive. They are for ever making new + researches, for ever practising on themselves. They learn to understand themselves. + They learn to know what they want. Their taste becomes surer and surer as their + experience lengthens. They do not enjoy to-day what will seem tedious to them + to-morrow. When they find a book tedious, no amount of popular clatter will persuade + them that it is pleasurable; and when they find it pleasurable no chill silence of + the street-crowds will affect their conviction that the book is good and permanent. + They have faith in themselves. What are the qualities in a book which give keen and + lasting pleasure to the passionate few? This is a question so difficult that it has + never yet been completely answered. You may talk lightly about truth, insight, + knowledge, wisdom, humour, and beauty. But these comfortable <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page23" id="page23"></a>[pg 23]</span> words do not really carry you very far, + for each of them has to be defined, especially the first and last. It is all very + well for Keats in his airy manner to assert that beauty is truth, truth beauty, and + that that is all he knows or needs to know. I, for one, need to know a lot more. And + I never shall know. Nobody, not even Hazlitt nor Sainte-Beuve, has ever finally + explained why he thought a book beautiful. I take the first fine lines that come to + hand—</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The woods of Arcady are dead,</p> + <p>And over is their antique joy—</p> + </div> + </div> + <p>and I say that those lines are beautiful, because they give me pleasure. But why? + No answer! I only know that the passionate few will, broadly, agree with me in + deriving this mysterious pleasure from those lines. I am only convinced that the + liveliness of our pleasure in those and many other lines by the same author will + ultimately cause the majority to believe, by faith, that W.B. Yeats is a genius. The + one reassuring aspect of the literary affair is that the passionate few are + passionate about the same things. A continuance <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page24" id="page24"></a>[pg 24]</span> of interest does, in actual practice, + lead ultimately to the same judgments. There is only the difference in width of + interest. Some of the passionate few lack catholicity, or, rather, the whole of their + interest is confined to one narrow channel; they have none left over. These men help + specially to vitalise the reputations of the narrower geniuses: such as Crashaw. But + their active predilections never contradict the general verdict of the passionate + few; rather they reinforce it.</p> + <p>A classic is a work which gives pleasure to the minority which is intensely and + permanently interested in literature. It lives on because the minority, eager to + renew the sensation of pleasure, is eternally curious and is therefore engaged in an + eternal process of rediscovery. A classic does not survive for any ethical reason. It + does not survive because it conforms to certain canons, or because neglect would not + kill it. It survives because it is a source of pleasure, and because the passionate + few can no more neglect it than a bee can neglect a flower. The passionate few do not + read "the right <span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>[pg 25]</span> + things" because they are right. That is to put the cart before the horse. "The right + things" are the right things solely because the passionate few <i>like</i> reading + them. Hence—and I now arrive at my point—the one primary essential to + literary taste is a hot interest in literature. If you have that, all the rest will + come. It matters nothing that at present you fail to find pleasure in certain + classics. The driving impulse of your interest will force you to acquire experience, + and experience will teach you the use of the means of pleasure. You do not know the + secret ways of yourself: that is all. A continuance of interest must inevitably bring + you to the keenest joys. But, of course, experience may be acquired judiciously or + injudiciously, just as Putney may be reached <i>via</i> Walham Green or <i>via</i> + St. Petersburg.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>[pg 26]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + <h2>WHERE TO BEGIN</h2> + <p>I wish particularly that my readers should not be intimidated by the apparent + vastness and complexity of this enterprise of forming the literary taste. It is not + so vast nor so complex as it looks. There is no need whatever for the inexperienced + enthusiast to confuse and frighten himself with thoughts of "literature in all its + branches." Experts and pedagogues (chiefly pedagogues) have, for the purpose of + convenience, split literature up into divisions and sub-divisions—such as prose + and poetry; or imaginative, philosophic, historical; or elegiac, heroic, lyric; or + religious and profane, etc., <i>ad infinitum</i>. But the greater truth is that + literature is all one—and indivisible. The idea of the unity of literature + should be well planted and fostered in the head. All literature is the expression of + feeling, of <span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>[pg 27]</span> + passion, of emotion, caused by a sensation of the interestingness of life. What + drives a historian to write history? Nothing but the overwhelming impression made + upon him by the survey of past times. He is forced into an attempt to reconstitute + the picture for others. If hitherto you have failed to perceive that a historian is a + being in strong emotion, trying to convey his emotion to others, read the passage in + the <i>Memoirs</i> of Gibbon, in which he describes how he finished the <i>Decline + and Fall</i>. You will probably never again look upon the <i>Decline and Fall</i> as + a "dry" work.</p> + + <p>What applies to history applies to the other "dry" branches. Even Johnson's + Dictionary is packed with emotion. Read the last paragraph of the preface to it: "In + this work, when it shall be found that much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that + much likewise is performed.... It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to + observe that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have only failed in an + attempt which no human powers have hitherto completed...." <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page28" id="page28"></a>[pg 28]</span> And so on to the close: "I have + protracted my work till most of those whom I wish to please have sunk into the grave, + and success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I therefore dismiss it with frigid + tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or from praise." Yes, + tranquillity; but not frigid! The whole passage, one of the finest in English prose, + is marked by the heat of emotion. You may discover the same quality in such books as + Spencer's <i>First Principles</i>. You may discover it everywhere in literature, from + the cold fire of Pope's irony to the blasting temperatures of Swinburne. Literature + does not begin till emotion has begun.</p> + <p>There is even no essential, definable difference between those two great branches, + prose and poetry. For prose may have rhythm. All that can be said is that verse will + scan, while prose will not. The difference is purely formal. Very few poets have + succeeded in being so poetical as Isaiah, Sir Thomas Browne, and Ruskin have been in + prose. It can only be stated that, as a rule, writers <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page29" id="page29"></a>[pg 29]</span> have shown an instinctive tendency to + choose verse for the expression of the very highest emotion. The supreme literature + is in verse, but the finest achievements in prose approach so nearly to the finest + achievements in verse that it is ill work deciding between them. In the sense in + which poetry is best understood, all literature is poetry—or is, at any rate, + poetical in quality. Macaulay's ill-informed and unjust denunciations live because + his genuine emotion made them into poetry, while his <i>Lays of Ancient Rome</i> are + dead because they are not the expression of a genuine emotion. As the literary taste + develops, this quality of emotion, restrained or loosed, will be more and more widely + perceived at large in literature. It is the quality that must be looked for. It is + the quality that unifies literature (and all the arts).</p> + + <p>It is not merely useless, it is harmful, for you to map out literature into + divisions and branches, with different laws, rules, or canons. The first thing is to + obtain some possession of literature. When you have actually felt some of the <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>[pg 30]</span> emotion which great + writers have striven to impart to you, and when your emotions become so numerous and + puzzling that you feel the need of arranging them and calling them by names, + then—and not before—you can begin to study what has been attempted in the + way of classifying and ticketing literature. Manuals and treatises are excellent + things in their kind, but they are simply dead weight at the start. You can only + acquire really useful general ideas by first acquiring particular ideas, and putting + those particular ideas together. You cannot make bricks without straw. Do not worry + about literature in the abstract, about theories as to literature. Get at it. Get + hold of literature in the concrete as a dog gets hold of a bone. If you ask me where + you ought to begin, I shall gaze at you as I might gaze at the faithful animal if he + inquired which end of the bone he ought to attack. It doesn't matter in the slightest + degree where you begin. Begin wherever the fancy takes you to begin. Literature is a + whole.</p> + <p>There is only one restriction for you. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" + id="page31"></a>[pg 31]</span> You must begin with an acknowledged classic; you must + eschew modern works. The reason for this does not imply any depreciation of the + present age at the expense of past ages. Indeed, it is important, if you wish + ultimately to have a wide, catholic taste, to guard against the too common assumption + that nothing modern will stand comparison with the classics. In every age there have + been people to sigh: "Ah, yes. Fifty years ago we had a few great writers. But they + are all dead, and no young ones are arising to take their place." This attitude of + mind is deplorable, if not silly, and is a certain proof of narrow taste. It is a + surety that in 1959 gloomy and egregious persons will be saying: "Ah, yes. At the + beginning of the century there were great poets like Swinburne, Meredith, Francis + Thompson, and Yeats. Great novelists like Hardy and Conrad. Great historians like + Stubbs and Maitland, etc., etc. But they are all dead now, and whom have we to take + their place?" It is not until an age has receded into history, and all its mediocrity + has dropped away from it, that we can see it as it is—as <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>[pg 32]</span> a group of men of + genius. We forget the immense amount of twaddle that the great epochs produced. The + total amount of fine literature created in a given period of time differs from epoch + to epoch, but it does not differ much. And we may be perfectly sure that our own age + will make a favourable impression upon that excellent judge, posterity. Therefore, + beware of disparaging the present in your own mind. While temporarily ignoring it, + dwell upon the idea that its chaff contains about as much wheat as any similar + quantity of chaff has contained wheat.</p> + <p>The reason why you must avoid modern works at the beginning is simply that you are + not in a position to choose among modern works. Nobody at all is quite in a position + to choose with certainty among modern works. To sift the wheat from the chaff is a + process that takes an exceedingly long time. Modern works have to pass before the bar + of the taste of successive generations. Whereas, with classics, which have been + through the ordeal, almost the reverse is the case. <i>Your taste has to pass before + the bar of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span> + classics</i>. That is the point. If you differ with a classic, it is you who are + wrong, and not the book. If you differ with a modern work, you may be wrong or you + may be right, but no judge is authoritative enough to decide. Your taste is unformed. + It needs guidance, and it needs authoritative guidance. Into the business of forming + literary taste faith enters. You probably will not specially care for a particular + classic at first. If you did care for it at first, your taste, so far as that classic + is concerned, would be formed, and our hypothesis is that your taste is not formed. + How are you to arrive at the stage of caring for it? Chiefly, of course, by examining + it and honestly trying to understand it. But this process is materially helped by an + act of faith, by the frame of mind which says: "I know on the highest authority that + this thing is fine, that it is capable of giving me pleasure. Hence I am determined + to find pleasure in it." Believe me that faith counts enormously in the development + of that wide taste which is the instrument of wide pleasures. But it must be faith + founded on unassailable authority.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + <h2>HOW TO READ A CLASSIC</h2> + <p>Let us begin experimental reading with Charles Lamb. I choose Lamb for various + reasons: He is a great writer, wide in his appeal, of a highly sympathetic + temperament; and his finest achievements are simple and very short. Moreover, he may + usefully lead to other and more complex matters, as will appear later. Now, your + natural tendency will be to think of Charles Lamb as a book, because he has arrived + at the stage of being a classic. Charles Lamb was a man, not a book. It is extremely + important that the beginner in literary study should always form an idea of the man + behind the book. The book is nothing but the expression of the man. The book is + nothing but the man trying to talk to you, trying to impart to you some of his + feelings. An experienced student will divine the man <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page35" id="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span> from the book, will understand the man + by the book, as is, of course, logically proper. But the beginner will do well to aid + himself in understanding the book by means of independent information about the man. + He will thus at once relate the book to something human, and strengthen in his mind + the essential notion of the connection between literature and life. The earliest + literature was delivered orally direct by the artist to the recipient. In some + respects this arrangement was ideal. Changes in the constitution of society have + rendered it impossible. Nevertheless, we can still, by the exercise of the + imagination, hear mentally the accents of the artist speaking to us. We must so + exercise our imagination as to feel the man behind the book.</p> + <p>Some biographical information about Lamb should be acquired. There are excellent + short biographies of him by Canon Ainger in the <i>Dictionary of National + Biography</i>, in Chambers's <i>Encyclopædia</i>, and in Chambers's + <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>. If you have none of these (but you + ought to have the last), <span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>[pg + 36]</span> there are Mr. E.V. Lucas's exhaustive <i>Life</i> (Methuen, 7s. 6d.), and, + cheaper, Mr. Walter Jerrold's <i>Lamb</i> (Bell and Sons, 1s.); also introductory + studies prefixed to various editions of Lamb's works. Indeed, the facilities for + collecting materials for a picture of Charles Lamb as a human being are prodigious. + When you have made for yourself such a picture, read the <i>Essays of Elia</i> the + light of it. I will choose one of the most celebrated, <i>Dream Children: A + Reverie</i>. At this point, kindly put my book down, and read <i>Dream Children</i>. + Do not say to yourself that you will read it later, but read it now. When you have + read it, you may proceed to my next paragraph.</p> + <p>You are to consider <i>Dream Children</i> as a human document. Lamb was nearing + fifty when he wrote it. You can see, especially from the last line, that the death of + his elder brother, John Lamb, was fresh and heavy on his mind. You will recollect + that in youth he had had a disappointing love-affair with a girl named Ann Simmons, + who afterwards married a man named Bartrum. You will know <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page37" id="page37"></a>[pg 37]</span> that one of the influences of his + childhood was his grandmother Field, housekeeper of Blakesware House, in + Hertfordshire, at which mansion he sometimes spent his holidays. You will know that + he was a bachelor, living with his sister Mary, who was subject to homicidal mania. + And you will see in this essay, primarily, a supreme expression of the increasing + loneliness of his life. He constructed all that preliminary tableau of paternal + pleasure in order to bring home to you in the most poignant way his feeling of the + solitude of his existence, his sense of all that he had missed and lost in the world. + The key of the essay is one of profound sadness. But note that he makes his sadness + beautiful; or, rather, he shows the beauty that resides in sadness. You watch him + sitting there in his "bachelor arm-chair," and you say to yourself: "Yes, it was sad, + but it was somehow beautiful." When you have said that to yourself, Charles Lamb, so + far as you are concerned, has accomplished his chief aim in writing the essay. How + exactly he produces his effect can never be fully explained. But one reason of his + success is certainly his regard for <span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" + id="page38"></a>[pg 38]</span> truth. He does not falsely idealise his brother, nor + the relations between them. He does not say, as a sentimentalist would have said, + "Not the slightest cloud ever darkened our relations;" nor does he exaggerate his + solitude. Being a sane man, he has too much common-sense to assemble all his woes at + once. He might have told you that Bridget was a homicidal maniac; what he does tell + you is that she was faithful. Another reason of his success is his continual regard + for beautiful things and fine actions, as illustrated in the major characteristics of + his grandmother and his brother, and in the detailed description of Blakesware House + and the gardens thereof.</p> + <p>Then, subordinate to the main purpose, part of the machinery of the main purpose, + is the picture of the children—real children until the moment when they fade + away. The traits of childhood are accurately and humorously put in again and again: + "Here John smiled, as much as to say, 'That would be foolish indeed.'" "Here little + Alice spread her hands." "Here Alice's little right foot played an <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>[pg 39]</span> involuntary movement, + till, upon my looking grave, it desisted." "Here John expanded all his eyebrows, and + tried to look courageous." "Here John slily deposited back upon the plate a bunch of + grapes." "Here the children fell a-crying ... and prayed me to tell them some stories + about their pretty dead mother." And the exquisite: "Here Alice put out one of her + dear mother's looks, too tender to be upbraiding." Incidentally, while preparing his + ultimate solemn effect, Lamb has inspired you with a new, intensified vision of the + wistful beauty of children—their imitativeness, their facile and generous + emotions, their anxiety to be correct, their ingenuous haste to escape from grief + into joy. You can see these children almost as clearly and as tenderly as Lamb saw + them. For days afterwards you will not be able to look upon a child without recalling + Lamb's portrayal of the grace of childhood. He will have shared with you his + perception of beauty. If you possess children, he will have renewed for you the charm + which custom does very decidedly stale. It is further to be noticed that the measure + of his success in picturing the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" + id="page40"></a>[pg 40]</span> children is the measure of his success in his main + effect. The more real they seem, the more touching is the revelation of the fact that + they do not exist, and never have existed. And if you were moved by the reference to + their "pretty dead mother," you will be still more moved when you learn that the girl + who would have been their mother is not dead and is not Lamb's.</p> + <p>As, having read the essay, you reflect upon it, you will see how its emotional + power over you has sprung from the sincere and unexaggerated expression of actual + emotions exactly remembered by someone who had an eye always open for beauty, who + was, indeed, obsessed by beauty. The beauty of old houses and gardens and aged + virtuous characters, the beauty of children, the beauty of companionships, the + softening beauty of dreams in an arm-chair—all these are brought together and + mingled with the grief and regret which were the origin of the mood. Why is <i>Dream + Children</i> a classic? It is a classic because it transmits to you, as to + generations before you, distinguished emotion, because it makes you respond to the + throb <span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>[pg 41]</span> of life + more intensely, more justly, and more nobly. And it is capable of doing this because + Charles Lamb had a very distinguished, a very sensitive, and a very honest mind. His + emotions were noble. He felt so keenly that he was obliged to find relief in + imparting his emotions. And his mental processes were so sincere that he could + neither exaggerate nor diminish the truth. If he had lacked any one of these three + qualities, his appeal would have been narrowed and weakened, and he would not have + become a classic. Either his feelings would have been deficient in supreme beauty, + and therefore less worthy to be imparted, or he would not have had sufficient force + to impart them; or his honesty would not have been equal to the strain of imparting + them accurately. In any case, he would not have set up in you that vibration which we + call pleasure, and which is super-eminently caused by vitalising participation in + high emotion. As Lamb sat in his bachelor arm-chair, with his brother in the grave, + and the faithful homicidal maniac by his side, he really did think to himself, "This + is beautiful. Sorrow is <span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>[pg + 42]</span> beautiful. Disappointment is beautiful. Life is beautiful. <i>I must tell + them</i>. I must make them understand." Because he still makes you understand he is a + classic. And now I seem to hear you say, "But what about Lamb's famous literary + style? Where does that come in?"</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>[pg 43]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + <h2>THE QUESTION OF STYLE</h2> + <p>In discussing the value of particular books, I have heard people say—people + who were timid about expressing their views of literature in the presence of literary + men: "It may be bad from a literary point of view, but there are very good things in + it." Or: "I dare say the style is very bad, but really the book is very interesting + and suggestive." Or: "I'm not an expert, and so I never bother my head about good + style. All I ask for is good matter. And when I have got it, critics may say what + they like about the book." And many other similar remarks, all showing that in the + minds of the speakers there existed a notion that style is something supplementary + to, and distinguishable from, matter; a sort of notion that a writer who wanted to be + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>[pg 44]</span> classical had + first to find and arrange his matter, and then dress it up elegantly in a costume of + style, in order to please beings called literary critics.</p> + <p>This is a misapprehension. Style cannot be distinguished from matter. When a + writer conceives an idea he conceives it in a form of words. That form of words + constitutes his style, and it is absolutely governed by the idea. The idea can only + exist in words, and it can only exist in one form of words. You cannot say exactly + the same thing in two different ways. Slightly alter the expression, and you slightly + alter the idea. Surely it is obvious that the expression cannot be altered without + altering the thing expressed! A writer, having conceived and expressed an idea, may, + and probably will, "polish it up." But what does he polish up? To say that he + polishes up his style is merely to say that he is polishing up his idea, that he has + discovered faults or imperfections in his idea, and is perfecting it. An idea exists + in proportion as it is expressed; it exists when it is expressed, and not before. It + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>[pg 45]</span> expresses + itself. A clear idea is expressed clearly, and a vague idea vaguely. You need but + take your own case and your own speech. For just as science is the development of + common-sense, so is literature the development of common daily speech. The difference + between science and common-sense is simply one of degree; similarly with speech and + literature. Well, when you "know what you think," you succeed in saying what you + think, in making yourself understood. When you "don't know what to think," your + expressive tongue halts. And note how in daily life the characteristics of your style + follow your mood; how tender it is when you are tender, how violent when you are + violent. You have said to yourself in moments of emotion: "If only I could + write—," etc. You were wrong. You ought to have said: "If only I could + <i>think</i>—on this high plane." When you have thought clearly you have never + had any difficulty in saying what you thought, though you may occasionally have had + some difficulty in keeping it to yourself. And when you cannot express yourself, + depend upon it that you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>[pg + 46]</span> have nothing precise to express, and that what incommodes you is not the + vain desire to express, but the vain desire to <i>think</i> more clearly. All this + just to illustrate how style and matter are co-existent, and inseparable, and + alike.</p> + <p>You cannot have good matter with bad style. Examine the point more closely. A man + wishes to convey a fine idea to you. He employs a form of words. That form of words + is his style. Having read, you say: "Yes, this idea is fine." The writer has + therefore achieved his end. But in what imaginable circumstances can you say: "Yes, + this idea is fine, but the style is not fine"? The sole medium of communication + between you and the author has been the form of words. The fine idea has reached you. + How? In the words, by the words. Hence the fineness must be in the words. You may + say, superiorly: "He has expressed himself clumsily, but I can <i>see</i> what he + means." By what light? By something in the words, in the style. That something is + fine. Moreover, if the style is clumsy, are you sure that you can see what he <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>[pg 47]</span> means? You cannot be + quite sure. And at any rate, you cannot see distinctly. The "matter" is what actually + reaches you, and it must necessarily be affected by the style.</p> + <p>Still further to comprehend what style is, let me ask you to think of a writer's + style exactly as you would think of the gestures and manners of an acquaintance. You + know the man whose demeanour is "always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do + you know that his passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, + but important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or the whitening + of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other words, his demeanour, + fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man who is always "smoothly polite and + agreeable," but who affects you unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? + Because he is tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is not + real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but who, nevertheless, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>[pg 48]</span> impresses you + with a sense of dignity and force. Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so + forth <i>is</i> dignity. You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively + guess to be affectionate—because there is "something in his tone" or "something + in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming to be contrary + to the character, is really in accord with it. The demeanour never contradicts the + character. It is one part of the character that contradicts another part of the + character. For, after all, the blunt man <i>is</i> blunt, and the awkward man + <i>is</i> awkward, and these characteristics are defects. The demeanour merely + expresses them. The two men would be better if, while conserving their good + qualities, they had the superficial attributes of smoothness and agreeableness + possessed by the gentleman who is unpleasant to you. And as regards this latter, it + is not his superficial attributes which are unpleasant to you; but his other + qualities. In the end the character is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a + consequence of the character and resembles the character. <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg 49]</span> So with style and matter. You may argue + that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his tenderness. I do not think so. + For his churlishness is really very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, + though a moment's tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is + churlish, and much more often than he is tender. His demeanour is merely just to his + character. So, when a writer annoys you for ten pages and then enchants you for ten + lines, you must not explode against his style. You must not say that his style won't + let his matter "come out." You must remember the churlish, tender man. The more you + reflect, the more clearly you will see that faults and excellences of style are + faults and excellences of matter itself.</p> + <p>One of the most striking illustrations of this neglected truth is Thomas Carlyle. + How often has it been said that Carlyle's matter is marred by the harshness and the + eccentricities of his style? But Carlyle's matter is harsh and eccentric to precisely + the same degree as his style is harsh and <span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" + id="page50"></a>[pg 50]</span> eccentric. Carlyle was harsh and eccentric. His + behaviour was frequently ridiculous, if it were not abominable. His judgments were + often extremely bizarre. When you read one of Carlyle's fierce diatribes, you say to + yourself: "This is splendid. The man's enthusiasm for justice and truth is glorious." + But you also say: "He is a little unjust and a little untruthful. He goes too far. He + lashes too hard." These things are not the style; they are the matter. And when, as + in his greatest moments, he is emotional and restrained at once, you say: "This is + the real Carlyle." Kindly notice how perfect the style has become! No harshnesses or + eccentricities now! And if that particular matter is the "real" Carlyle, then that + particular style is Carlyle's "real" style. But when you say "real" you would more + properly say "best." "This is the best Carlyle." If Carlyle had always been at his + best he would have counted among the supreme geniuses of the world. But he was a + mixture. His style is the expression of the mixture. The faults are only in the style + because they are in the matter.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg 51]</span> + <p>You will find that, in classical literature, the style always follows the mood of + the matter. Thus, Charles Lamb's essay on <i>Dream Children</i> begins quite simply, + in a calm, narrative manner, enlivened by a certain quippishness concerning the + children. The style is grave when great-grandmother Field is the subject, and when + the author passes to a rather elaborate impression of the picturesque old mansion it + becomes as it were consciously beautiful. This beauty is intensified in the + description of the still more beautiful garden. But the real dividing point of the + essay occurs when Lamb approaches his elder brother. He unmistakably marks the point + with the phrase: "<i>Then, in somewhat a more heightened tone</i>, I told how," etc. + Henceforward the style increases in fervour and in solemnity until the culmination of + the essay is reached: "And while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew + fainter to my view, receding and still receding till nothing at last but two mournful + features were seen in the uttermost distance, which, without speech, strangely + impressed upon me the effects of speech...." <span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" + id="page52"></a>[pg 52]</span> Throughout, the style is governed by the matter. + "Well," you say, "of course it is. It couldn't be otherwise. If it were otherwise it + would be ridiculous. A man who made love as though he were preaching a sermon, or a + man who preached a sermon as though he were teasing schoolboys, or a man who + described a death as though he were describing a practical joke, must necessarily be + either an ass or a lunatic." Just so. You have put it in a nutshell. You have + disposed of the problem of style so far as it can be disposed of.</p> + <p>But what do those people mean who say: "I read such and such an author for the + beauty of his style alone"? Personally, I do not clearly know what they mean (and I + have never been able to get them to explain), unless they mean that they read for the + beauty of sound alone. When you read a book there are only three things of which you + may be conscious: (1) The significance of the words, which is inseparably bound up + with the thought. (2) The look of the printed words on the page—I do not + suppose that anybody reads any author for the visual <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg 53]</span> beauty of the words on the page. (3) The + sound of the words, either actually uttered or imagined by the brain to be uttered. + Now it is indubitable that words differ in beauty of sound. To my mind one of the + most beautiful words in the English language is "pavement." Enunciate it, study its + sound, and see what you think. It is also indubitable that certain combinations of + words have a more beautiful sound than certain other combinations. Thus Tennyson held + that the most beautiful line he ever wrote was:</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The mellow ouzel fluting in the elm.</p> + </div> + </div> + <p>Perhaps, as sound, it was. Assuredly it makes a beautiful succession of sounds, + and recalls the bird-sounds which it is intended to describe. But does it live in the + memory as one of the rare great Tennysonian lines? It does not. It has charm, but the + charm is merely curious or pretty. A whole poem composed of lines with no better + recommendation than that line has would remain merely curious or pretty. It would not + permanently <span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg 54]</span> + interest. It would be as insipid as a pretty woman who had nothing behind her + prettiness. It would not live. One may remark in this connection how the merely + verbal felicities of Tennyson have lost our esteem. Who will now proclaim the + <i>Idylls of the King</i> as a masterpiece? Of the thousands of lines written by him + which please the ear, only those survive of which the matter is charged with emotion. + No! As regards the man who professes to read an author "for his style alone," I am + inclined to think either that he will soon get sick of that author, or that he is + deceiving himself and means the author's general temperament—not the author's + verbal style, but a peculiar quality which runs through all the matter written by the + author. Just as one may like a man for something which is always coming out of him, + which one cannot define, and which is of the very essence of the man.</p> + <p>In judging the style of an author, you must employ the same canons as you use in + judging men. If you do this you will not be tempted to attach importance to <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg 55]</span> trifles that are + negligible. There can be no lasting friendship without respect. If an author's style + is such that you cannot <i>respect</i> it, then you may be sure that, despite any + present pleasure which you may obtain from that author, there is something wrong with + his matter, and that the pleasure will soon cloy. You must examine your sentiments + towards an author. If when you have read an author you are pleased, without being + conscious of aught but his mellifluousness, just conceive what your feelings would be + after spending a month's holiday with a merely mellifluous man. If an author's style + has pleased you, but done nothing except make you giggle, then reflect upon the + ultimate tediousness of the man who can do nothing but jest. On the other hand, if + you are impressed by what an author has said to you, but are aware of verbal + clumsinesses in his work, you need worry about his "bad style" exactly as much and + exactly as little as you would worry about the manners of a kindhearted, keen-brained + friend who was dangerous to carpets with a tea-cup in his hand. The friend's antics + in a drawing-room are <span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg + 56]</span> somewhat regrettable, but you would not say of him that his manners were + bad. Again, if an author's style dazzles you instantly and blinds you to everything + except its brilliant self, ask your soul, before you begin to admire his matter, what + would be your final opinion of a man who at the first meeting fired his personality + into you like a broadside. Reflect that, as a rule, the people whom you have come to + esteem communicated themselves to you gradually, that they did not begin the + entertainment with fireworks. In short, look at literature as you would look at life, + and you cannot fail to perceive that, essentially, the style is the man. Decidedly + you will never assert that you care nothing for style, that your enjoyment of an + author's matter is unaffected by his style. And you will never assert, either, that + style alone suffices for you.</p> + <p>If you are undecided upon a question of style, whether leaning to the favourable + or to the unfavourable, the most prudent course is to forget that literary style + exists. For, indeed, as style is understood by <span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" + id="page57"></a>[pg 57]</span> most people who have not analysed their impressions + under the influence of literature, there <i>is</i> no such thing as literary style. + You cannot divide literature into two elements and say: This is matter and that + style. Further, the significance and the worth of literature are to be comprehended + and assessed in the same way as the significance and the worth of any other + phenomenon: by the exercise of common-sense. Common-sense will tell you that nobody, + not even a genius, can be simultaneously vulgar and distinguished, or beautiful and + ugly, or precise and vague, or tender and harsh. And common-sense will therefore tell + you that to try to set up vital contradictions between matter and style is absurd. + When there is a superficial contradiction, one of the two mutually-contradicting + qualities is of far less importance than the other. If you refer literature to the + standards of life, common-sense will at once decide which quality should count + heaviest in your esteem. You will be in no danger of weighing a mere maladroitness of + manner against a fine trait of character, or of letting a graceful deportment blind + you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg 58]</span> to a + fundamental vacuity. When in doubt, ignore style, and think of the matter as you + would think of an individual.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg 59]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + <h2>WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR</h2> + <p>Having disposed, so far as is possible and necessary, of that formidable question + of style, let us now return to Charles Lamb, whose essay on <i>Dream Children</i> was + the originating cause of our inquiry into style. As we have made a beginning of Lamb, + it will be well to make an end of him. In the preliminary stages of literary culture, + nothing is more helpful, in the way of kindling an interest and keeping it well + alight, than to specialise for a time on one author, and particularly on an author so + frankly and curiously "human" as Lamb is. I do not mean that you should imprison + yourself with Lamb's complete works for three months, and read nothing else. I mean + that you should regularly devote a proportion of your learned leisure to the study of + Lamb until you are acquainted <span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" + id="page60"></a>[pg 60]</span> with all that is important in his work and about his + work. (You may buy the complete works in prose and verse of Charles and Mary Lamb, + edited by that unsurpassed expert Mr. Thomas Hutchison, and published by the Oxford + University Press, in two volumes for four shillings the pair!) There is no reason why + you should not become a modest specialist in Lamb. He is the very man for you; + neither voluminous, nor difficult, nor uncomfortably lofty; always either amusing or + touching; and—most important—himself passionately addicted to literature. + You cannot like Lamb without liking literature in general. And you cannot read Lamb + without learning about literature in general; for books were his hobby, and he was a + critic of the first rank. His letters are full of literariness. You will naturally + read his letters; you should not only be infinitely diverted by them (there are no + better epistles), but you should receive from them much light on the works.</p> + <p>It is a course of study that I am <span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" + id="page61"></a>[pg 61]</span> suggesting to you. It means a certain amount of + sustained effort. It means slightly more resolution, more pertinacity, and more + expenditure of brain-tissue than are required for reading a newspaper. It means, in + fact, "work." Perhaps you did not bargain for work when you joined me. But I do not + think that the literary taste can be satisfactorily formed unless one is prepared to + put one's back into the affair. And I may prophesy to you, by way of encouragement, + that, in addition to the advantages of familiarity with masterpieces, of increased + literary knowledge, and of a wide introduction to the true bookish atmosphere and + "feel" of things, which you will derive from a comprehensive study of Charles Lamb, + you will also be conscious of a moral advantage—the very important and very + inspiring advantage of really "knowing something about something." You will have + achieved a definite step; you will be proudly aware that you have put yourself in a + position to judge as an expert whatever you may hear or read in the future concerning + Charles Lamb. This <span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg + 62]</span> legitimate pride and sense of accomplishment will stimulate you to go on + further; it will generate steam. I consider that this indirect moral advantage even + outweighs, for the moment, the direct literary advantages.</p> + <p>Now, I shall not shut my eyes to a possible result of your diligent intercourse + with Charles Lamb. It is possible that you may be disappointed with him. It + is—shall I say?—almost probable that you will be disappointed with him, + at any rate partially. You will have expected more joy in him than you have received. + I have referred in a previous chapter to the feeling of disappointment which often + comes from first contacts with the classics. The neophyte is apt to find them—I + may as well out with the word—dull. You may have found Lamb less diverting, + less interesting, than you hoped. You may have had to whip yourself up again and + again to the effort of reading him. In brief, Lamb has not, for you, justified his + terrific reputation. If a classic is a classic because it gives <i>pleasure</i> to + succeeding generations <span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg + 63]</span> of the people who are most keenly interested in literature, and if Lamb + frequently strikes you as dull, then evidently there is something wrong. The + difficulty must be fairly fronted, and the fronting of it brings us to the very core + of the business of actually forming the taste. If your taste were classical you would + discover in Lamb a continual fascination; whereas what you in fact do discover in + Lamb is a not unpleasant flatness, enlivened by a vague humour and an occasional + pathos. You ought, according to theory, to be enthusiastic; but you are apathetic, + or, at best, half-hearted. There is a gulf. How to cross it?</p> + <p>To cross it needs time and needs trouble. The following considerations may aid. In + the first place, we have to remember that, in coming into the society of the classics + in general and of Charles Lamb in particular, we are coming into the society of a + mental superior. What happens usually in such a case? We can judge by recalling what + happens when we are in the society of a mental inferior. We say things of <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg 64]</span> which he misses the + import; we joke, and he does not smile; what makes him laugh loudly seems to us + horseplay or childish; he is blind to beauties which ravish us; he is ecstatic over + what strikes us as crude; and his profound truths are for us trite commonplaces. His + perceptions are relatively coarse; our perceptions are relatively subtle. We try to + make him understand, to make him see, and if he is aware of his inferiority we may + have some success. But if he is not aware of his inferiority, we soon hold our + tongues and leave him alone in his self-satisfaction, convinced that there is nothing + to be done with him. Every one of us has been through this experience with a mental + inferior, for there is always a mental inferior handy, just as there is always a + being more unhappy than we are. In approaching a classic, the true wisdom is to place + ourselves in the position of the mental inferior, aware of mental inferiority, humbly + stripping off all conceit, anxious to rise out of that inferiority. Recollect that we + always regard as quite hopeless the mental inferior who does <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page65" id="page65"></a>[pg 65]</span> not suspect his own inferiority. Our + attitude towards Lamb must be: "Charles Lamb was a greater man than I am, cleverer, + sharper, subtler, finer, intellectually more powerful, and with keener eyes for + beauty. I must brace myself to follow his lead." Our attitude must resemble that of + one who cocks his ear and listens with all his soul for a distant sound.</p> + <p>To catch the sound we really must listen. That is to say, we must read carefully, + with our faculties on the watch. We must read slowly and perseveringly. A classic has + to be wooed and is worth the wooing. Further, we must disdain no assistance. I am not + in favour of studying criticism of classics before the classics themselves. My notion + is to study the work and the biography of a classical writer together, and then to + read criticism afterwards. I think that in reprints of the classics the customary + "critical introduction" ought to be put at the end, and not at the beginning, of the + book. The classic should be allowed to make his own impression, <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>[pg 66]</span> however faint, on the + virginal mind of the reader. But afterwards let explanatory criticism be read as much + as you please. Explanatory criticism is very useful; nearly as useful as pondering + for oneself on what one has read! Explanatory criticism may throw one single gleam + that lights up the entire subject.</p> + <p>My second consideration (in aid of crossing the gulf) touches the quality of the + pleasure to be derived from a classic. It is never a violent pleasure. It is subtle, + and it will wax in intensity, but the idea of violence is foreign to it. The artistic + pleasures of an uncultivated mind are generally violent. They proceed from + exaggeration in treatment, from a lack of balance, from attaching too great an + importance to one aspect (usually superficial), while quite ignoring another. They + are gross, like the joy of Worcester sauce on the palate. Now, if there is one point + common to all classics, it is the absence of exaggeration. The balanced sanity of a + great mind makes impossible exaggeration, and, therefore, distortion. The beauty of a + classic is not at all apt <span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>[pg + 67]</span> to knock you down. It will steal over you, rather. Many serious students + are, I am convinced, discouraged in the early stages because they are expecting a + wrong kind of pleasure. They have abandoned Worcester sauce, and they miss it. They + miss the coarse <i>tang</i>. They must realise that indulgence in the <i>tang</i> + means the sure and total loss of sensitiveness—sensitiveness even to the + <i>tang</i> itself. They cannot have crudeness and fineness together. They must + choose, remembering that while crudeness kills pleasure, fineness ever intensifies + it.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>[pg 68]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + <h2>SYSTEM IN HEADING</h2> + <p>You have now definitely set sail on the sea of literature. You are afloat, and + your anchor is up. I think I have given adequate warning of the dangers and + disappointments which await the unwary and the sanguine. The enterprise in which you + are engaged is not facile, nor is it short. I think I have sufficiently predicted + that you will have your hours of woe, during which you may be inclined to send to + perdition all writers, together with the inventor of printing. But if you have become + really friendly with Lamb; if you know Lamb, or even half of him; if you have formed + an image of him in your mind, and can, as it were, hear him brilliantly stuttering + while you read his essays or letters, then certainly you are in a fit condition to + proceed and you want to know in which direction you are to <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page69" id="page69"></a>[pg 69]</span> proceed. Yes, I have caught your + terrified and protesting whisper: "I hope to heaven he isn't going to prescribe a + Course of English Literature, because I feel I shall never be able to do it!" I am + not. If your object in life was to be a University Extension Lecturer in English + literature, then I should prescribe something drastic and desolating. But as your + object, so far as I am concerned, is simply to obtain the highest and most tonic form + of artistic pleasure of which you are capable, I shall not prescribe any regular + course. Nay, I shall venture to dissuade you from any regular course. No man, and + assuredly no beginner, can possibly pursue a historical course of literature without + wasting a lot of weary time in acquiring mere knowledge which will yield neither + pleasure nor advantage. In the choice of reading the individual must count; caprice + must count, for caprice is often the truest index to the individuality. Stand + defiantly on your own feet, and do not excuse yourself to yourself. You do not exist + in order to honour literature by becoming an encyclopædia of literature. + Literature exists for your service. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" + id="page70"></a>[pg 70]</span> Wherever you happen to be, that, for you, is the + centre of literature.</p> + <p>Still, for your own sake you must confine yourself for a long time to recognised + classics, for reasons already explained. And though you should not follow a course, + you must have a system or principle. Your native sagacity will tell you that caprice, + left quite unfettered, will end by being quite ridiculous. The system which I + recommend is embodied in this counsel: Let one thing lead to another. In the sea of + literature every part communicates with every other part; there are no land-locked + lakes. It was with an eye to this system that I originally recommended you to start + with Lamb. Lamb, if you are his intimate, has already brought you into relations with + a number of other prominent writers with whom you can in turn be intimate, and who + will be particularly useful to you. Among these are Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, + Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt. You cannot know Lamb without knowing these men, and some of + them are of the highest importance. From the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" + id="page71"></a>[pg 71]</span> circle of Lamb's own work you may go off at a tangent + at various points, according to your inclination. If, for instance, you are drawn + towards poetry, you cannot, in all English literature, make a better start than with + Wordsworth. And Wordsworth will send you backwards to a comprehension of the poets + against whose influence Wordsworth fought. When you have understood Wordsworth's and + Coleridge's <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>, and Wordsworth's defence of them, you will be in + a position to judge poetry in general. If, again, your mind hankers after an earlier + and more romantic literature, Lamb's <i>Specimens of English Dramatic Poets + Contemporary with Shakspere</i> has already, in an enchanting fashion, piloted you + into a vast gulf of "the sea which is Shakspere."</p> + <p>Again, in Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt you will discover essayists inferior only to Lamb + himself, and critics perhaps not inferior. Hazlitt is unsurpassed as a critic. His + judgments are convincing and his enthusiasm of the most catching nature. Having + arrived at Hazlitt or <span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>[pg + 72]</span> Leigh Hunt, you can branch off once more at any one of ten thousand points + into still wider circles. And thus you may continue up and down the centuries as far + as you like, yea, even to Chaucer. If you chance to read Hazlitt on <i>Chaucer and + Spenser</i>, you will probably put your hat on instantly and go out and buy these + authors; such is his communicating fire! I need not particularise further. Commencing + with Lamb, and allowing one thing to lead to another, you cannot fail to be more and + more impressed by the peculiar suitability to your needs of the Lamb entourage and + the Lamb period. For Lamb lived in a time of universal rebirth in English literature. + Wordsworth and Coleridge were re-creating poetry; Scott was re-creating the novel; + Lamb was re-creating the human document; and Hazlitt, Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, and + others were re-creating criticism. Sparks are flying all about the place, and it will + be not less than a miracle if something combustible and indestructible in you does + not take fire.</p> + <p>I have only one cautionary word to <span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" + id="page73"></a>[pg 73]</span> utter. You may be saying to yourself: "So long as I + stick to classics I cannot go wrong." You can go wrong. You can, while reading naught + but very fine stuff, commit the grave error of reading too much of one kind of stuff. + Now there are two kinds, and only two kinds. These two kinds are not prose and + poetry, nor are they divided the one from the other by any differences of form or of + subject. They are the inspiring kind and the informing kind. No other genuine + division exists in literature. Emerson, I think, first clearly stated it. His terms + were the literature of "power" and the literature of "knowledge." In nearly all great + literature the two qualities are to be found in company, but one usually predominates + over the other. An example of the exclusively inspiring kind is Coleridge's <i>Kubla + Khan</i>. I cannot recall any first-class example of the purely informing kind. The + nearest approach to it that I can name is Spencer's <i>First Principles</i>, which, + however, is at least once highly inspiring. An example in which the inspiring quality + predominates is <i>Ivanhoe</i>; and an example in which the <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page74" id="page74"></a>[pg 74]</span> informing quality predominates is + Hazlitt's essays on Shakespeare's characters. You must avoid giving undue preference + to the kind in which the inspiring quality predominates or to the kind in which the + informing quality predominates. Too much of the one is enervating; too much of the + other is desiccating. If you stick exclusively to the one you may become a mere + debauchee of the emotions; if you stick exclusively to the other you may cease to + live in any full sense. I do not say that you should hold the balance exactly even + between the two kinds. Your taste will come into the scale. What I say is that + neither kind must be neglected.</p> + <p>Lamb is an instance of a great writer whom anybody can understand and whom a + majority of those who interest themselves in literature can more or less appreciate. + He makes no excessive demand either on the intellect or on the faculty of sympathetic + emotion. On both sides of Lamb, however, there lie literatures more difficult, more + recondite. The "knowledge" side need not detain us here; it <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page75" id="page75"></a>[pg 75]</span> can be mastered by concentration and + perseverance. But the "power" side, which comprises the supreme productions of + genius, demands special consideration. You may have arrived at the point of keenly + enjoying Lamb and yet be entirely unable to "see anything in" such writings as + <i>Kubla Khan</i> or Milton's <i>Comus</i>; and as for <i>Hamlet</i> you may see + nothing in it but a sanguinary tale "full of quotations." Nevertheless it is the + supreme productions which are capable of yielding the supreme pleasures, and which + <i>will</i> yield the supreme pleasures when the pass-key to them has been acquired. + This pass-key is a comprehension of the nature of poetry.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>[pg 76]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + <h2>VERSE</h2> + <p>There is a word, a "name of fear," which rouses terror in the heart of the vast + educated majority of the English-speaking race. The most valiant will fly at the mere + utterance of that word. The most broad-minded will put their backs up against it. The + most rash will not dare to affront it. I myself have seen it empty buildings that had + been full; and I know that it will scatter a crowd more quickly than a hose-pipe, + hornets, or the rumour of plague. Even to murmur it is to incur solitude, probably + disdain, and possibly starvation, as historical examples show. That word is + "poetry."</p> + <p>The profound objection of the average man to poetry can scarcely be exaggerated. + And when I say the average man, I do <span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" + id="page77"></a>[pg 77]</span> not mean the "average sensual man"—any man who + gets on to the top of the omnibus; I mean the average lettered man, the average man + who does care a little for books and enjoys reading, and knows the classics by name + and the popular writers by having read them. I am convinced that not one man in ten + who reads, reads poetry—at any rate, knowingly. I am convinced, further, that + not one man in ten who goes so far as knowingly to <i>buy</i> poetry ever reads it. + You will find everywhere men who read very widely in prose, but who will say quite + callously, "No, I never read poetry." If the sales of modern poetry, distinctly + labelled as such, were to cease entirely to-morrow not a publisher would fail; + scarcely a publisher would be affected; and not a poet would die—for I do not + believe that a single modern English poet is living to-day on the current proceeds of + his verse. For a country which possesses the greatest poetical literature in the + world this condition of affairs is at least odd. What makes it odder is that, + occasionally, very occasionally, the average lettered <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page78" id="page78"></a>[pg 78]</span> man will have a fit of idolatry for a + fine poet, buying his books in tens of thousands, and bestowing upon him immense + riches. As with Tennyson. And what makes it odder still is that, after all, the + average lettered man does not truly dislike poetry; he only dislikes it when it takes + a certain form. He will read poetry and enjoy it, provided he is not aware that it is + poetry. Poetry can exist authentically either in prose or in verse. Give him poetry + concealed in prose and there is a chance that, taken off his guard, he will + appreciate it. But show him a page of verse, and he will be ready to send for a + policeman. The reason of this is that, though poetry may come to pass either in prose + or in verse, it does actually happen far more frequently in verse than in prose; + nearly all the very greatest poetry is in verse; verse is identified with the very + greatest poetry, and the very greatest poetry can only be understood and savoured by + people who have put themselves through a considerable mental discipline. To others it + is an exasperating weariness. Hence chiefly the fearful prejudice of <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>[pg 79]</span> the average lettered + man against the mere form of verse.</p> + <p>The formation of literary taste cannot be completed until that prejudice has been + conquered. My very difficult task is to suggest a method of conquering it. I address + myself exclusively to the large class of people who, if they are honest, will declare + that, while they enjoy novels, essays, and history, they cannot "stand" verse. The + case is extremely delicate, like all nervous cases. It is useless to employ the arts + of reasoning, for the matter has got beyond logic; it is instinctive. Perfectly + futile to assure you that verse will yield a higher percentage of pleasure than + prose! You will reply: "We believe you, but that doesn't help us." Therefore I shall + not argue. I shall venture to prescribe a curative treatment (doctors do not argue); + and I beg you to follow it exactly, keeping your nerve and your calm. Loss of + self-control might lead to panic, and panic would be fatal.</p> + <p>First: Forget as completely as you <span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" + id="page80"></a>[pg 80]</span> can all your present notions about the nature of verse + and poetry. Take a sponge and wipe the slate of your mind. In particular, do not + harass yourself by thoughts of metre and verse forms. Second: Read William Hazlitt's + essay "On Poetry in General." This essay is the first in the book entitled + <i>Lectures on the English Poets</i>. It can be bought in various forms. I think the + cheapest satisfactory edition is in Routledge's "New Universal Library" (price 1s. + net). I might have composed an essay of my own on the real harmless nature of poetry + in general, but it could only have been an echo and a deterioration of Hazlitt's. He + has put the truth about poetry in a way as interesting, clear, and reassuring as + anyone is ever likely to put it. I do not expect, however, that you will instantly + gather the full message and enthusiasm of the essay. It will probably seem to you not + to "hang together." Still, it will leave bright bits of ideas in your mind. Third: + After a week's interval read the essay again. On a second perusal it will appear more + persuasive to you.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg 81]</span> + <p>Fourth: Open the Bible and read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. It is the chapter + which begins, "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," and ends, "They shall run and not + be weary, and they shall walk and not faint." This chapter will doubtless be more or + less familiar to you. It cannot fail (whatever your particular <i>ism</i>) to impress + you, to generate in your mind sensations which you recognise to be of a lofty and + unusual order, and which you will admit to be pleasurable. You will probably agree + that the result of reading this chapter (even if your particular <i>ism</i> is + opposed to its authority) is finer than the result of reading a short story in a + magazine or even an essay by Charles Lamb. Now the pleasurable sensations induced by + the fortieth chapter of Isaiah are among the sensations usually induced by high-class + poetry. The writer of it was a very great poet, and what he wrote is a very great + poem. Fifth: After having read it, go back to Hazlitt, and see if you can find + anything in Hazlitt's lecture which throws light on the psychology of your own + emotions upon reading Isaiah.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>[pg 82]</span> + <p>Sixth: The next step is into unmistakable verse. It is to read one of Wordsworth's + short narrative poems, <i>The Brothers</i>. There are editions of Wordsworth at a + shilling, but I should advise the "Golden Treasury" Wordsworth (2s. 6d. net), because + it contains the famous essay by Matthew Arnold, who made the selection. I want you to + read this poem aloud. You will probably have to hide yourself somewhere in order to + do so, for, of course, you would not, as yet, care to be overheard spouting poetry. + Be good enough to forget that <i>The Brothers</i> is poetry. <i>The Brothers</i> is a + short story, with a plain, clear plot. Read it as such. Read it simply for the story. + It is very important at this critical stage that you should not embarrass your mind + with preoccupations as to the <i>form</i> in which Wordsworth has told his story. + Wordsworth's object was to tell a story as well as he could: just that. In reading + aloud do not pay any more attention to the metre than you feel naturally inclined to + pay. After a few lines the metre will present itself to you. Do <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg 83]</span> not worry as to what + kind of metre it is. When you have finished the perusal, examine your + sensations....</p> + <p>Your sensations after reading this poem, and perhaps one or two other narrative + poems of Wordsworth, such as <i>Michael</i>, will be different from the sensations + produced in you by reading an ordinary, or even a very extraordinary, short story in + prose. They may not be so sharp, so clear and piquant, but they will probably be, in + their mysteriousness and their vagueness, more impressive. I do not say that they + will be diverting. I do not go so far as to say that they will strike you as pleasing + sensations. (Be it remembered that I am addressing myself to an imaginary tyro in + poetry.) I would qualify them as being "disturbing." Well, to disturb the spirit is + one of the greatest aims of art. And a disturbance of spirit is one of the finest + pleasures that a highly-organised man can enjoy. But this truth can only be really + learnt by the repetitions of experience. As an aid to the more exhaustive examination + of your feelings under Wordsworth, in order <span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" + id="page84"></a>[pg 84]</span> that you may better understand what he was trying to + effect in you, and the means which he employed, I must direct you to Wordsworth + himself. Wordsworth, in addition to being a poet, was unsurpassed as a critic of + poetry. What Hazlitt does for poetry in the way of creating enthusiasm Wordsworth + does in the way of philosophic explanation. And Wordsworth's explanations of the + theory and practice of poetry are written for the plain man. They pass the + comprehension of nobody, and their direct, unassuming, and calm simplicity is + extremely persuasive. Wordsworth's chief essays in throwing light on himself are the + "Advertisement," "Preface," and "Appendix" to <i>Lyrical Ballads</i>; the letters to + Lady Beaumont and "the Friend" and the "Preface" to the Poems dated 1815. All this + matter is strangely interesting and of immense educational value. It is the + first-class expert talking at ease about his subject. The essays relating to + <i>Lyrical Ballads</i> will be the most useful for you. You will discover these + precious documents in a volume entitled <i>Wordsworth's Literary Criticism</i> + (published by Henry <span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg + 85]</span> Frowde, 2s. 6d.), edited by that distinguished Wordsworthian Mr. Nowell C. + Smith. It is essential that the student of poetry should become possessed, honestly + or dishonestly, either of this volume or of the matter which it contains. There is, + by the way, a volume of Wordsworth's prose in the Scott Library (1s.). Those who have + not read Wordsworth on poetry can have no idea of the naïve charm and the + helpful radiance of his expounding. I feel that I cannot too strongly press + Wordsworth's criticism upon you.</p> + <p>Between Wordsworth and Hazlitt you will learn all that it behoves you to know of + the nature, the aims, and the results of poetry. It is no part of my scheme to dot + the "i's" and cross the "t's" of Wordsworth and Hazlitt. I best fulfil my purpose in + urgently referring you to them. I have only a single point of my own to make—a + psychological detail. One of the main obstacles to the cultivation of poetry in the + average sensible man is an absurdly inflated notion of the ridiculous. At the bottom + of that man's <span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg 86]</span> + mind is the idea that poetry is "silly." He also finds it exaggerated and artificial; + but these two accusations against poetry can be satisfactorily answered. The charge + of silliness, of being ridiculous, however, cannot be refuted by argument. There is + no logical answer to a guffaw. This sense of the ridiculous is merely a bad, + infantile habit, in itself grotesquely ridiculous. You may see it particularly in the + theatre. Not the greatest dramatist, not the greatest composer, not the greatest + actor can prevent an audience from laughing uproariously at a tragic moment if a cat + walks across the stage. But why ruin the scene by laughter? Simply because the + majority of any audience is artistically childish. This sense of the ridiculous can + only be crushed by the exercise of moral force. It can only be cowed. If you are + inclined to laugh when a poet expresses himself more powerfully than you express + yourself, when a poet talks about feelings which are not usually mentioned in daily + papers, when a poet uses words and images which lie outside your vocabulary and range + of thought, then you had better <span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" + id="page87"></a>[pg 87]</span> take yourself in hand. You have to decide whether you + will be on the side of the angels or on the side of the nincompoops. There is no + surer sign of imperfect development than the impulse to snigger at what is unusual, + naïve, or exuberant. And if you choose to do so, you can detect the cat walking + across the stage in the sublimest passages of literature. But more advanced souls + will grieve for you.</p> + <p>The study of Wordsworth's criticism makes the seventh step in my course of + treatment. The eighth is to return to those poems of Wordsworth's which you have + already perused, and read them again in the full light of the author's defence and + explanation. Read as much Wordsworth as you find you can assimilate, but do not + attempt either of his long poems. The time, however, is now come for a long poem. I + began by advising narrative poetry for the neophyte, and I shall persevere with the + prescription. I mean narrative poetry in the restricted sense; for epic poetry is + narrative. <i>Paradise Lost</i> is narrative; so is <i>The Prelude</i>. <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg 88]</span> I suggest neither of + these great works. My choice falls on Elizabeth Browning's <i>Aurora Leigh</i>. If + you once work yourself "into" this poem, interesting yourself primarily (as with + Wordsworth) in the events of the story, and not allowing yourself to be obsessed by + the fact that what you are reading is "poetry"—if you do this, you are not + likely to leave it unfinished. And before you reach the end you will have encountered + <i>en route</i> pretty nearly all the moods of poetry that exist: tragic, humorous, + ironic, elegiac, lyric—everything. You will have a comprehensive acquaintance + with a poet's mind. I guarantee that you will come safely through if you treat the + work as a novel. For a novel it effectively is, and a better one than any written by + Charlotte Brontë or George Eliot. In reading, it would be well to mark, or take + note of, the passages which give you the most pleasure, and then to compare these + passages with the passages selected for praise by some authoritative critic. + <i>Aurora Leigh</i> can be got in the "Temple Classics" (1s. 6d.), or in the + "Canterbury Poets" (1s.). The indispensable biographical information <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg 89]</span> about Mrs. Browning + can be obtained from Mr. J.H. Ingram's short Life of her in the "Eminent Women" + Series (1s. 6d.), or from <i>Robert Browning</i>, by William Sharp ("Great Writers" + Series, 1s.).</p> + <p>This accomplished, you may begin to choose your poets. Going back to Hazlitt, you + will see that he deals with, among others, Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, + Dryden, Pope, Chatterton, Burns, and the Lake School. You might select one of these, + and read under his guidance. Said Wordsworth: "I was impressed by the conviction that + there were four English poets whom I must have continually before me as + examples—Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, and Milton." (A word to the wise!) + Wordsworth makes a fifth to these four. Concurrently with the careful, enthusiastic + study of one of the undisputed classics, modern verse should be read. (I beg you to + accept the following statement: that if the study of classical poetry inspires you + with a distaste for modern poetry, then there is something seriously wrong <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg 90]</span> in the method of your + development.) You may at this stage (and not before) commence an inquiry into + questions of rhythm, verse-structure, and rhyme. There is, I believe, no good, + concise, cheap handbook to English prosody; yet such a manual is greatly needed. The + only one with which I am acquainted is Tom Hood the younger's <i>Rules of Rhyme: A + Guide to English Versification</i>. Again, the introduction to Walker's <i>Rhyming + Dictionary</i> gives a fairly clear elementary account of the subject. Ruskin also + has written an excellent essay on verse-rhythms. With a manual in front of you, you + can acquire in a couple of hours a knowledge of the formal principles in which the + music of English verse is rooted. The business is trifling. But the business of + appreciating the inmost spirit of the greatest verse is tremendous and lifelong. It + is not something that can be "got up."</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg 91]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + <h2>BROAD COUNSELS</h2> + <p>I have now set down what appear to me to be the necessary considerations, + recommendations, exhortations, and dehortations in aid of this delicate and arduous + enterprise of forming the literary taste. I have dealt with the theory of literature, + with the psychology of the author, and—quite as important—with the + psychology of the reader. I have tried to explain the author to the reader and the + reader to himself. To go into further detail would be to exceed my original + intention, with no hope of ever bringing the constantly-enlarging scheme to a logical + conclusion. My aim is not to provide a map, but a compass—two very different + instruments. In the way of general advice it remains for me only to put before you + three counsels which <span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg + 92]</span> apply more broadly than any I have yet offered to the business of + reading.</p> + <p>You have within yourself a touchstone by which finally you can, and you must, test + every book that your brain is capable of comprehending. Does the book seem to you to + be sincere and true? If it does, then you need not worry about your immediate + feelings, or the possible future consequences of the book. You will ultimately like + the book, and you will be justified in liking it. Honesty, in literature as in life, + is the quality that counts first and counts last. But beware of your immediate + feelings. Truth is not always pleasant. The first glimpse of truth is, indeed, + usually so disconcerting as to be positively unpleasant, and our impulse is to tell + it to go away, for we will have no truck with it. If a book arouses your genuine + contempt, you may dismiss it from your mind. Take heed, however, lest you confuse + contempt with anger. If a book really moves you to anger, the chances are that it is + a good book. Most good books have begun by causing anger which <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>[pg 93]</span> disguised itself as + contempt. Demanding honesty from your authors, you must see that you render it + yourself. And to be honest with oneself is not so simple as it appears. One's + sensations and one's sentiments must be examined with detachment. When you have + violently flung down a book, listen whether you can hear a faint voice saying within + you: "It's true, though!" And if you catch the whisper, better yield to it as quickly + as you can. For sooner or later the voice will win. Similarly, when you are hugging a + book, keep your ear cocked for the secret warning: "Yes, but it isn't true." For bad + books, by flattering you, by caressing, by appealing to the weak or the base in you, + will often persuade you what fine and splendid books they are. (Of course, I use the + word "true" in a wide and essential significance. I do not necessarily mean true to + literal fact; I mean true to the plane of experience in which the book moves. The + truthfulness of <i>Ivanhoe</i>, for example, cannot be estimated by the same + standards as the truthfulness of Stubbs's <i>Constitutional History</i>.) In reading + a book, a <span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg 94]</span> + sincere questioning of oneself, "Is it true?" and a loyal abiding by the answer, will + help more surely than any other process of ratiocination to form the taste. I will + not assert that this question and answer are all-sufficient. A true book is not + always great. But a great book is never untrue.</p> + <p>My second counsel is: In your reading you must have in view some definite + aim—some aim other than the wish to derive pleasure. I conceive that to give + pleasure is the highest end of any work of art, because the pleasure procured from + any art is tonic, and transforms the life into which it enters. But the maximum of + pleasure can only be obtained by regular effort, and regular effort implies the + organisation of that effort. Open-air walking is a glorious exercise; it is the + walking itself which is glorious. Nevertheless, when setting out for walking + exercise, the sane man generally has a subsidiary aim in view. He says to himself + either that he will reach a given point, or that he will progress at a given speed + for a given <span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg 95]</span> + distance, or that he will remain on his feet for a given time. He organises his + effort, partly in order that he may combine some other advantage with the advantage + of walking, but principally in order to be sure that the effort shall be an adequate + effort. The same with reading. Your paramount aim in poring over literature is to + enjoy, but you will not fully achieve that aim unless you have also a subsidiary aim + which necessitates the measurement of your energy. Your subsidiary aim may be + æsthetic, moral, political, religious, scientific, erudite; you may devote + yourself to a man, a topic, an epoch, a nation, a branch of literature, an + idea—you have the widest latitude in the choice of an objective; but a definite + objective you must have. In my earlier remarks as to method in reading, I advocated, + without insisting on, regular hours for study. But I both advocate and insist on the + fixing of a date for the accomplishment of an allotted task. As an instance, it is + not enough to say: "I will inform myself completely as to the Lake School." It is + necessary to say: <span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg + 96]</span> "I will inform myself completely as to the Lake School before I am a year + older." Without this precautionary steeling of the resolution the risk of a + humiliating collapse into futility is enormously magnified.</p> + <p>My third counsel is: Buy a library. It is obvious that you cannot read unless you + have books. I began by urging the constant purchase of books—any books of + approved quality, without reference to their immediate bearing upon your particular + case. The moment has now come to inform you plainly that a bookman is, amongst other + things, a man who possesses many books. A man who does not possess many books is not + a bookman. For years literary authorities have been favouring the literary public + with wondrously selected lists of "the best books"—the best novels, the best + histories, the best poems, the best works of philosophy—or the hundred best or + the fifty best of all sorts. The fatal disadvantage of such lists is that they leave + out large quantities of literature which is admittedly first-class. The <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg 97]</span> bookman cannot + content himself with a selected library. He wants, as a minimum, a library reasonably + complete in all departments. With such a basis acquired, he can afterwards wander + into those special byways of book-buying which happen to suit his special + predilections. Every Englishman who is interested in any branch of his native + literature, and who respects himself, ought to own a comprehensive and inclusive + library of English literature, in comely and adequate editions. You may suppose that + this counsel is a counsel of perfection. It is not. Mark Pattison laid down a rule + that he who desired the name of book-lover must spend five per cent. of his income on + books. The proposal does not seem extravagant, but even on a smaller percentage than + five the average reader of these pages may become the owner, in a comparatively short + space of time, of a reasonably complete English library, by which I mean a library + containing the complete works of the supreme geniuses, representative important works + of all the first-class men in all departments, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" + id="page98"></a>[pg 98]</span> and specimen works of all the men of the second rank + whose reputation is really a living reputation to-day. The scheme for a library, + which I now present, begins before Chaucer and ends with George Gissing, and I am + fairly sure that the majority of people will be startled at the total inexpensiveness + of it. So far as I am aware, no such scheme has ever been printed before.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg 99]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + <h2>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I</h2> + <p>[For much counsel and correction in the matter of editions and prices I am + indebted to my old and valued friend, Charles Young, head of the firm of Lamley & + Co., booksellers, South Kensington.]</p> + <p>For the purposes of book-buying, I divide English literature, not strictly into + historical epochs, but into three periods which, while scarcely arbitrary from the + historical point of view, have nevertheless been calculated according to the space + which they will occupy on the shelves and to the demands which they will make on the + purse:</p> + <p><b>I.</b> From the beginning to John Dryden, or roughly, to the end of the + seventeenth century.</p> + <p><b>II.</b> From William Congreve to Jane Austen, or roughly, the eighteenth + century.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg 100]</span> + <p><b>III.</b> From Sir Walter Scott to the last deceased author who is recognised as + a classic, or roughly, the nineteenth century.</p> + <p>Period III. will bulk the largest and cost the most; not necessarily because it + contains more absolutely great books than the other periods (though in my opinion it + <i>does</i>), but because it is nearest to us, and therefore fullest of interest for + us.</p> + <p>I have not confined my choice to books of purely literary interest—that is + to say, to works which are primarily works of literary art. Literature is the vehicle + of philosophy, science, morals, religion, and history; and a library which aspires to + be complete must comprise, in addition to imaginative works, all these branches of + intellectual activity. Comprising all these branches, it cannot avoid comprising + works of which the purely literary interest is almost nil.</p> + <p>On the other hand, I have excluded from consideration:—</p> + <p>i. Works whose sole importance is that they form a link in the chain of <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg 101]</span> development. For + example, nearly all the productions of authors between Chaucer and the beginning of + the Elizabethan period, such as Gower, Hoccleve, and Skelton, whose works, for + sufficient reason, are read only by professors and students who mean to be + professors.</p> + <p>ii. Works not originally written in English, such as the works of that very great + philosopher Roger Bacon, of whom this isle ought to be prouder than it is. To this + rule, however, I have been constrained to make a few exceptions. Sir Thomas More's + <i>Utopia</i> was written in Latin, but one does not easily conceive a library to be + complete without it. And could one exclude Sir Isaac Newton's <i>Principia</i>, the + masterpiece of the greatest physicist that the world has ever seen? The law of + gravity ought to have, and does have, a powerful sentimental interest for us.</p> + <p>iii. Translations from foreign literature into English.</p> + <p>Here, then, are the lists for the first period:</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg 102]</span> + <h4>PROSE WRITERS.</h4> + <table summary="PROSE WRITERS." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Bede, <i>Ecclesiastical History</i>: Temple</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Thomas Malory, <i>Morte d'Arthur</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> Everyman's Library (4 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Thomas More, <i>Utopia</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Cavendish, <i>Life of Cardinal</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"><i> Wolsey</i>: New Universal Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Richard Hakluyt, <i>Voyages</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (8 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">8</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Richard Hooker, <i>Ecclesiastical Polity</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library (2 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Francis Bacon, <i>Works</i>: Newnes's Thinpaper</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Dekker, <i>Gull's Horn-Book</i>: King's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lord Herbert of Cherbury, <i>Autobiography</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Selden, <i>Table-Talk</i>: New Universal</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Hobbes, <i>Leviathan</i>: New Universal</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Howell, <i>Familiar Letters</i>: Temple</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics (3 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Thomas Browne, <i>Religio Medici</i>, etc.:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jeremy Taylor, <i>Holy Living and Holy</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Dying</i>: Temple Classics (3 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Izaak Walton, <i>Compleat Angler</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Bunyan, <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left" width="85%">Sir William Temple, <i>Essay on Gardens</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>of Epicurus</i>: King's Classics.</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Evelyn, <i>Diary</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Samuel Pepys, <i>Diary</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.).</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£2</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg 103]</span> + <p>The principal omission from the above list is <i>The Paston Letters</i>, which I + should probably have included had the enterprise of publishers been sufficient to put + an edition on the market at a cheap price. Other omissions include the works of + Caxton and Wyclif, and such books as Camden's <i>Britannia</i>, Ascham's + <i>Schoolmaster</i>, and Fuller's <i>Worthies</i>, whose lack of first-rate value as + literature is not adequately compensated by their historical interest. As to the + Bible, in the first place it is a translation, and in the second I assume that you + already possess a copy.</p> + <h4>POETS.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg 104]</span> +<table summary="POETS" align="center"> + +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">£</td><td align="center">s.</td><td align="center">d.</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><i>Beowulf</i>, Routledge's London Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">GEOFFREY CHAUCER, <i>Works</i>: Globe</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Nicolas Udall, <i>Ralph Roister-Doister</i>:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Temple Dramatists</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">EDMUND SPENSER, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Thomas Lodge, <i>Rosalynde</i>: Caxton Series</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Robert Greene, <i>Tragical Reign of Selimus</i>:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Temple Dramatists</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Michael Drayton, <i>Poems</i>: Newnes's Pocket</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Classics</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">8</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, <i>Works</i>: New Universal</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, <i>Works</i>: Globe</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Thomas Campion, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Ben Jonson, <i>Plays</i>: Canterbury Poets</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Donne, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Webster, Cyril Tourneur, <i>Plays</i>:</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Mermaid Series</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Philip Massinger, <i>Plays</i>: Cunningham</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Beaumont and Fletcher, <i>Plays</i>: a Selection</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Ford, <i>Plays</i>: Mermaid Series</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">George Herbert, <i>The Temple</i>: Everyman's</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">ROBERT HERRICK, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Edmund Waller, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Sir John Suckling, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Abraham Cowley, <i>English Poems</i>: Cambridge</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">4</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Richard Crashaw, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Henry Vaughan, <i>Poems</i>: Methuen's</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Little Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Samuel Butler, <i>Hudibras</i>: Cambridge</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">4</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">JOHN MILTON, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Cheap Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">JOHN MILTON, <i>Select Prose Works</i>: Scott</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Andrew Marvell, <i>Poems</i>: Methuen's Little</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Library</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">John Dryden, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Globe</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> Edition</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">[Thomas Percy], <i>Reliques of Ancient</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> <i>English Poetry</i>: Everyman's Library</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Arber's <i>"Spenser" Anthology</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Arber's <i>"Jonson" Anthology</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Arber's <i>"Shakspere" Anthology</i>: Oxford</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> University Press</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">0</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">£3</td><td align="center">7</td><td align="center">6</td><td align="left"></td></tr> + +</table> +<span + class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg 105]</span> + <p>There were a number of brilliant minor writers in the seventeenth century whose + best work, often trifling in bulk, either scarcely merits the acquisition of a + separate volume for each author, or cannot be obtained at all in a modern edition. + Such authors, however, may not <span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" + id="page106"></a>[pg 106]</span> be utterly neglected in the formation of a library. + It is to meet this difficulty that I have included the last three volumes on the + above list. Professor Arber's anthologies are full of rare pieces, and comprise + admirable specimens of the verse of Samuel Daniel, Giles Fletcher, Countess of + Pembroke, James I., George Peele, Sir Walter Raleigh, Thomas Sackville, Sir Philip + Sidney, Drummond of Hawthornden, Thomas Heywood, George Wither, Sir Henry Wotton, Sir + William Davenant, Thomas Randolph, Frances Quarles, James Shirley, and other greater + and lesser poets.</p> + <p>I have included all the important Elizabethan dramatists except John Marston, all + the editions of whose works, according to my researches, are out of print.</p> + <p>In the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods talent was so extraordinarily plentiful + that the standard of excellence is quite properly raised, and certain authors are + thus relegated to the third, or excluded, class who in a less fertile period would + have counted as at least second-class.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg 107]</span> + <h4>SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD.</h4> + +<table summary="SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD." align="center"> + +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td> </td><td> </td><td align="center">£</td><td align="center">s.</td><td align="center">d.</td><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">19 prose authors in</td><td>36 volumes</td><td>costing</td><td align="center">2</td><td align="center">1</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">29 poets in</td><td>36 "</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">3</td><td align="center">7</td><td align="center">6</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">__ </td><td>__</td><td></td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td><td align="center">___</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">48</td><td>72</td><td></td><td align="center">£5</td><td align="center">9</td><td align="center">0</td><td align="left"></td></tr> + +</table> +<p>In addition, scores of authors of genuine interest are represented in the + anthologies.</p> + <p>The prices given are gross, and in many instances there is a 25 per cent. discount + to come off. All the volumes can be procured immediately at any bookseller's.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg 108]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + <h2>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II</h2> + <p>After dealing with the formation of a library of authors up to John Dryden, I must + logically arrange next a scheme for the period covered roughly by the eighteenth + century. There is, however, no reason why the student in quest of a library should + follow the chronological order. Indeed, I should advise him to attack the nineteenth + century before the eighteenth, for the reason that, unless his taste happens to be + peculiarly "Augustan," he will obtain a more immediate satisfaction and profit from + his acquisitions in the nineteenth century than in the eighteenth. There is in + eighteenth-century literature a considerable proportion of what I may term + "unattractive excellence," which one must have for the purposes of completeness, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>[pg 109]</span> but which + may await actual perusal until more pressing and more human books have been read. I + have particularly in mind the philosophical authors of the century.</p> + <h4>PROSE WRITERS.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>[pgs 110-111]</span> + <table align="center" summary="prose writers"> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + + +<tr> + <td align="left">JOHN LOCKE, <i>Philosophical Works</i>: Bohn's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SIR ISAAC NEWTON, <i>Principia</i> (sections 1,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> 2, and 3): Macmillans</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">12</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Gilbert Burnet, <i>History of His Own Time</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Wycherley, <i>Best Plays</i>: Mermaid</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM CONGREVE, <i>Best Plays</i>: Mermaid</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jonathan Swift, <i>Tale of a Tub</i>: Scott</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jonathan Swift, <i>Gulliver's Travels</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Temple Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">DANIEL DEFOE, <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">DANIEL DEFOE, <i>Journal of the Plague</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Year: Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Joseph Addison, Sir Richard Steele,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Essays</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Law, <i>Serious Call</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lady Mary W. Montagu, <i>Letters</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Berkeley, <i>Principles of Human</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Knowledge</i>: New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SAMUEL RICHARDSON, <i>Clarissa</i> (abridged):</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Wesley, <i>Journal</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (4 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRY FIELDING, <i>Tom Jones</i>: Routledge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRY FIELDING, <i>Amelia</i>: Routledge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">HENRY FIELDING, <i>Joseph Andrews</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">David Hume, <i>Essays</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LAURENCE STERNE, <i>Tristram Shandy</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LAURENCE STERNE, <i>Sentimental Journey</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Horace Walpole, <i>Castle of Otranto</i>: King's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Tobias Smollett, <i>Humphrey Clinker</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Tobias Smollett, <i>Travels through France</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>and Italy</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ADAM SMITH, <i>Wealth of Nations</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Samuel Johnson, <i>Lives of the Poets</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Samuel Johnson, <i>Rasselas</i>: New Universal</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">JAMES BOSWELL, <i>Life of Johnson</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Oliver Goldsmith, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Henry Mackenzie, <i>The Man of Feeling</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Cassell's National Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sir Joshua Reynolds, <i>Discourses on Art</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Edmund Burke, <i>Reflections on the French</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Revolution</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Edmund Burke, <i>Thoughts on the Present</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Discontents</i>: New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">EDWARD GIBBON, <i>Decline and Fall of the</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Roman Empire</i>: World's Classics</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> (7 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Paine, <i>Rights of Man</i>: Watts</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> and Co.'s Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, <i>Plays</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Fanny Burney, <i>Evelina</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Gilbert White, <i>Natural History of Selborne</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Arthur Young, <i>Travels in France</i>: York</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Mungo Park, <i>Travels</i>: Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jeremy Bentham, <i>Introduction to the</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Principles of Morals</i>: Clarendon</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Press</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS ROBERT MALTHUS, <i>Essay on the</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Principle of Population</i>: Ward,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Lock's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Godwin, <i>Caleb Williams</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Newnes's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Maria Edgeworth, <i>Helen</i>: Macmillan's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Illustrated Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">JANE AUSTEN, <i>Novels</i>: Nelson's New</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Century Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Morier, <i>Hadji Baba</i>: Macmillan's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Illustrated Novels</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£5</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>[pg 112]</span> + <p>The principal omissions here are Jeremy Collier, whose outcry against the + immorality of the stage is his slender title to remembrance; Richard Bentley, whose + scholarship principally died with him, and whose chief works are no longer current; + and "Junius," who would have been deservedly forgotten long ago had there been a + contemporaneous Sherlock Holmes to ferret out his identity.</p> + <h4>POETS.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>[pg 113]</span> + <table summary="POETS." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Otway, <i>Venice Preserved</i>: Temple</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Dramatists</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Matthew Prior, <i>Poems on Several Occasions</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Cambridge English Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Gay, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ALEXANDER POPE, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Isaac Watts, <i>Hymns</i>: Any hymn-book</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Thomson, <i>The Seasons</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Wesley, <i>Hymns</i>: Any hymn-book</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS GRAY, Samuel Johnson, William</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Collins, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Macpherson (Ossian), <i>Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">THOMAS CHATTERTON, <i>Poems</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM COWPER, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM COWPER, <i>Letters</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Crabbe, <i>Poems</i>: Methuen's Little</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM BLAKE, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Lisle Bowles, Hartley Coleridge,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ROBERT BURNS, <i>Works</i>: Globe Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£1</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <br /> + <h4>SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD.</h4> + <table summary="SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left">39 prose writers in</td> + <td>60</td> + <td>volumes,</td> + <td>costing</td> + <td align="center">£5</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">18 poets</td> + <td>18</td> + <td align="center">"</td> + <td align="center">"</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">__</td> + <td>__</td> + <td> + </td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">57</td> + <td>78</td> + <td> + </td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="center">£6</td> + <td align="center">8</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>[pg 114]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + <h2>AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III</h2> + <p>The catalogue of necessary authors of this third and last period being so long, it + is convenient to divide the prose writers into Imaginative and Non-imaginative.</p> + <p>In the latter half of the period the question of copyright affects our scheme to a + certain extent, because it affects prices. Fortunately it is the fact that no single + book of recognised first-rate general importance is conspicuously dear. Nevertheless, + I have encountered difficulties in the second rank; I have dealt with them in a + spirit of compromise. I think I may say that, though I should have included a few + more authors had their books been obtainable at a reasonable price, I have omitted + none that I consider indispensable to a thoroughly representative <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>[pg 115]</span> collection. No + living author is included.</p> + <p>Where I do not specify the edition of a book the original copyright edition is + meant.</p> + <h4>PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE.</h4> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>[pgs 116-117]</span> + <table summary="PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SIR WALTER SCOTT, <i>Waverley, Heart of</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Midlothian, Quentin Durward, Red-gauntlet,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Ivanhoe</i>: Everyman's Library (5 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">5</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">SIR WALTER SCOTT, <i>Marmion</i>, etc.:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Lamb, <i>Works in Prose and Verse</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Clarendon Press (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Lamb, <i>Letters</i>: Newnes's Thin</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Paper Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Walter Savage Landor, <i>Imaginary Conversations</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Walter Savage Landor, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Leigh Hunt, <i>Essays and Sketches</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Love Peacock, <i>Principal Novels</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Mary Russell Mitford, <i>Our Village</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Michael Scott, <i>Tom Cringle's Log</i>: Macmillan's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Illustrated Novels</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Frederick Marryat, <i>Mr. Midshipman</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Easy</i>: Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Galt, <i>Annals of the Parish</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Susan Ferrier, <i>Marriage</i>: Routledge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Douglas Jerrold, <i>Mrs. Caudle's Curtain</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Lectures</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lord Lytton, <i>Last Days of Pompeii</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Carleton, <i>Stories</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles James Lever, <i>Harry Lorrequer</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Harrison Ainsworth, <i>The Tower of London</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Henry Borrow, <i>Bible in Spain,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Lavengro</i>: New Universal Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Lord Beaconsfield, <i>Sybil, Coningsby</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Lane's New Pocket Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W.M. THACKERAY, <i>Vanity Fair, Esmond</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W.M. THACKERAY, <i>Barry Lyndon</i>, and</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Roundabout Papers</i>, etc.:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Nelson's New Century Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">CHARLES DICKENS, <i>Works</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (18 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">18</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Reade, <i>The Cloister and the Hearth</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Anthony Trollope, <i>Barchester Towers,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Framley Parsonage</i>: Lane's New</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Pocket Library (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charles Kingsley, <i>Westward Ho!</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Henry Kingsley, <i>Ravenshoe</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Charlotte Brontë, <i>Jane Eyre, Shirley,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>Villette, Professor, and Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics (4 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Emily Brontë, <i>Wuthering Heights</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Gaskell, <i>Cranford</i>: World's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Gaskell, <i>Life of Charlotte Brontë</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Eliot, <i>Adam Bede, Silas Marner,</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> <i>The Mill on the Floss</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library (3 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">G.J. Whyte-Melville, <i>The Gladiators</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Alexander Smith, <i>Dreamthorpe</i>: New</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Macdonald, <i>Malcolm</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Walter Pater, <i>Imaginary Portraits</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Wilkie Collins, <i>The Woman in White</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">R.D. 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Myers, <i>Wordsworth</i>: English</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Men of Letters Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£4</td> + <td align="center">10</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page121" id="page121"></a>[pg 121]</span> + <p>The following authors are omitted, I think justifiably:—Hallam, Whewell, + Grote, Faraday, Herschell, Hamilton, John Wilson, Richard Owen, Stirling Maxwell, + Buckle, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Hamerton, F.D. Maurice, Henry Sidgwick, and Richard + Jebb.</p> + <p>Lastly, here is the list of poets. In the matter of price per volume it is the + most expensive of all the lists. This is due to the fact that it contains a larger + proportion of copyright works. Where I do not specify the edition of a book, the + original copyright edition is meant:</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page122" id="page122"></a>[pgs 122-123]</span> + <h4>POETS.</h4> + <table summary="POETS." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£</td> + <td align="center">s.</td> + <td align="center">d.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Oxford Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, <i>Literary Criticism</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Nowell Smith's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Robert Southey, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Robert Southey, <i>Life of Nelson</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">S.T. COLERIDGE, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Newnes's Thin Paper Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">S.T. COLERIDGE, <i>Biographia Literaria</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">S.T. COLERIDGE, <i>Lectures on Shakspere</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Everyman's Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">JOHN KEATS, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Oxford</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Oxford Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LORD BYRON, <i>Poems</i>: E. Hartley Coleridge's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LORD BYRON, <i>Letters</i>: Scott Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Hood, <i>Poems</i>: World's Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James and Horace Smith, <i>Rejected Addresses</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> New Universal Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">John Keble, <i>The Christian Year</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">George Darley, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">T.L. Beddoes, <i>Poems</i>: Muses' Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Thomas Moore, <i>Selected Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Clarence Mangan, <i>Poems</i>: D.J.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> O'Donoghue's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W. Mackworth Praed, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">R.S. Hawker, <i>Cornish Ballads</i>: C.E.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Byles's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">5</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Edward FitzGerald, <i>Omar Khayyam</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Golden Treasury Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">P.J. Bailey, <i>Festus</i>: Routledge's Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Arthur Hugh Clough, <i>Poems</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">LORD TENNYSON, <i>Poetical Works</i>: Globe</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Edition</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">ROBERT BROWNING, <i>Poetical Works</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> World's Classics (2 vols.)</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Browning, <i>Aurora Leigh</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Temple Classics</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Elizabeth Browning, <i>Shorter Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">P.B. Marston, <i>Song-tide</i>: Canterbury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Aubrey de Vere, <i>Legends of St. Patrick</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Cassell's National Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">MATTHEW ARNOLD, <i>Poems</i>: Golden Treasury</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">MATTHEW ARNOLD, <i>Essays</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Coventry Patmore, <i>Poems</i>: Muses'</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Sydney Dobell, <i>Poems</i>: Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Eric Mackay, <i>Love-letters of a Violinist</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Canterbury Poets</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">T.E. Brown, <i>Poems</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">C.S. Calverley, <i>Verses and Translations</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">D.G. ROSSETTI, <i>Poetical Works</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Christina Rossetti, <i>Selected Poems</i>:</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Golden Treasury Series</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">2</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">James Thomson, <i>City of Dreadful Night</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">3</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Jean Ingelow, <i>Poems</i>: Red Letter Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Morris, <i>The Earthly Paradise</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">William Morris, <i>Early Romances</i>: Everyman's</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> Library</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">1</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Augusta Webster, <i>Selected Poems</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">4</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">W.E. Henley, <i>Poetical Works</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">6</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">Francis Thompson, <i>Selected Poems</i></td> + <td align="center">0</td> + <td align="center">5</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">£5</td> + <td align="center">7</td> + <td align="center">0</td> + </tr> + </table> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page124" id="page124"></a>[pg 124]</span> + <p>Poets whom I have omitted after hesitation are: Ebenezer Elliott, Thomas Woolner, + William Barnes, Gerald Massey, and Charles Jeremiah Wells. On the other hand, I have + had no hesitation about omitting David Moir, Felicia Hemans, Aytoun, Sir Edwin + Arnold, and Sir Lewis Morris. I have included John Keble in deference to much + enlightened opinion, but against my inclination. There are two names in the list + which may be somewhat unfamiliar to many readers. James Clarence Mangan is the author + of <i>My Dark Rosaleen</i>, an acknowledged <span class="pagenum"><a name="page125" + id="page125"></a>[pg 125]</span> masterpiece, which every library must contain. T.E. + Brown is a great poet, recognised as such by a few hundred people, and assuredly + destined to a far wider fame. I have included FitzGerald because <i>Omar Khayyam</i> + is much less a translation than an original work.</p> + <h4>SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</h4> + <table summary="SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY." align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="left">83 prose-writers, in</td> + <td>141</td> + <td>volumes, costing</td> + <td align="right">£9</td> + <td align="right">10</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">38 poets</td> + <td>46</td> + <td align="center">" "</td> + <td align="right">5</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + <td align="right">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">___</td> + <td>___</td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="right">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">121</td> + <td>187</td> + <td> + </td> + <td align="right">£14</td> + <td align="right">17</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + </table> + <br /> + <br /> + + <h4>GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY.</h4> + <table summary="GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY." align="center"> + <tr> + <th align="left"> + </th> + <th align="center">Authors.</th> + <th align="center">Volumes.</th> + <th colspan="3">Price.</th> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">1. To Dryden</td> + <td align="center">48</td> + <td align="center">72</td> + <td align="right">£5</td> + <td align="right">9</td> + <td align="right">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">2. Eighteenth Century</td> + <td align="center">57</td> + <td align="center">78</td> + <td align="right">6</td> + <td align="right">8</td> + <td align="right">0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left">3. Nineteenth Century</td> + <td align="center">121</td> + <td align="center">187</td> + <td align="right">14</td> + <td align="right">17</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="center">___</td> + <td align="left">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + <td align="right">___</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="left"> + </td> + <td align="center">226</td> + <td align="center">337</td> + <td align="right">£26</td> + <td align="right">14</td> + <td align="right">7</td> + </tr> + </table> + <p>I think it will be agreed that the total cost of this library is surprisingly + small. By laying out the sum of sixpence a day for three years you may become the + possessor of a collection of books which, for range and completeness in all branches + of literature, will bear comparison with <span class="pagenum"><a name="page126" + id="page126"></a>[pg 126]</span> libraries far more imposing, more numerous, and more + expensive.</p> + <p>I have mentioned the question of discount. The discount which you will obtain + (even from a bookseller in a small town) will be more than sufficient to pay for + Chambers's <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>, three volumes, price 30s. + net. This work is indispensable to a bookman. Personally, I owe it much.</p> + <p>When you have read, wholly or in part, a majority of these three hundred and + thirty-five volumes, <i>with enjoyment</i>, you may begin to whisper to yourself that + your literary taste is formed; and you may pronounce judgment on modern works which + come before the bar of your opinion in the calm assurance that, though to err is + human, you do at any rate know what you are talking about.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>[pg 127]</span> + <h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + <h2>MENTAL STOCKTAKING</h2> + <p>Great books do not spring from something accidental in the great men who wrote + them. They are the effluence of their very core, the expression of the life itself of + the authors. And literature cannot be said to have served its true purpose until it + has been translated into the actual life of him who reads. It does not succeed until + it becomes the vehicle of the vital. Progress is the gradual result of the unending + battle between human reason and human instinct, in which the former slowly but surely + wins. The most powerful engine in this battle is literature. It is the vast reservoir + of true ideas and high emotions—and life is constituted of ideas and emotions. + In a world deprived of literature, the intellectual and emotional <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>[pg 128]</span> activity of all + but a few exceptionally gifted men would quickly sink and retract to a narrow circle. + The broad, the noble, the generous would tend to disappear for want of accessible + storage. And life would be correspondingly degraded, because the fallacious idea and + the petty emotion would never feel the upward pull of the ideas and emotions of + genius. Only by conceiving a society without literature can it be clearly realised + that the function of literature is to raise the plain towards the top level of the + peaks. Literature exists so that where one man has lived finely ten thousand may + afterwards live finely. It is a means of life; it concerns the living essence.</p> + <p>Of course, literature has a minor function, that of passing the time in an + agreeable and harmless fashion, by giving momentary faint pleasure. Vast multitudes + of people (among whom may be numbered not a few habitual readers) utilise only this + minor function of literature; by implication they class it with golf, bridge, or + soporifics. Literary genius, however, had no intention of <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page129" id="page129"></a>[pg 129]</span> competing with these devices for + fleeting the empty hours; and all such use of literature may be left out of + account.</p> + <p>You, O serious student of many volumes, believe that you have a sincere passion + for reading. You hold literature in honour, and your last wish would be to debase it + to a paltry end. You are not of those who read because the clock has just struck nine + and one can't go to bed till eleven. You are animated by a real desire to get out of + literature all that literature will give. And in that aim you keep on reading, year + after year, and the grey hairs come. But amid all this steady tapping of the + reservoir, do you ever take stock of what you have acquired? Do you ever pause to + make a valuation, in terms of your own life, of that which you are daily absorbing, + or imagine you are absorbing? Do you ever satisfy yourself by proof that you are + absorbing anything at all, that the living waters, instead of vitalising you, are not + running off you as though you were a duck in a storm? Because, if you omit this mere + business <span class="pagenum"><a name="page130" id="page130"></a>[pg 130]</span> + precaution, it may well be that you, too, without knowing it, are little by little + joining the triflers who read only because eternity is so long. It may well be that + even your alleged sacred passion is, after all, simply a sort of drug-habit. The + suggestion disturbs and worries you. You dismiss it impatiently; but it returns.</p> + <p>How (you ask, unwillingly) can a man perform a mental stocktaking? How can he put + a value on what he gets from books? How can he effectively test, in cold blood, + whether he is receiving from literature all that literature has to give him?</p> + <p>The test is not so vague, nor so difficult, as might appear.</p> + <p>If a man is not thrilled by intimate contact with nature: with the sun, with the + earth, which is his origin and the arouser of his acutest emotions—</p> + <p>If he is not troubled by the sight of beauty in many forms—</p> + <p>If he is devoid of curiosity concerning his fellow-men and his + fellow-animals—</p> + <p>If he does not have glimpses of the nuity of all things in an orderly + progress—</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page131" id="page131"></a>[pg 131]</span> + <p>If he is chronically "querulous, dejected, and envious"—</p> + <p>If he is pessimistic—</p> + <p>If he is of those who talk about "this age of shams," "this age without ideals," + "this hysterical age," and this heaven-knows-what-age—</p> + <p>Then that man, though he reads undisputed classics for twenty hours a day, though + he has a memory of steel, though he rivals Porson in scholarship and Sainte Beuve in + judgment, is not receiving from literature what literature has to give. Indeed, he is + chiefly wasting his time. Unless he can read differently, it were better for him if + he sold all his books, gave to the poor, and played croquet. He fails because he has + not assimilated into his existence the vital essences which genius put into the books + that have merely passed before his eyes; because genius has offered him faith, + courage, vision, noble passion, curiosity, love, a thirst for beauty, and he has not + taken the gift; because genius has offered him the chance of living fully, and he is + only half alive, for it is only in the stress of fine ideas and emotions that a man + may <span class="pagenum"><a name="page132" id="page132"></a>[pg 132]</span> be truly + said to live. This is not a moral invention, but a simple fact, which will be + attested by all who know what that stress is.</p> + <p>What! You talk learnedly about Shakespeare's sonnets! Have you heard Shakespeare's + terrific shout:</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Full many a glorious morning have I seen</p> + <p class="i2">Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,</p> + <p>Kissing with golden face the meadows green,</p> + <p class="i2">Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.</p> + </div> + </div> + <p>And yet, can you see the sun over the viaduct at Loughborough Junction of a + morning, and catch its rays in the Thames off Dewar's whisky monument, and not shake + with the joy of life? If so, you and Shakespeare are not yet in communication. What! + You pride yourself on your beautiful edition of Casaubon's translation of <i>Marcus + Aurelius</i>, and you savour the cadences of the famous:</p> + <blockquote> + <p>This day I shall have to do with an idle, curious man, with an unthankful man, a + railer, a crafty, false, or an envious man. All these ill qualities have happened + unto him, through ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I that + understand <span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>[pg 133]</span> + the nature of that which is good, that it only is to be desired, and of that which + is bad, that it only is truly odious and shameful: who know, moreover, that this + transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same blood and seed, but + by participation of the same reason and of the same divine particle—how can I + be hurt?...</p> + </blockquote> + <p>And with these cadences in your ears you go and quarrel with a cabman!</p> + <p>You would be ashamed of your literary self to be caught in ignorance of Whitman, + who wrote:</p> + <blockquote> + <p>Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from + any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a + greater struggle necessary.</p> + </blockquote> + <p>And yet, having achieved a motor-car, you lose your temper when it breaks down + half-way up a hill!</p> + <p>You know your Wordsworth, who has been trying to teach you about:</p> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class="i4">The Upholder of the tranquil soul</p> + <p>That tolerates the indignities of Time</p> + <p>And, from the centre of Eternity</p> + <p>All finite motions over-ruling, lives</p> + <p>In glory immutable.</p> + </div> + </div> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>[pg 134]</span> But you are + capable of being seriously unhappy when your suburban train selects a tunnel for its + repose!<br /> + <br /> + + <p>And the A.V. of the Bible, which you now read, not as your forefathers read it, + but with an æsthetic delight, especially in the Apocrypha! You remember:</p> + <blockquote> + <p>Whatsoever is brought upon thee, take cheerfully, and be patient when thou art + changed to a low estate. For gold is tried in the fire and acceptable men in the + furnace of adversity.</p> + </blockquote> + <p>And yet you are ready to lie down and die because a woman has scorned you! Go + to!</p> + <p>You think some of my instances approach the ludicrous? They do. They are meant to + do so. But they are no more ludicrous than life itself. And they illustrate in the + most workaday fashion how you can test whether your literature fulfils its function + of informing and transforming your existence.</p> + <p>I say that if daily events and scenes do not constantly recall and utilise the + ideas and emotions contained in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" + id="page135"></a>[pg 135]</span> books which you have read or are reading; if the + memory of these books does not quicken the perception of beauty, wherever you happen + to be, does not help you to correlate the particular trifle with the universal, does + not smooth out irritation and give dignity to sorrow—then you are, consciously + or not, unworthy of your high vocation as a bookman. You may say that I am preaching + a sermon. The fact is, I am. My mood is a severely moral mood. For when I reflect + upon the difference between what books have to offer and what even relatively earnest + readers take the trouble to accept from them, I am appalled (or should be appalled, + did I not know that the world is moving) by the sheer inefficiency, the bland, + complacent failure of the earnest reader. I am like yourself, the spectacle of + inefficiency rouses my holy ire.</p> + <p>Before you begin upon another masterpiece, set out in a row the masterpieces which + you are proud of having read during the past year. Take the first on the list, that + book which you perused <span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>[pg + 136]</span> in all the zeal of your New Year resolutions for systematic study. + Examine the compartments of your mind. Search for the ideas and emotions which you + have garnered from that book. Think, and recollect when last something from that book + recurred to your memory apropos of your own daily commerce with humanity. Is it + history—when did it throw a light for you on modern politics? Is it + science—when did it show you order in apparent disorder, and help you to put + two and two together into an inseparable four? Is it ethics—when did it + influence your conduct in a twopenny-halfpenny affair between man and man? Is it a + novel—when did it help you to "understand all and forgive all"? Is it + poetry—when was it a magnifying glass to disclose beauty to you, or a fire to + warm your cooling faith? If you can answer these questions satisfactorily, your + stocktaking as regards the fruit of your traffic with that book may be reckoned + satisfactory. If you cannot answer them satisfactorily, then either you chose the + book badly or your impression that you <i>read</i> it is a mistaken one.</p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>[pg 137]</span> + <p>When the result of this stocktaking forces you to the conclusion that your riches + are not so vast as you thought them to be, it is necessary to look about for the + causes of the misfortune. The causes may be several. You may have been reading + worthless books. This, however, I should say at once, is extremely unlikely. Habitual + and confirmed readers, unless they happen to be reviewers, seldom read worthless + books. In the first place, they are so busy with books of proved value that they have + only a small margin of leisure left for very modern works, and generally, before they + can catch up with the age, Time or the critic has definitely threshed for them the + wheat from the chaff. No! Mediocrity has not much chance of hood-winking the serious + student.</p> + <p>It is less improbable that the serious student has been choosing his books badly. + He may do this in two ways—absolutely and relatively. Every reader of long + standing has been through the singular experience of suddenly <i>seeing</i> a book + with which his eyes have been <span class="pagenum"><a name="page138" + id="page138"></a>[pg 138]</span> familiar for years. He reads a book with a + reputation and thinks: "Yes, this is a good book. This book gives me pleasure." And + then after an interval, perhaps after half a lifetime, something mysterious happens + to his mental sight. He picks up the book again, and sees a new and profound + significance in every sentence, and he says: "I was perfectly blind to this book + before." Yet he is no cleverer than he used to be. Only something has happened to + him. Let a gold watch be discovered by a supposititious man who has never heard of + watches. He has a sense of beauty. He admires the watch, and takes pleasure in it. He + says: "This is a beautiful piece of bric-à-brac; I fully appreciate this + delightful trinket." Then imagine his feelings when someone comes along with the key; + imagine the light flooding his brain. Similar incidents occur in the eventful life of + the constant reader. He has no key, and never suspects that there exists such a thing + as a key. That is what I call a choice absolutely bad.</p> + <p>The choice is relatively bad when, <span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" + id="page139"></a>[pg 139]</span> spreading over a number of books, it pursues no + order, and thus results in a muddle of faint impressions each blurring the rest. + Books must be allowed to help one another; they must be skilfully called in to each + other's aid. And that this may be accomplished some guiding principle is necessary. + "And what," you demand, "should that guiding principle be?" How do I know? Nobody, + fortunately, can make your principles for you. You have to make them for yourself. + But I will venture upon this general observation: that in the mental world what + counts is not numbers but co-ordination. As regards facts and ideas, the great + mistake made by the average well-intentioned reader is that he is content with the + names of things instead of occupying himself with the causes of things. He seeks + answers to the question What? instead of to the question Why? He studies history, and + never guesses that all history is caused by the facts of geography. He is a botanical + expert, and can take you to where the <i>Sibthorpia europæa</i> grows, and + never troubles to wonder what the earth would be without <span class="pagenum"><a + name="page140" id="page140"></a>[pg 140]</span> its cloak of plants. He wanders forth + of starlit evenings and will name you with unction all the constellations from + Andromeda to the Scorpion; but if you ask him why Venus can never be seen at + midnight, he will tell you that he has not bothered with the scientific details. He + has not learned that names are nothing, and the satisfaction of the lust of the eye a + trifle compared to the imaginative vision of which scientific "details" are the + indispensable basis.</p> + <p>Most reading, I am convinced, is unphilosophical; that is to say, it lacks the + element which more than anything else quickens the poetry of life. Unless and until a + man has formed a scheme of knowledge, be it a mere skeleton, his reading must + necessarily be unphilosophical. He must have attained to some notion of the + inter-relations of the various branches of knowledge before he can properly + comprehend the branch in which he specialises. If he has not drawn an outline map + upon which he can fill in whatever knowledge comes to him, as it comes, and on which + he can trace the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>[pg + 141]</span> affinity of every part with every other part, he is assuredly frittering + away a large percentage of his efforts. There are certain philosophical works which, + once they are mastered, seem to have performed an operation for cataract, so that he + who was blind, having read them, henceforward sees cause and effect working in and + out everywhere. To use another figure, they leave stamped on the brain a chart of the + entire province of knowledge.</p> + <p>Such a work is Spencer's <i>First Principles</i>. I know that it is nearly useless + to advise people to read <i>First Principles</i>. They are intimidated by the sound + of it; and it costs as much as a dress-circle seat at the theatre. But if they would, + what brilliant stocktakings there might be in a few years! Why, if they would only + read such detached essays as that on "Manners and Fashion," or "The Genesis of + Science" (in a sixpenny volume of Spencer's <i>Essays</i>, published by Watts and + Co.), the magic illumination, the necessary power of "synthetising" things, might be + vouch-safed to them. In any case, the lack <span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" + id="page142"></a>[pg 142]</span> of some such disciplinary, co-ordinating measure + will amply explain many disastrous stocktakings. The manner in which one single ray + of light, one single precious hint, will clarify and energise the whole mental life + of him who receives it, is among the most wonderful and heavenly of intellectual + phenomena. Some men search for that light and never find it. But most men never + search for it.</p> + <p>The superlative cause of disastrous stocktakings remains, and it is much more + simple than the one with which I have just dealt. It consists in the absence of + meditation. People read, and read, and read, blandly unconscious of their effrontery + in assuming that they can assimilate without any further effort the vital essence + which the author has breathed into them. They cannot. And the proof that they do not + is shown all the time in their lives. I say that if a man does not spend at least as + much time in actively and definitely thinking about what he has read as he has spent + in reading, he is simply insulting his author. If he does not submit himself <span + class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id="page143"></a>[pg 143]</span> to intellectual + and emotional fatigue in classifying the communicated ideas, and in emphasising on + his spirit the imprint of the communicated emotions—then reading with him is a + pleasant pastime and nothing else. This is a distressing fact. But it is a fact. It + is distressing, for the reason that meditation is not a popular exercise. If a friend + asks you what you did last night, you may answer, "I was reading," and he will be + impressed and you will be proud. But if you answer, "I was meditating," he will have + a tendency to smile and you will have a tendency to blush. I know this. I feel it + myself. (I cannot offer any explanation.) But it does not shake my conviction that + the absence of meditation is the main origin of disappointing stocktakings.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pageii" id="pageii"></a>[pg ii]</span> + <h2>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h2> + <h3>NOVELS</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A MAN FROM THE NORTH</p> + <p>ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + <p>LEONORA</p> + <p>A GREAT MAN</p> + <p>SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE</p> + <p>WHOM GOD HATH JOINED</p> + <p>BURIED ALIVE</p> + <p>THE OLD WIVES' TALE</p> + <p>THE GLIMPSE</p> + <p>HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND</p> + <p>CLAYHANGER</p> + <p>THE CARD</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>FANTASIAS</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL</p> + <p>THE GATES OF WRATH</p> + <p>TERESA OF WATLING STREET</p> + <p>THE LOOT OF CITIES</p> + <p>HUGO</p> + <p>THE GHOST</p> + <p>THE CITY OF PLEASURE</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>SHORT STORIES</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + <p>THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>BELLES-LETTRES</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN</p> + <p>FAME AND FICTION</p> + <p>HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR</p> + <p>THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR</p> + <p>THE REASONABLE LIFE</p> + <p>HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY</p> + <p>THE HUMAN MACHINE</p> + <p>LITERARY TASTE</p> + <p>MENTAL EFFICIENCY</p> + </div> + </div> + <h3>DRAMA</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>POLITE FARCES</p> + <p>CUPID AND COMMONSENSE</p> + <p>WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + <h3>(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS)</h3> + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE</p> + <p>THE STATUE: A ROMANCE</p> + </div> + </div> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 13852-h.txt or 13852-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/5/13852">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/8/5/13852</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Literary Taste: How to Form It + +Author: Arnold Bennett + +Release Date: October 25, 2004 [eBook #13852] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Alison Hadwin, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT + +With Detailed Instructions for Collecting a Complete Library of +English Literature + +by + +ARNOLD BENNETT + +1913 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I + THE AIM + + CHAPTER II + YOUR PARTICULAR CASE + + CHAPTER III + WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC + + CHAPTER IV + WHERE TO BEGIN + + CHAPTER V + HOW TO READ A CLASSIC + + CHAPTER VI + THE QUESTION OF STYLE + + CHAPTER VII + WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR + + CHAPTER VIII + SYSTEM IN READING + + CHAPTER IX + VERSE + + CHAPTER X + BROAD COUNSELS + + CHAPTER XI + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I + + CHAPTER XII + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II + + CHAPTER XIII + AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III + + CHAPTER XIV + MENTAL STOCKTAKING + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE AIM + + +At the beginning a misconception must be removed from the path. +Many people, if not most, look on literary taste as an elegant +accomplishment, by acquiring which they will complete themselves, and +make themselves finally fit as members of a correct society. They are +secretly ashamed of their ignorance of literature, in the same way +as they would be ashamed of their ignorance of etiquette at a high +entertainment, or of their inability to ride a horse if suddenly +called upon to do so. There are certain things that a man ought to +know, or to know about, and literature is one of them: such is their +idea. They have learnt to dress themselves with propriety, and to +behave with propriety on all occasions; they are fairly "up" in the +questions of the day; by industry and enterprise they are succeeding +in their vocations; it behoves them, then, not to forget that +an acquaintance with literature is an indispensable part of a +self-respecting man's personal baggage. Painting doesn't matter; music +doesn't matter very much. But "everyone is supposed to know" about +literature. Then, literature is such a charming distraction! Literary +taste thus serves two purposes: as a certificate of correct culture +and as a private pastime. A young professor of mathematics, immense +at mathematics and games, dangerous at chess, capable of Haydn on the +violin, once said to me, after listening to some chat on books, "Yes, +I must take up literature." As though saying: "I was rather forgetting +literature. However, I've polished off all these other things. I'll +have a shy at literature now." + +This attitude, or any attitude which resembles it, is wrong. To him +who really comprehends what literature is, and what the function of +literature is, this attitude is simply ludicrous. It is also fatal +to the formation of literary taste. People who regard literary taste +simply as an accomplishment, and literature simply as a distraction, +will never truly succeed either in acquiring the accomplishment or in +using it half-acquired as a distraction; though the one is the most +perfect of distractions, and though the other is unsurpassed by any +other accomplishment in elegance or in power to impress the universal +snobbery of civilised mankind. Literature, instead of being an +accessory, is the fundamental _sine qua non_ of complete living. I am +extremely anxious to avoid rhetorical exaggerations. I do not think I +am guilty of one in asserting that he who has not been "presented +to the freedom" of literature has not wakened up out of his prenatal +sleep. He is merely not born. He can't see; he can't hear; he can't +feel, in any full sense. He can only eat his dinner. What more than +anything else annoys people who know the true function of literature, +and have profited thereby, is the spectacle of so many thousands of +individuals going about under the delusion that they are alive, when, +as a fact, they are no nearer being alive than a bear in winter. + +I will tell you what literature is! No--I only wish I could. But I +can't. No one can. Gleams can be thrown on the secret, inklings given, +but no more. I will try to give you an inkling. And, to do so, I will +take you back into your own history, or forward into it. That evening +when you went for a walk with your faithful friend, the friend from +whom you hid nothing--or almost nothing ...! You were, in truth, +somewhat inclined to hide from him the particular matter which +monopolised your mind that evening, but somehow you contrived to get +on to it, drawn by an overpowering fascination. And as your faithful +friend was sympathetic and discreet, and flattered you by a respectful +curiosity, you proceeded further and further into the said matter, +growing more and more confidential, until at last you cried out, in a +terrific whisper: "My boy, she is simply miraculous!" At that moment +you were in the domain of literature. + +Let me explain. Of course, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, +she was not miraculous. Your faithful friend had never noticed that +she was miraculous, nor had about forty thousand other fairly keen +observers. She was just a girl. Troy had not been burnt for her. A +girl cannot be called a miracle. If a girl is to be called a miracle, +then you might call pretty nearly anything a miracle.... That is +just it: you might. You can. You ought. Amid all the miracles of +the universe you had just wakened up to one. You were full of your +discovery. You were under a divine impulsion to impart that discovery. +You had a strong sense of the marvellous beauty of something, and you +had to share it. You were in a passion about something, and you had +to vent yourself on somebody. You were drawn towards the whole of the +rest of the human race. Mark the effect of your mood and utterance +on your faithful friend. He knew that she was not a miracle. No other +person could have made him believe that she was a miracle. But you, by +the force and sincerity of your own vision of her, and by the fervour +of your desire to make him participate in your vision, did for quite +a long time cause him to feel that he had been blind to the miracle of +that girl. + +You were producing literature. You were alive. Your eyes were +unlidded, your ears were unstopped, to some part of the beauty and the +strangeness of the world; and a strong instinct within you forced you +to tell someone. It was not enough for you that you saw and heard. +Others had to see and hear. Others had to be wakened up. And they +were! It is quite possible--I am not quite sure--that your faithful +friend the very next day, or the next month, looked at some other +girl, and suddenly saw that she, too, was miraculous! The influence of +literature! + +The makers of literature are those who have seen and felt the +miraculous interestingness of the universe. And the greatest makers +of literature are those whose vision has been the widest, and whose +feeling has been the most intense. Your own fragment of insight was +accidental, and perhaps temporary. _Their_ lives are one long ecstasy +of denying that the world is a dull place. Is it nothing to you to +learn to understand that the world is not a dull place? Is it nothing +to you to be led out of the tunnel on to the hillside, to have all +your senses quickened, to be invigorated by the true savour of life, +to feel your heart beating under that correct necktie of yours? These +makers of literature render you their equals. + +The aim of literary study is not to amuse the hours of leisure; it is +to awake oneself, it is to be alive, to intensify one's capacity for +pleasure, for sympathy, and for comprehension. It is not to affect one +hour, but twenty-four hours. It is to change utterly one's relations +with the world. An understanding appreciation of literature means an +understanding appreciation of the world, and it means nothing else. +Not isolated and unconnected parts of life, but all of life, brought +together and correlated in a synthetic map! The spirit of literature +is unifying; it joins the candle and the star, and by the magic of an +image shows that the beauty of the greater is in the less. And, not +content with the disclosure of beauty and the bringing together of all +things whatever within its focus, it enforces a moral wisdom by the +tracing everywhere of cause and effect. It consoles doubly--by the +revelation of unsuspected loveliness, and by the proof that our lot +is the common lot. It is the supreme cry of the discoverer, offering +sympathy and asking for it in a single gesture. In attending a +University Extension Lecture on the sources of Shakespeare's plots, +or in studying the researches of George Saintsbury into the origins +of English prosody, or in weighing the evidence for and against the +assertion that Rousseau was a scoundrel, one is apt to forget what +literature really is and is for. It is well to remind ourselves that +literature is first and last a means of life, and that the enterprise +of forming one's literary taste is an enterprise of learning how best +to use this means of life. People who don't want to live, people who +would sooner hibernate than feel intensely, will be wise to eschew +literature. They had better, to quote from the finest passage in a +fine poem, "sit around and eat blackberries." The sight of a "common +bush afire with God" might upset their nerves. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +YOUR PARTICULAR CASE + + +The attitude of the average decent person towards the classics of his +own tongue is one of distrust--I had almost said, of fear. I will not +take the case of Shakespeare, for Shakespeare is "taught" in schools; +that is to say, the Board of Education and all authorities pedagogic +bind themselves together in a determined effort to make every boy in +the land a lifelong enemy of Shakespeare. (It is a mercy they don't +"teach" Blake.) I will take, for an example, Sir Thomas Browne, as +to whom the average person has no offensive juvenile memories. He is +bound to have read somewhere that the style of Sir Thomas Browne is +unsurpassed by anything in English literature. One day he sees the +_Religio Medici_ in a shop-window (or, rather, outside a shop-window, +for he would hesitate about entering a bookshop), and he buys it, by +way of a mild experiment. He does not expect to be enchanted by it; +a profound instinct tells him that Sir Thomas Browne is "not in his +line"; and in the result he is even less enchanted than he expected to +be. He reads the introduction, and he glances at the first page or two +of the work. He sees nothing but words. The work makes no appeal +to him whatever. He is surrounded by trees, and cannot perceive the +forest. He puts the book away. If Sir Thomas Browne is mentioned, he +will say, "Yes, very fine!" with a feeling of pride that he has at any +rate bought and inspected Sir Thomas Browne. Deep in his heart is a +suspicion that people who get enthusiastic about Sir Thomas Browne +are vain and conceited _poseurs_. After a year or so, when he has +recovered from the discouragement caused by Sir Thomas Browne, he may, +if he is young and hopeful, repeat the experiment with Congreve +or Addison. Same sequel! And so on for perhaps a decade, until his +commerce with the classics finally expires! That, magazines and newish +fiction apart, is the literary history of the average decent person. + +And even your case, though you are genuinely preoccupied with thoughts +of literature, bears certain disturbing resemblances to the drab +case of the average person. You do not approach the classics with +gusto--anyhow, not with the same gusto as you would approach a new +novel by a modern author who had taken your fancy. You never murmured +to yourself, when reading Gibbon's _Decline and Fall_ in bed: "Well, +I really must read one more chapter before I go to sleep!" Speaking +generally, the classics do not afford you a pleasure commensurate with +their renown. You peruse them with a sense of duty, a sense of doing +the right thing, a sense of "improving yourself," rather than with a +sense of gladness. You do not smack your lips; you say: "That is +good for me." You make little plans for reading, and then you invent +excuses for breaking the plans. Something new, something which is not +a classic, will surely draw you away from a classic. It is all very +well for you to pretend to agree with the verdict of the elect that +_Clarissa Harlowe_ is one of the greatest novels in the world--a new +Kipling, or even a new number of a magazine, will cause you to neglect +_Clarissa Harlowe_, just as though Kipling, etc., could not be kept +for a few days without turning sour! So that you have to ordain rules +for yourself, as: "I will not read anything else until I have read +Richardson, or Gibbon, for an hour each day." Thus proving that you +regard a classic as a pill, the swallowing of which merits jam! And +the more modern a classic is, the more it resembles the stuff of the +year and the less it resembles the classics of the centuries, the more +easy and enticing do you find that classic. Hence you are glad that +George Eliot, the Brontes, Thackeray, are considered as classics, +because you really _do_ enjoy them. Your sentiments concerning them +approach your sentiments concerning a "rattling good story" in a +magazine. + +I may have exaggerated--or, on the other hand, I may have +understated--the unsatisfactory characteristics of your particular +case, but it is probable that in the mirror I hold up you recognise +the rough outlines of your likeness. You do not care to admit it; but +it is so. You are not content with yourself. The desire to be more +truly literary persists in you. You feel that there is something wrong +in you, but you cannot put your finger on the spot. Further, you feel +that you are a bit of a sham. Something within you continually +forces you to exhibit for the classics an enthusiasm which you do +not sincerely feel. You even try to persuade yourself that you are +enjoying a book, when the next moment you drop it in the middle and +forget to resume it. You occasionally buy classical works, and do not +read them at all; you practically decide that it is enough to possess +them, and that the mere possession of them gives you a _cachet_. The +truth is, you are a sham. And your soul is a sea of uneasy remorse. +You reflect: "According to what Matthew Arnold says, I ought to be +perfectly mad about Wordsworth's _Prelude_. And I am not. Why am I +not? Have I got to be learned, to undertake a vast course of study, in +order to be perfectly mad about Wordsworth's _Prelude_? Or am I born +without the faculty of pure taste in literature, despite my vague +longings? I do wish I could smack my lips over Wordsworth's _Prelude_ +as I did over that splendid story by H.G. Wells, _The Country of the +Blind_, in the _Strand Magazine_!".... Yes, I am convinced that in +your dissatisfied, your diviner moments, you address yourself in these +terms. I am convinced that I have diagnosed your symptoms. + +Now the enterprise of forming one's literary taste is an agreeable +one; if it is not agreeable it cannot succeed. But this does not imply +that it is an easy or a brief one. The enterprise of beating Colonel +Bogey at golf is an agreeable one, but it means honest and regular +work. A fact to be borne in mind always! You are certainly not +going to realise your ambition--and so great, so influential an +ambition!--by spasmodic and half-hearted effort. You must begin by +making up your mind adequately. You must rise to the height of the +affair. You must approach a grand undertaking in the grand manner. You +ought to mark the day in the calendar as a solemnity. Human nature is +weak, and has need of tricky aids, even in the pursuit of happiness. +Time will be necessary to you, and time regularly and sacredly set +apart. Many people affirm that they cannot be regular, that regularity +numbs them. I think this is true of a very few people, and that in +the rest the objection to regularity is merely an attempt to excuse +idleness. I am inclined to think that you personally are capable of +regularity. And I am sure that if you firmly and constantly devote +certain specific hours on certain specific days of the week to this +business of forming your literary taste, you will arrive at the goal +much sooner. The simple act of resolution will help you. This is the +first preliminary. + +The second preliminary is to surround yourself with books, to create +for yourself a bookish atmosphere. The merely physical side of books +is important--more important than it may seem to the inexperienced. +Theoretically (save for works of reference), a student has need for +but one book at a time. Theoretically, an amateur of literature might +develop his taste by expending sixpence a week, or a penny a day, in +one sixpenny edition of a classic after another sixpenny edition of a +classic, and he might store his library in a hat-box or a biscuit-tin. +But in practice he would have to be a monster of resolution to succeed +in such conditions. The eye must be flattered; the hand must be +flattered; the sense of owning must be flattered. Sacrifices must +be made for the acquisition of literature. That which has cost a +sacrifice is always endeared. A detailed scheme of buying books +will come later, in the light of further knowledge. For the present, +buy--buy whatever has received the _imprimatur_ of critical authority. +Buy without any immediate reference to what you will read. Buy! +Surround yourself with volumes, as handsome as you can afford. And +for reading, all that I will now particularly enjoin is a general and +inclusive tasting, in order to attain a sort of familiarity with the +look of "literature in all its branches." A turning over of the pages +of a volume of Chambers's _Cyclopaedia of English Literature_, the +third for preference, may be suggested as an admirable and a diverting +exercise. You might mark the authors that flash an appeal to you. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC + + +The large majority of our fellow-citizens care as much about +literature as they care about aeroplanes or the programme of the +Legislature. They do not ignore it; they are not quite indifferent to +it. But their interest in it is faint and perfunctory; or, if their +interest happens to be violent, it is spasmodic. Ask the two hundred +thousand persons whose enthusiasm made the vogue of a popular novel +ten years ago what they think of that novel now, and you will gather +that they have utterly forgotten it, and that they would no more dream +of reading it again than of reading Bishop Stubbs's _Select Charters_. +Probably if they did read it again they would not enjoy it--not +because the said novel is a whit worse now than it was ten years ago; +not because their taste has improved--but because they have not had +sufficient practice to be able to rely on their taste as a means of +permanent pleasure. They simply don't know from one day to the next +what will please them. + +In the face of this one may ask: Why does the great and universal +fame of classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of +classical authors is entirely independent of the majority. Do you +suppose that if the fame of Shakespeare depended on the man in the +street it would survive a fortnight? The fame of classical authors is +originally made, and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when +a first-class author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, +the majority have never appreciated him so sincerely as they have +appreciated second-rate men. He has always been reinforced by the +ardour of the passionate few. And in the case of an author who has +emerged into glory after his death the happy sequel has been due +solely to the obstinate perseverance of the few. They could not leave +him alone; they would not. They kept on savouring him, and talking +about him, and buying him, and they generally behaved with such eager +zeal, and they were so authoritative and sure of themselves, that +at last the majority grew accustomed to the sound of his name and +placidly agreed to the proposition that he was a genius; the majority +really did not care very much either way. + +And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius is kept +alive from one generation to another. These few are always at work. +They are always rediscovering genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm +are exhaustless, so that there is little chance of genius being +ignored. And, moreover, they are always working either for or against +the verdicts of the majority. The majority can make a reputation, but +it is too careless to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few +agree with the majority in a particular instance, they will frequently +remind the majority that such and such a reputation has been made, +and the majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By the way, we must +not forget that such and such a reputation exists." Without that +persistent memory-jogging the reputation would quickly fall into the +oblivion which is death. The passionate few only have their way by +reason of the fact that they are genuinely interested in literature, +that literature matters to them. They conquer by their obstinacy +alone, by their eternal repetition of the same statements. Do you +suppose they could prove to the man in the street that Shakespeare was +a great artist? The said man would not even understand the terms they +employed. But when he is told ten thousand times, and generation +after generation, that Shakespeare was a great artist, the said +man believes--not by reason, but by faith. And he too repeats that +Shakespeare was a great artist, and he buys the complete works of +Shakespeare and puts them on his shelves, and he goes to see the +marvellous stage-effects which accompany _King Lear_ or _Hamlet_, and +comes back religiously convinced that Shakespeare was a great artist. +All because the passionate few could not keep their admiration of +Shakespeare to themselves. This is not cynicism; but truth. And it +is important that those who wish to form their literary taste should +grasp it. + +What causes the passionate few to make such a fuss about literature? +There can be only one reply. They find a keen and lasting pleasure +in literature. They enjoy literature as some men enjoy beer. The +recurrence of this pleasure naturally keeps their interest in +literature very much alive. They are for ever making new researches, +for ever practising on themselves. They learn to understand +themselves. They learn to know what they want. Their taste becomes +surer and surer as their experience lengthens. They do not enjoy +to-day what will seem tedious to them to-morrow. When they find a book +tedious, no amount of popular clatter will persuade them that it is +pleasurable; and when they find it pleasurable no chill silence of the +street-crowds will affect their conviction that the book is good and +permanent. They have faith in themselves. What are the qualities in a +book which give keen and lasting pleasure to the passionate few? +This is a question so difficult that it has never yet been completely +answered. You may talk lightly about truth, insight, knowledge, +wisdom, humour, and beauty. But these comfortable words do not really +carry you very far, for each of them has to be defined, especially the +first and last. It is all very well for Keats in his airy manner to +assert that beauty is truth, truth beauty, and that that is all he +knows or needs to know. I, for one, need to know a lot more. And I +never shall know. Nobody, not even Hazlitt nor Sainte-Beuve, has ever +finally explained why he thought a book beautiful. I take the first +fine lines that come to hand-- + + The woods of Arcady are dead, + And over is their antique joy-- + +and I say that those lines are beautiful, because they give me +pleasure. But why? No answer! I only know that the passionate few +will, broadly, agree with me in deriving this mysterious pleasure from +those lines. I am only convinced that the liveliness of our pleasure +in those and many other lines by the same author will ultimately cause +the majority to believe, by faith, that W.B. Yeats is a genius. The +one reassuring aspect of the literary affair is that the passionate +few are passionate about the same things. A continuance of interest +does, in actual practice, lead ultimately to the same judgments. There +is only the difference in width of interest. Some of the passionate +few lack catholicity, or, rather, the whole of their interest is +confined to one narrow channel; they have none left over. These men +help specially to vitalise the reputations of the narrower geniuses: +such as Crashaw. But their active predilections never contradict the +general verdict of the passionate few; rather they reinforce it. + +A classic is a work which gives pleasure to the minority which is +intensely and permanently interested in literature. It lives on +because the minority, eager to renew the sensation of pleasure, is +eternally curious and is therefore engaged in an eternal process of +rediscovery. A classic does not survive for any ethical reason. It +does not survive because it conforms to certain canons, or because +neglect would not kill it. It survives because it is a source of +pleasure, and because the passionate few can no more neglect it than +a bee can neglect a flower. The passionate few do not read "the right +things" because they are right. That is to put the cart before the +horse. "The right things" are the right things solely because the +passionate few _like_ reading them. Hence--and I now arrive at my +point--the one primary essential to literary taste is a hot interest +in literature. If you have that, all the rest will come. It matters +nothing that at present you fail to find pleasure in certain classics. +The driving impulse of your interest will force you to acquire +experience, and experience will teach you the use of the means of +pleasure. You do not know the secret ways of yourself: that is all. A +continuance of interest must inevitably bring you to the keenest +joys. But, of course, experience may be acquired judiciously or +injudiciously, just as Putney may be reached _via_ Walham Green or +_via_ St. Petersburg. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +WHERE TO BEGIN + + +I wish particularly that my readers should not be intimidated by the +apparent vastness and complexity of this enterprise of forming the +literary taste. It is not so vast nor so complex as it looks. There +is no need whatever for the inexperienced enthusiast to confuse and +frighten himself with thoughts of "literature in all its branches." +Experts and pedagogues (chiefly pedagogues) have, for the purpose of +convenience, split literature up into divisions and sub-divisions--such +as prose and poetry; or imaginative, philosophic, historical; or +elegiac, heroic, lyric; or religious and profane, etc., _ad infinitum_. +But the greater truth is that literature is all one--and indivisible. +The idea of the unity of literature should be well planted and fostered +in the head. All literature is the expression of feeling, of passion, +of emotion, caused by a sensation of the interestingness of life. What +drives a historian to write history? Nothing but the overwhelming +impression made upon him by the survey of past times. He is forced +into an attempt to reconstitute the picture for others. If hitherto +you have failed to perceive that a historian is a being in strong +emotion, trying to convey his emotion to others, read the passage in +the _Memoirs_ of Gibbon, in which he describes how he finished the +_Decline and Fall_. You will probably never again look upon the +_Decline and Fall_ as a "dry" work. + +What applies to history applies to the other "dry" branches. Even +Johnson's Dictionary is packed with emotion. Read the last paragraph +of the preface to it: "In this work, when it shall be found that +much is omitted, let it not be forgotten that much likewise is +performed.... It may repress the triumph of malignant criticism to +observe that if our language is not here fully displayed, I have +only failed in an attempt which no human powers have hitherto +completed...." And so on to the close: "I have protracted my work +till most of those whom I wish to please have sunk into the grave, and +success and miscarriage are empty sounds: I therefore dismiss it with +frigid tranquillity, having little to fear or hope from censure or +from praise." Yes, tranquillity; but not frigid! The whole passage, +one of the finest in English prose, is marked by the heat of emotion. +You may discover the same quality in such books as Spencer's _First +Principles_. You may discover it everywhere in literature, from the +cold fire of Pope's irony to the blasting temperatures of Swinburne. +Literature does not begin till emotion has begun. + +There is even no essential, definable difference between those two +great branches, prose and poetry. For prose may have rhythm. All +that can be said is that verse will scan, while prose will not. The +difference is purely formal. Very few poets have succeeded in being so +poetical as Isaiah, Sir Thomas Browne, and Ruskin have been in +prose. It can only be stated that, as a rule, writers have shown an +instinctive tendency to choose verse for the expression of the very +highest emotion. The supreme literature is in verse, but the finest +achievements in prose approach so nearly to the finest achievements in +verse that it is ill work deciding between them. In the sense in which +poetry is best understood, all literature is poetry--or is, at +any rate, poetical in quality. Macaulay's ill-informed and unjust +denunciations live because his genuine emotion made them into poetry, +while his _Lays of Ancient Rome_ are dead because they are not the +expression of a genuine emotion. As the literary taste develops, this +quality of emotion, restrained or loosed, will be more and more widely +perceived at large in literature. It is the quality that must be +looked for. It is the quality that unifies literature (and all the +arts). + +It is not merely useless, it is harmful, for you to map out literature +into divisions and branches, with different laws, rules, or canons. +The first thing is to obtain some possession of literature. When +you have actually felt some of the emotion which great writers have +striven to impart to you, and when your emotions become so numerous +and puzzling that you feel the need of arranging them and calling them +by names, then--and not before--you can begin to study what has been +attempted in the way of classifying and ticketing literature. Manuals +and treatises are excellent things in their kind, but they are simply +dead weight at the start. You can only acquire really useful +general ideas by first acquiring particular ideas, and putting those +particular ideas together. You cannot make bricks without straw. +Do not worry about literature in the abstract, about theories as to +literature. Get at it. Get hold of literature in the concrete as a dog +gets hold of a bone. If you ask me where you ought to begin, I shall +gaze at you as I might gaze at the faithful animal if he inquired +which end of the bone he ought to attack. It doesn't matter in the +slightest degree where you begin. Begin wherever the fancy takes you +to begin. Literature is a whole. + +There is only one restriction for you. You must begin with an +acknowledged classic; you must eschew modern works. The reason for +this does not imply any depreciation of the present age at the expense +of past ages. Indeed, it is important, if you wish ultimately to have +a wide, catholic taste, to guard against the too common assumption +that nothing modern will stand comparison with the classics. In every +age there have been people to sigh: "Ah, yes. Fifty years ago we had +a few great writers. But they are all dead, and no young ones are +arising to take their place." This attitude of mind is deplorable, if +not silly, and is a certain proof of narrow taste. It is a surety that +in 1959 gloomy and egregious persons will be saying: "Ah, yes. At +the beginning of the century there were great poets like Swinburne, +Meredith, Francis Thompson, and Yeats. Great novelists like Hardy and +Conrad. Great historians like Stubbs and Maitland, etc., etc. But they +are all dead now, and whom have we to take their place?" It is not +until an age has receded into history, and all its mediocrity has +dropped away from it, that we can see it as it is--as a group of men +of genius. We forget the immense amount of twaddle that the great +epochs produced. The total amount of fine literature created in a +given period of time differs from epoch to epoch, but it does not +differ much. And we may be perfectly sure that our own age will make a +favourable impression upon that excellent judge, posterity. Therefore, +beware of disparaging the present in your own mind. While temporarily +ignoring it, dwell upon the idea that its chaff contains about as much +wheat as any similar quantity of chaff has contained wheat. + +The reason why you must avoid modern works at the beginning is simply +that you are not in a position to choose among modern works. Nobody +at all is quite in a position to choose with certainty among modern +works. To sift the wheat from the chaff is a process that takes an +exceedingly long time. Modern works have to pass before the bar of the +taste of successive generations. Whereas, with classics, which have +been through the ordeal, almost the reverse is the case. _Your taste +has to pass before the bar of the classics_. That is the point. If you +differ with a classic, it is you who are wrong, and not the book. If +you differ with a modern work, you may be wrong or you may be +right, but no judge is authoritative enough to decide. Your taste is +unformed. It needs guidance, and it needs authoritative guidance. Into +the business of forming literary taste faith enters. You probably will +not specially care for a particular classic at first. If you did care +for it at first, your taste, so far as that classic is concerned, +would be formed, and our hypothesis is that your taste is not formed. +How are you to arrive at the stage of caring for it? Chiefly, of +course, by examining it and honestly trying to understand it. But this +process is materially helped by an act of faith, by the frame of mind +which says: "I know on the highest authority that this thing is fine, +that it is capable of giving me pleasure. Hence I am determined to +find pleasure in it." Believe me that faith counts enormously in +the development of that wide taste which is the instrument of wide +pleasures. But it must be faith founded on unassailable authority. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +HOW TO READ A CLASSIC + + +Let us begin experimental reading with Charles Lamb. I choose Lamb for +various reasons: He is a great writer, wide in his appeal, of a highly +sympathetic temperament; and his finest achievements are simple and +very short. Moreover, he may usefully lead to other and more complex +matters, as will appear later. Now, your natural tendency will be to +think of Charles Lamb as a book, because he has arrived at the +stage of being a classic. Charles Lamb was a man, not a book. It is +extremely important that the beginner in literary study should always +form an idea of the man behind the book. The book is nothing but the +expression of the man. The book is nothing but the man trying to talk +to you, trying to impart to you some of his feelings. An experienced +student will divine the man from the book, will understand the man by +the book, as is, of course, logically proper. But the beginner will do +well to aid himself in understanding the book by means of independent +information about the man. He will thus at once relate the book to +something human, and strengthen in his mind the essential notion of +the connection between literature and life. The earliest literature +was delivered orally direct by the artist to the recipient. In some +respects this arrangement was ideal. Changes in the constitution of +society have rendered it impossible. Nevertheless, we can still, by +the exercise of the imagination, hear mentally the accents of the +artist speaking to us. We must so exercise our imagination as to feel +the man behind the book. + +Some biographical information about Lamb should be acquired. There are +excellent short biographies of him by Canon Ainger in the _Dictionary +of National Biography_, in Chambers's _Encyclopaedia_, and in +Chambers's _Cyclopaedia of English Literature_. If you have none of +these (but you ought to have the last), there are Mr. E.V. Lucas's +exhaustive _Life_ (Methuen, 7s. 6d.), and, cheaper, Mr. Walter +Jerrold's _Lamb_ (Bell and Sons, 1s.); also introductory studies +prefixed to various editions of Lamb's works. Indeed, the facilities +for collecting materials for a picture of Charles Lamb as a human +being are prodigious. When you have made for yourself such a picture, +read the _Essays of Elia_ the light of it. I will choose one of the +most celebrated, _Dream Children: A Reverie_. At this point, kindly +put my book down, and read _Dream Children_. Do not say to yourself +that you will read it later, but read it now. When you have read it, +you may proceed to my next paragraph. + +You are to consider _Dream Children_ as a human document. Lamb was +nearing fifty when he wrote it. You can see, especially from the last +line, that the death of his elder brother, John Lamb, was fresh and +heavy on his mind. You will recollect that in youth he had had +a disappointing love-affair with a girl named Ann Simmons, who +afterwards married a man named Bartrum. You will know that one of the +influences of his childhood was his grandmother Field, housekeeper +of Blakesware House, in Hertfordshire, at which mansion he sometimes +spent his holidays. You will know that he was a bachelor, living with +his sister Mary, who was subject to homicidal mania. And you will +see in this essay, primarily, a supreme expression of the increasing +loneliness of his life. He constructed all that preliminary tableau of +paternal pleasure in order to bring home to you in the most poignant +way his feeling of the solitude of his existence, his sense of all +that he had missed and lost in the world. The key of the essay is one +of profound sadness. But note that he makes his sadness beautiful; +or, rather, he shows the beauty that resides in sadness. You watch him +sitting there in his "bachelor arm-chair," and you say to yourself: +"Yes, it was sad, but it was somehow beautiful." When you have said +that to yourself, Charles Lamb, so far as you are concerned, has +accomplished his chief aim in writing the essay. How exactly he +produces his effect can never be fully explained. But one reason of +his success is certainly his regard for truth. He does not falsely +idealise his brother, nor the relations between them. He does not say, +as a sentimentalist would have said, "Not the slightest cloud ever +darkened our relations;" nor does he exaggerate his solitude. Being +a sane man, he has too much common-sense to assemble all his woes at +once. He might have told you that Bridget was a homicidal maniac; +what he does tell you is that she was faithful. Another reason of his +success is his continual regard for beautiful things and fine actions, +as illustrated in the major characteristics of his grandmother and his +brother, and in the detailed description of Blakesware House and the +gardens thereof. + +Then, subordinate to the main purpose, part of the machinery of the +main purpose, is the picture of the children--real children until the +moment when they fade away. The traits of childhood are accurately and +humorously put in again and again: "Here John smiled, as much as to +say, 'That would be foolish indeed.'" "Here little Alice spread +her hands." "Here Alice's little right foot played an involuntary +movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted." "Here John +expanded all his eyebrows, and tried to look courageous." "Here John +slily deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes." "Here the +children fell a-crying ... and prayed me to tell them some stories +about their pretty dead mother." And the exquisite: "Here Alice put +out one of her dear mother's looks, too tender to be upbraiding." +Incidentally, while preparing his ultimate solemn effect, Lamb has +inspired you with a new, intensified vision of the wistful beauty of +children--their imitativeness, their facile and generous emotions, +their anxiety to be correct, their ingenuous haste to escape from +grief into joy. You can see these children almost as clearly and as +tenderly as Lamb saw them. For days afterwards you will not be able to +look upon a child without recalling Lamb's portrayal of the grace of +childhood. He will have shared with you his perception of beauty. If +you possess children, he will have renewed for you the charm which +custom does very decidedly stale. It is further to be noticed that the +measure of his success in picturing the children is the measure of his +success in his main effect. The more real they seem, the more touching +is the revelation of the fact that they do not exist, and never have +existed. And if you were moved by the reference to their "pretty dead +mother," you will be still more moved when you learn that the girl who +would have been their mother is not dead and is not Lamb's. + +As, having read the essay, you reflect upon it, you will see how its +emotional power over you has sprung from the sincere and unexaggerated +expression of actual emotions exactly remembered by someone who had an +eye always open for beauty, who was, indeed, obsessed by beauty. The +beauty of old houses and gardens and aged virtuous characters, the +beauty of children, the beauty of companionships, the softening beauty +of dreams in an arm-chair--all these are brought together and mingled +with the grief and regret which were the origin of the mood. Why is +_Dream Children_ a classic? It is a classic because it transmits to +you, as to generations before you, distinguished emotion, because it +makes you respond to the throb of life more intensely, more justly, +and more nobly. And it is capable of doing this because Charles Lamb +had a very distinguished, a very sensitive, and a very honest mind. +His emotions were noble. He felt so keenly that he was obliged to find +relief in imparting his emotions. And his mental processes were so +sincere that he could neither exaggerate nor diminish the truth. If +he had lacked any one of these three qualities, his appeal would have +been narrowed and weakened, and he would not have become a classic. +Either his feelings would have been deficient in supreme beauty, +and therefore less worthy to be imparted, or he would not have had +sufficient force to impart them; or his honesty would not have been +equal to the strain of imparting them accurately. In any case, he +would not have set up in you that vibration which we call pleasure, +and which is super-eminently caused by vitalising participation in +high emotion. As Lamb sat in his bachelor arm-chair, with his brother +in the grave, and the faithful homicidal maniac by his side, he +really did think to himself, "This is beautiful. Sorrow is beautiful. +Disappointment is beautiful. Life is beautiful. _I must tell them_. I +must make them understand." Because he still makes you understand he +is a classic. And now I seem to hear you say, "But what about Lamb's +famous literary style? Where does that come in?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE QUESTION OF STYLE + + +In discussing the value of particular books, I have heard people +say--people who were timid about expressing their views of literature +in the presence of literary men: "It may be bad from a literary point +of view, but there are very good things in it." Or: "I dare say +the style is very bad, but really the book is very interesting and +suggestive." Or: "I'm not an expert, and so I never bother my head +about good style. All I ask for is good matter. And when I have got +it, critics may say what they like about the book." And many other +similar remarks, all showing that in the minds of the speakers +there existed a notion that style is something supplementary to, +and distinguishable from, matter; a sort of notion that a writer who +wanted to be classical had first to find and arrange his matter, and +then dress it up elegantly in a costume of style, in order to please +beings called literary critics. + +This is a misapprehension. Style cannot be distinguished from matter. +When a writer conceives an idea he conceives it in a form of words. +That form of words constitutes his style, and it is absolutely +governed by the idea. The idea can only exist in words, and it can +only exist in one form of words. You cannot say exactly the same thing +in two different ways. Slightly alter the expression, and you slightly +alter the idea. Surely it is obvious that the expression cannot +be altered without altering the thing expressed! A writer, having +conceived and expressed an idea, may, and probably will, "polish it +up." But what does he polish up? To say that he polishes up his +style is merely to say that he is polishing up his idea, that he has +discovered faults or imperfections in his idea, and is perfecting it. +An idea exists in proportion as it is expressed; it exists when it +is expressed, and not before. It expresses itself. A clear idea is +expressed clearly, and a vague idea vaguely. You need but take your +own case and your own speech. For just as science is the development +of common-sense, so is literature the development of common daily +speech. The difference between science and common-sense is simply one +of degree; similarly with speech and literature. Well, when you "know +what you think," you succeed in saying what you think, in making +yourself understood. When you "don't know what to think," +your expressive tongue halts. And note how in daily life the +characteristics of your style follow your mood; how tender it is when +you are tender, how violent when you are violent. You have said to +yourself in moments of emotion: "If only I could write--," etc. You +were wrong. You ought to have said: "If only I could _think_--on this +high plane." When you have thought clearly you have never had any +difficulty in saying what you thought, though you may occasionally +have had some difficulty in keeping it to yourself. And when you +cannot express yourself, depend upon it that you have nothing precise +to express, and that what incommodes you is not the vain desire to +express, but the vain desire to _think_ more clearly. All this just to +illustrate how style and matter are co-existent, and inseparable, and +alike. + +You cannot have good matter with bad style. Examine the point more +closely. A man wishes to convey a fine idea to you. He employs a form +of words. That form of words is his style. Having read, you say: "Yes, +this idea is fine." The writer has therefore achieved his end. But in +what imaginable circumstances can you say: "Yes, this idea is fine, +but the style is not fine"? The sole medium of communication between +you and the author has been the form of words. The fine idea has +reached you. How? In the words, by the words. Hence the fineness must +be in the words. You may say, superiorly: "He has expressed himself +clumsily, but I can _see_ what he means." By what light? By something +in the words, in the style. That something is fine. Moreover, if the +style is clumsy, are you sure that you can see what he means? You +cannot be quite sure. And at any rate, you cannot see distinctly. +The "matter" is what actually reaches you, and it must necessarily be +affected by the style. + +Still further to comprehend what style is, let me ask you to think +of a writer's style exactly as you would think of the gestures and +manners of an acquaintance. You know the man whose demeanour is +"always calm," but whose passions are strong. How do you know that his +passions are strong? Because he "gives them away" by some small, but +important, part of his demeanour, such as the twitching of a lip or +the whitening of the knuckles caused by clenching the hand. In other +words, his demeanour, fundamentally, is not calm. You know the man +who is always "smoothly polite and agreeable," but who affects you +unpleasantly. Why does he affect you unpleasantly? Because he is +tedious, and therefore disagreeable, and because his politeness is +not real politeness. You know the man who is awkward, shy, clumsy, but +who, nevertheless, impresses you with a sense of dignity and force. +Why? Because mingled with that awkwardness and so forth _is_ dignity. +You know the blunt, rough fellow whom you instinctively guess to be +affectionate--because there is "something in his tone" or "something +in his eyes." In every instance the demeanour, while perhaps seeming +to be contrary to the character, is really in accord with it. The +demeanour never contradicts the character. It is one part of the +character that contradicts another part of the character. For, after +all, the blunt man _is_ blunt, and the awkward man _is_ awkward, and +these characteristics are defects. The demeanour merely expresses +them. The two men would be better if, while conserving their good +qualities, they had the superficial attributes of smoothness and +agreeableness possessed by the gentleman who is unpleasant to you. And +as regards this latter, it is not his superficial attributes which are +unpleasant to you; but his other qualities. In the end the character +is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a consequence of the +character and resembles the character. So with style and matter. +You may argue that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his +tenderness. I do not think so. For his churlishness is really +very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, though a moment's +tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is +churlish, and much more often than he is tender. His demeanour is +merely just to his character. So, when a writer annoys you for ten +pages and then enchants you for ten lines, you must not explode +against his style. You must not say that his style won't let his +matter "come out." You must remember the churlish, tender man. The +more you reflect, the more clearly you will see that faults and +excellences of style are faults and excellences of matter itself. + +One of the most striking illustrations of this neglected truth is +Thomas Carlyle. How often has it been said that Carlyle's matter +is marred by the harshness and the eccentricities of his style? But +Carlyle's matter is harsh and eccentric to precisely the same degree +as his style is harsh and eccentric. Carlyle was harsh and eccentric. +His behaviour was frequently ridiculous, if it were not abominable. +His judgments were often extremely bizarre. When you read one of +Carlyle's fierce diatribes, you say to yourself: "This is splendid. +The man's enthusiasm for justice and truth is glorious." But you also +say: "He is a little unjust and a little untruthful. He goes too far. +He lashes too hard." These things are not the style; they are the +matter. And when, as in his greatest moments, he is emotional and +restrained at once, you say: "This is the real Carlyle." Kindly notice +how perfect the style has become! No harshnesses or eccentricities +now! And if that particular matter is the "real" Carlyle, then that +particular style is Carlyle's "real" style. But when you say "real" +you would more properly say "best." "This is the best Carlyle." If +Carlyle had always been at his best he would have counted among the +supreme geniuses of the world. But he was a mixture. His style is the +expression of the mixture. The faults are only in the style because +they are in the matter. + +You will find that, in classical literature, the style always follows +the mood of the matter. Thus, Charles Lamb's essay on _Dream Children_ +begins quite simply, in a calm, narrative manner, enlivened by a +certain quippishness concerning the children. The style is grave when +great-grandmother Field is the subject, and when the author passes +to a rather elaborate impression of the picturesque old mansion it +becomes as it were consciously beautiful. This beauty is intensified +in the description of the still more beautiful garden. But the real +dividing point of the essay occurs when Lamb approaches his elder +brother. He unmistakably marks the point with the phrase: "_Then, in +somewhat a more heightened tone_, I told how," etc. Henceforward the +style increases in fervour and in solemnity until the culmination of +the essay is reached: "And while I stood gazing, both the children +gradually grew fainter to my view, receding and still receding till +nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost +distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the +effects of speech...." Throughout, the style is governed by the +matter. "Well," you say, "of course it is. It couldn't be otherwise. +If it were otherwise it would be ridiculous. A man who made love as +though he were preaching a sermon, or a man who preached a sermon as +though he were teasing schoolboys, or a man who described a death as +though he were describing a practical joke, must necessarily be either +an ass or a lunatic." Just so. You have put it in a nutshell. You have +disposed of the problem of style so far as it can be disposed of. + +But what do those people mean who say: "I read such and such an author +for the beauty of his style alone"? Personally, I do not clearly know +what they mean (and I have never been able to get them to explain), +unless they mean that they read for the beauty of sound alone. When +you read a book there are only three things of which you may be +conscious: (1) The significance of the words, which is inseparably +bound up with the thought. (2) The look of the printed words on the +page--I do not suppose that anybody reads any author for the visual +beauty of the words on the page. (3) The sound of the words, either +actually uttered or imagined by the brain to be uttered. Now it is +indubitable that words differ in beauty of sound. To my mind one +of the most beautiful words in the English language is "pavement." +Enunciate it, study its sound, and see what you think. It is also +indubitable that certain combinations of words have a more beautiful +sound than certain other combinations. Thus Tennyson held that the +most beautiful line he ever wrote was: + + The mellow ouzel fluting in the elm. + +Perhaps, as sound, it was. Assuredly it makes a beautiful succession +of sounds, and recalls the bird-sounds which it is intended to +describe. But does it live in the memory as one of the rare great +Tennysonian lines? It does not. It has charm, but the charm is merely +curious or pretty. A whole poem composed of lines with no better +recommendation than that line has would remain merely curious or +pretty. It would not permanently interest. It would be as insipid as a +pretty woman who had nothing behind her prettiness. It would not live. +One may remark in this connection how the merely verbal felicities of +Tennyson have lost our esteem. Who will now proclaim the _Idylls of +the King_ as a masterpiece? Of the thousands of lines written by +him which please the ear, only those survive of which the matter is +charged with emotion. No! As regards the man who professes to read an +author "for his style alone," I am inclined to think either that he +will soon get sick of that author, or that he is deceiving himself and +means the author's general temperament--not the author's verbal style, +but a peculiar quality which runs through all the matter written by +the author. Just as one may like a man for something which is always +coming out of him, which one cannot define, and which is of the very +essence of the man. + +In judging the style of an author, you must employ the same canons +as you use in judging men. If you do this you will not be tempted +to attach importance to trifles that are negligible. There can be no +lasting friendship without respect. If an author's style is such +that you cannot _respect_ it, then you may be sure that, despite +any present pleasure which you may obtain from that author, there is +something wrong with his matter, and that the pleasure will soon cloy. +You must examine your sentiments towards an author. If when you have +read an author you are pleased, without being conscious of aught but +his mellifluousness, just conceive what your feelings would be after +spending a month's holiday with a merely mellifluous man. If an +author's style has pleased you, but done nothing except make you +giggle, then reflect upon the ultimate tediousness of the man who can +do nothing but jest. On the other hand, if you are impressed by what +an author has said to you, but are aware of verbal clumsinesses in his +work, you need worry about his "bad style" exactly as much and exactly +as little as you would worry about the manners of a kindhearted, +keen-brained friend who was dangerous to carpets with a tea-cup in his +hand. The friend's antics in a drawing-room are somewhat regrettable, +but you would not say of him that his manners were bad. Again, if +an author's style dazzles you instantly and blinds you to everything +except its brilliant self, ask your soul, before you begin to admire +his matter, what would be your final opinion of a man who at the first +meeting fired his personality into you like a broadside. Reflect +that, as a rule, the people whom you have come to esteem communicated +themselves to you gradually, that they did not begin the entertainment +with fireworks. In short, look at literature as you would look at +life, and you cannot fail to perceive that, essentially, the style +is the man. Decidedly you will never assert that you care nothing for +style, that your enjoyment of an author's matter is unaffected by his +style. And you will never assert, either, that style alone suffices +for you. + +If you are undecided upon a question of style, whether leaning to +the favourable or to the unfavourable, the most prudent course is to +forget that literary style exists. For, indeed, as style is understood +by most people who have not analysed their impressions under the +influence of literature, there _is_ no such thing as literary style. +You cannot divide literature into two elements and say: This is matter +and that style. Further, the significance and the worth of +literature are to be comprehended and assessed in the same way as the +significance and the worth of any other phenomenon: by the exercise +of common-sense. Common-sense will tell you that nobody, not even a +genius, can be simultaneously vulgar and distinguished, or beautiful +and ugly, or precise and vague, or tender and harsh. And common-sense +will therefore tell you that to try to set up vital contradictions +between matter and style is absurd. When there is a superficial +contradiction, one of the two mutually-contradicting qualities is of +far less importance than the other. If you refer literature to the +standards of life, common-sense will at once decide which quality +should count heaviest in your esteem. You will be in no danger of +weighing a mere maladroitness of manner against a fine trait of +character, or of letting a graceful deportment blind you to a +fundamental vacuity. When in doubt, ignore style, and think of the +matter as you would think of an individual. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WRESTLING WITH AN AUTHOR + + +Having disposed, so far as is possible and necessary, of that +formidable question of style, let us now return to Charles Lamb, whose +essay on _Dream Children_ was the originating cause of our inquiry +into style. As we have made a beginning of Lamb, it will be well to +make an end of him. In the preliminary stages of literary culture, +nothing is more helpful, in the way of kindling an interest and +keeping it well alight, than to specialise for a time on one author, +and particularly on an author so frankly and curiously "human" as +Lamb is. I do not mean that you should imprison yourself with Lamb's +complete works for three months, and read nothing else. I mean that +you should regularly devote a proportion of your learned leisure to +the study of Lamb until you are acquainted with all that is important +in his work and about his work. (You may buy the complete works in +prose and verse of Charles and Mary Lamb, edited by that unsurpassed +expert Mr. Thomas Hutchison, and published by the Oxford University +Press, in two volumes for four shillings the pair!) There is no reason +why you should not become a modest specialist in Lamb. He is the very +man for you; neither voluminous, nor difficult, nor uncomfortably +lofty; always either amusing or touching; and--most important--himself +passionately addicted to literature. You cannot like Lamb without +liking literature in general. And you cannot read Lamb without +learning about literature in general; for books were his hobby, and he +was a critic of the first rank. His letters are full of literariness. +You will naturally read his letters; you should not only be infinitely +diverted by them (there are no better epistles), but you should +receive from them much light on the works. + +It is a course of study that I am suggesting to you. It means a +certain amount of sustained effort. It means slightly more resolution, +more pertinacity, and more expenditure of brain-tissue than are +required for reading a newspaper. It means, in fact, "work." Perhaps +you did not bargain for work when you joined me. But I do not think +that the literary taste can be satisfactorily formed unless one is +prepared to put one's back into the affair. And I may prophesy to +you, by way of encouragement, that, in addition to the advantages of +familiarity with masterpieces, of increased literary knowledge, and +of a wide introduction to the true bookish atmosphere and "feel" of +things, which you will derive from a comprehensive study of Charles +Lamb, you will also be conscious of a moral advantage--the very +important and very inspiring advantage of really "knowing something +about something." You will have achieved a definite step; you will be +proudly aware that you have put yourself in a position to judge as an +expert whatever you may hear or read in the future concerning Charles +Lamb. This legitimate pride and sense of accomplishment will stimulate +you to go on further; it will generate steam. I consider that this +indirect moral advantage even outweighs, for the moment, the direct +literary advantages. + +Now, I shall not shut my eyes to a possible result of your diligent +intercourse with Charles Lamb. It is possible that you may be +disappointed with him. It is--shall I say?--almost probable that you +will be disappointed with him, at any rate partially. You will have +expected more joy in him than you have received. I have referred in +a previous chapter to the feeling of disappointment which often comes +from first contacts with the classics. The neophyte is apt to find +them--I may as well out with the word--dull. You may have found Lamb +less diverting, less interesting, than you hoped. You may have had +to whip yourself up again and again to the effort of reading him. In +brief, Lamb has not, for you, justified his terrific reputation. If +a classic is a classic because it gives _pleasure_ to succeeding +generations of the people who are most keenly interested in +literature, and if Lamb frequently strikes you as dull, then evidently +there is something wrong. The difficulty must be fairly fronted, +and the fronting of it brings us to the very core of the business of +actually forming the taste. If your taste were classical you would +discover in Lamb a continual fascination; whereas what you in fact do +discover in Lamb is a not unpleasant flatness, enlivened by a vague +humour and an occasional pathos. You ought, according to theory, to be +enthusiastic; but you are apathetic, or, at best, half-hearted. There +is a gulf. How to cross it? + +To cross it needs time and needs trouble. The following considerations +may aid. In the first place, we have to remember that, in coming +into the society of the classics in general and of Charles Lamb in +particular, we are coming into the society of a mental superior. What +happens usually in such a case? We can judge by recalling what happens +when we are in the society of a mental inferior. We say things of +which he misses the import; we joke, and he does not smile; what makes +him laugh loudly seems to us horseplay or childish; he is blind to +beauties which ravish us; he is ecstatic over what strikes us as +crude; and his profound truths are for us trite commonplaces. His +perceptions are relatively coarse; our perceptions are relatively +subtle. We try to make him understand, to make him see, and if he is +aware of his inferiority we may have some success. But if he is not +aware of his inferiority, we soon hold our tongues and leave him alone +in his self-satisfaction, convinced that there is nothing to be done +with him. Every one of us has been through this experience with a +mental inferior, for there is always a mental inferior handy, just +as there is always a being more unhappy than we are. In approaching a +classic, the true wisdom is to place ourselves in the position of the +mental inferior, aware of mental inferiority, humbly stripping off all +conceit, anxious to rise out of that inferiority. Recollect that +we always regard as quite hopeless the mental inferior who does +not suspect his own inferiority. Our attitude towards Lamb must be: +"Charles Lamb was a greater man than I am, cleverer, sharper, subtler, +finer, intellectually more powerful, and with keener eyes for beauty. +I must brace myself to follow his lead." Our attitude must resemble +that of one who cocks his ear and listens with all his soul for a +distant sound. + +To catch the sound we really must listen. That is to say, we must read +carefully, with our faculties on the watch. We must read slowly and +perseveringly. A classic has to be wooed and is worth the wooing. +Further, we must disdain no assistance. I am not in favour of studying +criticism of classics before the classics themselves. My notion is to +study the work and the biography of a classical writer together, and +then to read criticism afterwards. I think that in reprints of the +classics the customary "critical introduction" ought to be put at +the end, and not at the beginning, of the book. The classic should +be allowed to make his own impression, however faint, on the virginal +mind of the reader. But afterwards let explanatory criticism be read +as much as you please. Explanatory criticism is very useful; nearly +as useful as pondering for oneself on what one has read! Explanatory +criticism may throw one single gleam that lights up the entire +subject. + +My second consideration (in aid of crossing the gulf) touches the +quality of the pleasure to be derived from a classic. It is never a +violent pleasure. It is subtle, and it will wax in intensity, but +the idea of violence is foreign to it. The artistic pleasures of +an uncultivated mind are generally violent. They proceed from +exaggeration in treatment, from a lack of balance, from attaching too +great an importance to one aspect (usually superficial), while quite +ignoring another. They are gross, like the joy of Worcester sauce on +the palate. Now, if there is one point common to all classics, it is +the absence of exaggeration. The balanced sanity of a great mind makes +impossible exaggeration, and, therefore, distortion. The beauty of a +classic is not at all apt to knock you down. It will steal over you, +rather. Many serious students are, I am convinced, discouraged in the +early stages because they are expecting a wrong kind of pleasure. They +have abandoned Worcester sauce, and they miss it. They miss the coarse +_tang_. They must realise that indulgence in the _tang_ means the +sure and total loss of sensitiveness--sensitiveness even to the _tang_ +itself. They cannot have crudeness and fineness together. They must +choose, remembering that while crudeness kills pleasure, fineness ever +intensifies it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SYSTEM IN HEADING + + +You have now definitely set sail on the sea of literature. You are +afloat, and your anchor is up. I think I have given adequate warning +of the dangers and disappointments which await the unwary and the +sanguine. The enterprise in which you are engaged is not facile, nor +is it short. I think I have sufficiently predicted that you will +have your hours of woe, during which you may be inclined to send to +perdition all writers, together with the inventor of printing. But if +you have become really friendly with Lamb; if you know Lamb, or even +half of him; if you have formed an image of him in your mind, and can, +as it were, hear him brilliantly stuttering while you read his essays +or letters, then certainly you are in a fit condition to proceed and +you want to know in which direction you are to proceed. Yes, I have +caught your terrified and protesting whisper: "I hope to heaven he +isn't going to prescribe a Course of English Literature, because I +feel I shall never be able to do it!" I am not. If your object in life +was to be a University Extension Lecturer in English literature, +then I should prescribe something drastic and desolating. But as your +object, so far as I am concerned, is simply to obtain the highest and +most tonic form of artistic pleasure of which you are capable, I shall +not prescribe any regular course. Nay, I shall venture to dissuade +you from any regular course. No man, and assuredly no beginner, can +possibly pursue a historical course of literature without wasting a +lot of weary time in acquiring mere knowledge which will yield neither +pleasure nor advantage. In the choice of reading the individual must +count; caprice must count, for caprice is often the truest index to +the individuality. Stand defiantly on your own feet, and do not excuse +yourself to yourself. You do not exist in order to honour literature +by becoming an encyclopaedia of literature. Literature exists for your +service. Wherever you happen to be, that, for you, is the centre of +literature. + +Still, for your own sake you must confine yourself for a long time +to recognised classics, for reasons already explained. And though you +should not follow a course, you must have a system or principle. Your +native sagacity will tell you that caprice, left quite unfettered, +will end by being quite ridiculous. The system which I recommend is +embodied in this counsel: Let one thing lead to another. In the sea of +literature every part communicates with every other part; there are no +land-locked lakes. It was with an eye to this system that I originally +recommended you to start with Lamb. Lamb, if you are his intimate, has +already brought you into relations with a number of other prominent +writers with whom you can in turn be intimate, and who will be +particularly useful to you. Among these are Wordsworth, Coleridge, +Southey, Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt. You cannot know Lamb without knowing +these men, and some of them are of the highest importance. From the +circle of Lamb's own work you may go off at a tangent at various +points, according to your inclination. If, for instance, you are drawn +towards poetry, you cannot, in all English literature, make a better +start than with Wordsworth. And Wordsworth will send you backwards +to a comprehension of the poets against whose influence Wordsworth +fought. When you have understood Wordsworth's and Coleridge's _Lyrical +Ballads_, and Wordsworth's defence of them, you will be in a position +to judge poetry in general. If, again, your mind hankers after an +earlier and more romantic literature, Lamb's _Specimens of English +Dramatic Poets Contemporary with Shakspere_ has already, in an +enchanting fashion, piloted you into a vast gulf of "the sea which is +Shakspere." + +Again, in Hazlitt and Leigh Hunt you will discover essayists inferior +only to Lamb himself, and critics perhaps not inferior. Hazlitt +is unsurpassed as a critic. His judgments are convincing and his +enthusiasm of the most catching nature. Having arrived at Hazlitt or +Leigh Hunt, you can branch off once more at any one of ten thousand +points into still wider circles. And thus you may continue up and down +the centuries as far as you like, yea, even to Chaucer. If you chance +to read Hazlitt on _Chaucer and Spenser_, you will probably put +your hat on instantly and go out and buy these authors; such is his +communicating fire! I need not particularise further. Commencing with +Lamb, and allowing one thing to lead to another, you cannot fail to be +more and more impressed by the peculiar suitability to your needs of +the Lamb entourage and the Lamb period. For Lamb lived in a time of +universal rebirth in English literature. Wordsworth and Coleridge +were re-creating poetry; Scott was re-creating the novel; Lamb was +re-creating the human document; and Hazlitt, Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, +and others were re-creating criticism. Sparks are flying all about the +place, and it will be not less than a miracle if something combustible +and indestructible in you does not take fire. + +I have only one cautionary word to utter. You may be saying to +yourself: "So long as I stick to classics I cannot go wrong." You can +go wrong. You can, while reading naught but very fine stuff, commit +the grave error of reading too much of one kind of stuff. Now there +are two kinds, and only two kinds. These two kinds are not prose and +poetry, nor are they divided the one from the other by any differences +of form or of subject. They are the inspiring kind and the informing +kind. No other genuine division exists in literature. Emerson, I +think, first clearly stated it. His terms were the literature of +"power" and the literature of "knowledge." In nearly all great +literature the two qualities are to be found in company, but one +usually predominates over the other. An example of the exclusively +inspiring kind is Coleridge's _Kubla Khan_. I cannot recall any +first-class example of the purely informing kind. The nearest approach +to it that I can name is Spencer's _First Principles_, which, however, +is at least once highly inspiring. An example in which the inspiring +quality predominates is _Ivanhoe_; and an example in which the +informing quality predominates is Hazlitt's essays on Shakespeare's +characters. You must avoid giving undue preference to the kind in +which the inspiring quality predominates or to the kind in which the +informing quality predominates. Too much of the one is enervating; too +much of the other is desiccating. If you stick exclusively to the +one you may become a mere debauchee of the emotions; if you stick +exclusively to the other you may cease to live in any full sense. I do +not say that you should hold the balance exactly even between the two +kinds. Your taste will come into the scale. What I say is that neither +kind must be neglected. + +Lamb is an instance of a great writer whom anybody can understand and +whom a majority of those who interest themselves in literature can +more or less appreciate. He makes no excessive demand either on the +intellect or on the faculty of sympathetic emotion. On both sides of +Lamb, however, there lie literatures more difficult, more recondite. +The "knowledge" side need not detain us here; it can be mastered by +concentration and perseverance. But the "power" side, which comprises +the supreme productions of genius, demands special consideration. +You may have arrived at the point of keenly enjoying Lamb and yet be +entirely unable to "see anything in" such writings as _Kubla Khan_ or +Milton's _Comus_; and as for _Hamlet_ you may see nothing in it but a +sanguinary tale "full of quotations." Nevertheless it is the supreme +productions which are capable of yielding the supreme pleasures, and +which _will_ yield the supreme pleasures when the pass-key to them +has been acquired. This pass-key is a comprehension of the nature of +poetry. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +VERSE + + +There is a word, a "name of fear," which rouses terror in the heart +of the vast educated majority of the English-speaking race. The +most valiant will fly at the mere utterance of that word. The most +broad-minded will put their backs up against it. The most rash will +not dare to affront it. I myself have seen it empty buildings that had +been full; and I know that it will scatter a crowd more quickly than +a hose-pipe, hornets, or the rumour of plague. Even to murmur it is +to incur solitude, probably disdain, and possibly starvation, as +historical examples show. That word is "poetry." + +The profound objection of the average man to poetry can scarcely +be exaggerated. And when I say the average man, I do not mean the +"average sensual man"--any man who gets on to the top of the omnibus; +I mean the average lettered man, the average man who does care a +little for books and enjoys reading, and knows the classics by name +and the popular writers by having read them. I am convinced that not +one man in ten who reads, reads poetry--at any rate, knowingly. I +am convinced, further, that not one man in ten who goes so far as +knowingly to _buy_ poetry ever reads it. You will find everywhere men +who read very widely in prose, but who will say quite callously, +"No, I never read poetry." If the sales of modern poetry, distinctly +labelled as such, were to cease entirely to-morrow not a publisher +would fail; scarcely a publisher would be affected; and not a poet +would die--for I do not believe that a single modern English poet +is living to-day on the current proceeds of his verse. For a country +which possesses the greatest poetical literature in the world this +condition of affairs is at least odd. What makes it odder is that, +occasionally, very occasionally, the average lettered man will have +a fit of idolatry for a fine poet, buying his books in tens of +thousands, and bestowing upon him immense riches. As with Tennyson. +And what makes it odder still is that, after all, the average lettered +man does not truly dislike poetry; he only dislikes it when it takes +a certain form. He will read poetry and enjoy it, provided he is not +aware that it is poetry. Poetry can exist authentically either in +prose or in verse. Give him poetry concealed in prose and there is a +chance that, taken off his guard, he will appreciate it. But show him +a page of verse, and he will be ready to send for a policeman. The +reason of this is that, though poetry may come to pass either in prose +or in verse, it does actually happen far more frequently in verse than +in prose; nearly all the very greatest poetry is in verse; verse is +identified with the very greatest poetry, and the very greatest poetry +can only be understood and savoured by people who have put themselves +through a considerable mental discipline. To others it is an +exasperating weariness. Hence chiefly the fearful prejudice of the +average lettered man against the mere form of verse. + +The formation of literary taste cannot be completed until that +prejudice has been conquered. My very difficult task is to suggest +a method of conquering it. I address myself exclusively to the large +class of people who, if they are honest, will declare that, while they +enjoy novels, essays, and history, they cannot "stand" verse. The case +is extremely delicate, like all nervous cases. It is useless to employ +the arts of reasoning, for the matter has got beyond logic; it is +instinctive. Perfectly futile to assure you that verse will yield a +higher percentage of pleasure than prose! You will reply: "We believe +you, but that doesn't help us." Therefore I shall not argue. I shall +venture to prescribe a curative treatment (doctors do not argue); and +I beg you to follow it exactly, keeping your nerve and your calm. Loss +of self-control might lead to panic, and panic would be fatal. + +First: Forget as completely as you can all your present notions about +the nature of verse and poetry. Take a sponge and wipe the slate of +your mind. In particular, do not harass yourself by thoughts of metre +and verse forms. Second: Read William Hazlitt's essay "On Poetry in +General." This essay is the first in the book entitled _Lectures on +the English Poets_. It can be bought in various forms. I think +the cheapest satisfactory edition is in Routledge's "New Universal +Library" (price 1s. net). I might have composed an essay of my own on +the real harmless nature of poetry in general, but it could only have +been an echo and a deterioration of Hazlitt's. He has put the truth +about poetry in a way as interesting, clear, and reassuring as anyone +is ever likely to put it. I do not expect, however, that you will +instantly gather the full message and enthusiasm of the essay. It +will probably seem to you not to "hang together." Still, it will leave +bright bits of ideas in your mind. Third: After a week's interval read +the essay again. On a second perusal it will appear more persuasive to +you. + +Fourth: Open the Bible and read the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. It +is the chapter which begins, "Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people," and +ends, "They shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not +faint." This chapter will doubtless be more or less familiar to you. +It cannot fail (whatever your particular _ism_) to impress you, to +generate in your mind sensations which you recognise to be of a lofty +and unusual order, and which you will admit to be pleasurable. You +will probably agree that the result of reading this chapter (even if +your particular _ism_ is opposed to its authority) is finer than the +result of reading a short story in a magazine or even an essay by +Charles Lamb. Now the pleasurable sensations induced by the fortieth +chapter of Isaiah are among the sensations usually induced by +high-class poetry. The writer of it was a very great poet, and what +he wrote is a very great poem. Fifth: After having read it, go back to +Hazlitt, and see if you can find anything in Hazlitt's lecture which +throws light on the psychology of your own emotions upon reading +Isaiah. + +Sixth: The next step is into unmistakable verse. It is to read one of +Wordsworth's short narrative poems, _The Brothers_. There are editions +of Wordsworth at a shilling, but I should advise the "Golden Treasury" +Wordsworth (2s. 6d. net), because it contains the famous essay by +Matthew Arnold, who made the selection. I want you to read this poem +aloud. You will probably have to hide yourself somewhere in order to +do so, for, of course, you would not, as yet, care to be overheard +spouting poetry. Be good enough to forget that _The Brothers_ is +poetry. _The Brothers_ is a short story, with a plain, clear plot. +Read it as such. Read it simply for the story. It is very important +at this critical stage that you should not embarrass your mind with +preoccupations as to the _form_ in which Wordsworth has told his +story. Wordsworth's object was to tell a story as well as he could: +just that. In reading aloud do not pay any more attention to the metre +than you feel naturally inclined to pay. After a few lines the metre +will present itself to you. Do not worry as to what kind of metre it +is. When you have finished the perusal, examine your sensations.... + +Your sensations after reading this poem, and perhaps one or two other +narrative poems of Wordsworth, such as _Michael_, will be different +from the sensations produced in you by reading an ordinary, or even a +very extraordinary, short story in prose. They may not be so sharp, so +clear and piquant, but they will probably be, in their mysteriousness +and their vagueness, more impressive. I do not say that they will be +diverting. I do not go so far as to say that they will strike you as +pleasing sensations. (Be it remembered that I am addressing myself +to an imaginary tyro in poetry.) I would qualify them as being +"disturbing." Well, to disturb the spirit is one of the greatest aims +of art. And a disturbance of spirit is one of the finest pleasures +that a highly-organised man can enjoy. But this truth can only be +really learnt by the repetitions of experience. As an aid to the more +exhaustive examination of your feelings under Wordsworth, in order +that you may better understand what he was trying to effect in you, +and the means which he employed, I must direct you to Wordsworth +himself. Wordsworth, in addition to being a poet, was unsurpassed as a +critic of poetry. What Hazlitt does for poetry in the way of creating +enthusiasm Wordsworth does in the way of philosophic explanation. And +Wordsworth's explanations of the theory and practice of poetry are +written for the plain man. They pass the comprehension of nobody, and +their direct, unassuming, and calm simplicity is extremely persuasive. +Wordsworth's chief essays in throwing light on himself are the +"Advertisement," "Preface," and "Appendix" to _Lyrical Ballads_; the +letters to Lady Beaumont and "the Friend" and the "Preface" to the +Poems dated 1815. All this matter is strangely interesting and of +immense educational value. It is the first-class expert talking at +ease about his subject. The essays relating to _Lyrical Ballads_ will +be the most useful for you. You will discover these precious documents +in a volume entitled _Wordsworth's Literary Criticism_ (published by +Henry Frowde, 2s. 6d.), edited by that distinguished Wordsworthian +Mr. Nowell C. Smith. It is essential that the student of poetry should +become possessed, honestly or dishonestly, either of this volume or +of the matter which it contains. There is, by the way, a volume of +Wordsworth's prose in the Scott Library (1s.). Those who have not +read Wordsworth on poetry can have no idea of the naive charm and the +helpful radiance of his expounding. I feel that I cannot too strongly +press Wordsworth's criticism upon you. + +Between Wordsworth and Hazlitt you will learn all that it behoves you +to know of the nature, the aims, and the results of poetry. It is no +part of my scheme to dot the "i's" and cross the "t's" of Wordsworth +and Hazlitt. I best fulfil my purpose in urgently referring you to +them. I have only a single point of my own to make--a psychological +detail. One of the main obstacles to the cultivation of poetry in the +average sensible man is an absurdly inflated notion of the ridiculous. +At the bottom of that man's mind is the idea that poetry is "silly." +He also finds it exaggerated and artificial; but these two accusations +against poetry can be satisfactorily answered. The charge of +silliness, of being ridiculous, however, cannot be refuted by +argument. There is no logical answer to a guffaw. This sense of the +ridiculous is merely a bad, infantile habit, in itself grotesquely +ridiculous. You may see it particularly in the theatre. Not the +greatest dramatist, not the greatest composer, not the greatest actor +can prevent an audience from laughing uproariously at a tragic moment +if a cat walks across the stage. But why ruin the scene by laughter? +Simply because the majority of any audience is artistically childish. +This sense of the ridiculous can only be crushed by the exercise of +moral force. It can only be cowed. If you are inclined to laugh when a +poet expresses himself more powerfully than you express yourself, when +a poet talks about feelings which are not usually mentioned in daily +papers, when a poet uses words and images which lie outside your +vocabulary and range of thought, then you had better take yourself in +hand. You have to decide whether you will be on the side of the angels +or on the side of the nincompoops. There is no surer sign of imperfect +development than the impulse to snigger at what is unusual, naive, or +exuberant. And if you choose to do so, you can detect the cat walking +across the stage in the sublimest passages of literature. But more +advanced souls will grieve for you. + +The study of Wordsworth's criticism makes the seventh step in my +course of treatment. The eighth is to return to those poems of +Wordsworth's which you have already perused, and read them again in +the full light of the author's defence and explanation. Read as much +Wordsworth as you find you can assimilate, but do not attempt either +of his long poems. The time, however, is now come for a long poem. +I began by advising narrative poetry for the neophyte, and I shall +persevere with the prescription. I mean narrative poetry in the +restricted sense; for epic poetry is narrative. _Paradise Lost_ is +narrative; so is _The Prelude_. I suggest neither of these great +works. My choice falls on Elizabeth Browning's _Aurora Leigh_. If you +once work yourself "into" this poem, interesting yourself primarily +(as with Wordsworth) in the events of the story, and not allowing +yourself to be obsessed by the fact that what you are reading is +"poetry"--if you do this, you are not likely to leave it unfinished. +And before you reach the end you will have encountered _en route_ +pretty nearly all the moods of poetry that exist: tragic, humorous, +ironic, elegiac, lyric--everything. You will have a comprehensive +acquaintance with a poet's mind. I guarantee that you will come safely +through if you treat the work as a novel. For a novel it effectively +is, and a better one than any written by Charlotte Bronte or George +Eliot. In reading, it would be well to mark, or take note of, the +passages which give you the most pleasure, and then to compare these +passages with the passages selected for praise by some authoritative +critic. _Aurora Leigh_ can be got in the "Temple Classics" (1s. 6d.), +or in the "Canterbury Poets" (1s.). The indispensable biographical +information about Mrs. Browning can be obtained from Mr. J.H. Ingram's +short Life of her in the "Eminent Women" Series (1s. 6d.), or from +_Robert Browning_, by William Sharp ("Great Writers" Series, 1s.). + +This accomplished, you may begin to choose your poets. Going back +to Hazlitt, you will see that he deals with, among others, Chaucer, +Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Chatterton, Burns, and +the Lake School. You might select one of these, and read under his +guidance. Said Wordsworth: "I was impressed by the conviction that +there were four English poets whom I must have continually before me +as examples--Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, and Milton." (A word to +the wise!) Wordsworth makes a fifth to these four. Concurrently with +the careful, enthusiastic study of one of the undisputed classics, +modern verse should be read. (I beg you to accept the following +statement: that if the study of classical poetry inspires you with a +distaste for modern poetry, then there is something seriously wrong +in the method of your development.) You may at this stage (and not +before) commence an inquiry into questions of rhythm, verse-structure, +and rhyme. There is, I believe, no good, concise, cheap handbook to +English prosody; yet such a manual is greatly needed. The only one +with which I am acquainted is Tom Hood the younger's _Rules of Rhyme: +A Guide to English Versification_. Again, the introduction to Walker's +_Rhyming Dictionary_ gives a fairly clear elementary account of the +subject. Ruskin also has written an excellent essay on verse-rhythms. +With a manual in front of you, you can acquire in a couple of hours a +knowledge of the formal principles in which the music of English verse +is rooted. The business is trifling. But the business of appreciating +the inmost spirit of the greatest verse is tremendous and lifelong. It +is not something that can be "got up." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +BROAD COUNSELS + + +I have now set down what appear to me to be the necessary +considerations, recommendations, exhortations, and dehortations in aid +of this delicate and arduous enterprise of forming the literary taste. +I have dealt with the theory of literature, with the psychology of the +author, and--quite as important--with the psychology of the reader. +I have tried to explain the author to the reader and the reader to +himself. To go into further detail would be to exceed my original +intention, with no hope of ever bringing the constantly-enlarging +scheme to a logical conclusion. My aim is not to provide a map, but a +compass--two very different instruments. In the way of general advice +it remains for me only to put before you three counsels which apply +more broadly than any I have yet offered to the business of reading. + +You have within yourself a touchstone by which finally you can, and +you must, test every book that your brain is capable of comprehending. +Does the book seem to you to be sincere and true? If it does, then you +need not worry about your immediate feelings, or the possible future +consequences of the book. You will ultimately like the book, and you +will be justified in liking it. Honesty, in literature as in life, +is the quality that counts first and counts last. But beware of your +immediate feelings. Truth is not always pleasant. The first glimpse +of truth is, indeed, usually so disconcerting as to be positively +unpleasant, and our impulse is to tell it to go away, for we will have +no truck with it. If a book arouses your genuine contempt, you may +dismiss it from your mind. Take heed, however, lest you confuse +contempt with anger. If a book really moves you to anger, the chances +are that it is a good book. Most good books have begun by causing +anger which disguised itself as contempt. Demanding honesty from your +authors, you must see that you render it yourself. And to be honest +with oneself is not so simple as it appears. One's sensations and +one's sentiments must be examined with detachment. When you have +violently flung down a book, listen whether you can hear a faint voice +saying within you: "It's true, though!" And if you catch the whisper, +better yield to it as quickly as you can. For sooner or later the +voice will win. Similarly, when you are hugging a book, keep your +ear cocked for the secret warning: "Yes, but it isn't true." For bad +books, by flattering you, by caressing, by appealing to the weak or +the base in you, will often persuade you what fine and splendid books +they are. (Of course, I use the word "true" in a wide and essential +significance. I do not necessarily mean true to literal fact; I +mean true to the plane of experience in which the book moves. The +truthfulness of _Ivanhoe_, for example, cannot be estimated by +the same standards as the truthfulness of Stubbs's _Constitutional +History_.) In reading a book, a sincere questioning of oneself, "Is it +true?" and a loyal abiding by the answer, will help more surely than +any other process of ratiocination to form the taste. I will not +assert that this question and answer are all-sufficient. A true book +is not always great. But a great book is never untrue. + +My second counsel is: In your reading you must have in view some +definite aim--some aim other than the wish to derive pleasure. I +conceive that to give pleasure is the highest end of any work of art, +because the pleasure procured from any art is tonic, and transforms +the life into which it enters. But the maximum of pleasure can only +be obtained by regular effort, and regular effort implies the +organisation of that effort. Open-air walking is a glorious exercise; +it is the walking itself which is glorious. Nevertheless, when setting +out for walking exercise, the sane man generally has a subsidiary aim +in view. He says to himself either that he will reach a given point, +or that he will progress at a given speed for a given distance, or +that he will remain on his feet for a given time. He organises his +effort, partly in order that he may combine some other advantage with +the advantage of walking, but principally in order to be sure that +the effort shall be an adequate effort. The same with reading. Your +paramount aim in poring over literature is to enjoy, but you will not +fully achieve that aim unless you have also a subsidiary aim which +necessitates the measurement of your energy. Your subsidiary aim may +be aesthetic, moral, political, religious, scientific, erudite; you +may devote yourself to a man, a topic, an epoch, a nation, a branch of +literature, an idea--you have the widest latitude in the choice of +an objective; but a definite objective you must have. In my earlier +remarks as to method in reading, I advocated, without insisting on, +regular hours for study. But I both advocate and insist on the fixing +of a date for the accomplishment of an allotted task. As an instance, +it is not enough to say: "I will inform myself completely as to the +Lake School." It is necessary to say: "I will inform myself completely +as to the Lake School before I am a year older." Without this +precautionary steeling of the resolution the risk of a humiliating +collapse into futility is enormously magnified. + +My third counsel is: Buy a library. It is obvious that you cannot +read unless you have books. I began by urging the constant purchase +of books--any books of approved quality, without reference to their +immediate bearing upon your particular case. The moment has now come +to inform you plainly that a bookman is, amongst other things, a man +who possesses many books. A man who does not possess many books is +not a bookman. For years literary authorities have been favouring +the literary public with wondrously selected lists of "the best +books"--the best novels, the best histories, the best poems, the best +works of philosophy--or the hundred best or the fifty best of all +sorts. The fatal disadvantage of such lists is that they leave out +large quantities of literature which is admittedly first-class. The +bookman cannot content himself with a selected library. He wants, as a +minimum, a library reasonably complete in all departments. With such a +basis acquired, he can afterwards wander into those special byways +of book-buying which happen to suit his special predilections. Every +Englishman who is interested in any branch of his native literature, +and who respects himself, ought to own a comprehensive and inclusive +library of English literature, in comely and adequate editions. You +may suppose that this counsel is a counsel of perfection. It is +not. Mark Pattison laid down a rule that he who desired the name +of book-lover must spend five per cent. of his income on books. The +proposal does not seem extravagant, but even on a smaller percentage +than five the average reader of these pages may become the owner, in +a comparatively short space of time, of a reasonably complete English +library, by which I mean a library containing the complete works +of the supreme geniuses, representative important works of all the +first-class men in all departments, and specimen works of all the +men of the second rank whose reputation is really a living reputation +to-day. The scheme for a library, which I now present, begins before +Chaucer and ends with George Gissing, and I am fairly sure that the +majority of people will be startled at the total inexpensiveness of +it. So far as I am aware, no such scheme has ever been printed before. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD I + +[For much counsel and correction in the matter of editions and prices +I am indebted to my old and valued friend, Charles Young, head of the +firm of Lamley & Co., booksellers, South Kensington.] + + +For the purposes of book-buying, I divide English literature, not +strictly into historical epochs, but into three periods which, +while scarcely arbitrary from the historical point of view, have +nevertheless been calculated according to the space which they will +occupy on the shelves and to the demands which they will make on the +purse: + +I. From the beginning to John Dryden, or roughly, to the end of the +seventeenth century. + +II. From William Congreve to Jane Austen, or roughly, the eighteenth +century. + +III. From Sir Walter Scott to the last deceased author who is +recognised as a classic, or roughly, the nineteenth century. + +Period III. will bulk the largest and cost the most; not necessarily +because it contains more absolutely great books than the other periods +(though in my opinion it _does_), but because it is nearest to us, and +therefore fullest of interest for us. + +I have not confined my choice to books of purely literary +interest--that is to say, to works which are primarily works of +literary art. Literature is the vehicle of philosophy, science, +morals, religion, and history; and a library which aspires to be +complete must comprise, in addition to imaginative works, all these +branches of intellectual activity. Comprising all these branches, it +cannot avoid comprising works of which the purely literary interest is +almost nil. + +On the other hand, I have excluded from consideration:-- + +i. Works whose sole importance is that they form a link in the chain +of development. For example, nearly all the productions of authors +between Chaucer and the beginning of the Elizabethan period, such as +Gower, Hoccleve, and Skelton, whose works, for sufficient reason, are +read only by professors and students who mean to be professors. + +ii. Works not originally written in English, such as the works of +that very great philosopher Roger Bacon, of whom this isle ought to be +prouder than it is. To this rule, however, I have been constrained +to make a few exceptions. Sir Thomas More's _Utopia_ was written +in Latin, but one does not easily conceive a library to be complete +without it. And could one exclude Sir Isaac Newton's _Principia_, the +masterpiece of the greatest physicist that the world has ever +seen? The law of gravity ought to have, and does have, a powerful +sentimental interest for us. + +iii. Translations from foreign literature into English. + + +Here, then, are the lists for the first period: + + + PROSE WRITERS L s. d. + + Bede, _Ecclesiastical History_: Temple + Classics. 0 1 6 + + Sir Thomas Malory, _Morte d'Arthur_: + Everyman's Library (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Sir Thomas More, _Utopia_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + George Cavendish, _Life of Cardinal + Wolsey_: New Universal Library. 0 1 0 + + Richard Hakluyt, _Voyages_: Everyman's + Library (8 vols.) 0 8 0 + + Richard Hooker, _Ecclesiastical Polity_: + Everyman's Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Francis Bacon, _Works_: Newnes's Thinpaper + Classics. 0 2 0 + + Thomas Dekker, _Gull's Horn-Book_: King's + Classics. 0 1 6 + + Lord Herbert of Cherbury, _Autobiography_: + Scott Library. 0 1 0 + + John Selden, _Table-Talk_: New Universal + Library. 0 1 0 + + Thomas Hobbes, _Leviathan_: New Universal + Library. 0 1 0 + + James Howell, _Familiar Letters_: Temple + Classics (3 vols.) 0 4 6 + + Sir Thomas Browne, _Religio Medici_, etc.: + Everyman's Library. 0 1 0 + + Jeremy Taylor, _Holy Living and Holy + Dying_: Temple Classics (3 vols.) 0 4 6 + + Izaak Walton, _Compleat Angler_: Everyman's + Library. 0 1 0 + + John Bunyan, _Pilgrim's Progress_: + World's Classics. 0 1 0 + + Sir William Temple, _Essay on Gardens + of Epicurus_: King's Classics. 0 1 6 + + John Evelyn, _Diary_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Pepys, _Diary_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + _________ + L2 1 6 + + +The principal omission from the above list is _The Paston Letters_, +which I should probably have included had the enterprise of publishers +been sufficient to put an edition on the market at a cheap price. +Other omissions include the works of Caxton and Wyclif, and such +books as Camden's _Britannia_, Ascham's _Schoolmaster_, and Fuller's +_Worthies_, whose lack of first-rate value as literature is not +adequately compensated by their historical interest. As to the Bible, +in the first place it is a translation, and in the second I assume +that you already possess a copy. + + + POETS L s. d. + + _Beowulf_, Routledge's London Library 0 2 6 + + GEOFFREY CHAUCER, _Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + Nicolas Udall, _Ralph Roister-Doister_: + Temple Dramatists 0 1 0 + + EDMUND SPENSER, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + + Thomas Lodge, _Rosalynde_: Caxton Series 0 1 0 + + Robert Greene, _Tragical Reign of Selimus_: + Temple Dramatists 0 1 0 + + Michael Drayton, _Poems_: Newnes's Pocket + Classics 0 8 6 + + CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, _Works_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, _Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + Thomas Campion, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Ben Jonson, _Plays_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + John Donne, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + John Webster, Cyril Tourneur, _Plays_: + Mermaid Series 0 2 6 + + Philip Massinger, _Plays_: Cunningham + Edition 0 3 6 + + Beaumont and Fletcher, _Plays_: a Selection + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + John Ford, _Plays_: Mermaid Series 0 2 6 + + George Herbert, _The Temple_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + ROBERT HERRICK, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Edmund Waller, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Sir John Suckling, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Abraham Cowley, _English Poems_: Cambridge + University Press 0 4 6 + + Richard Crashaw, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Henry Vaughan, _Poems_: Methuen's + Little Library 0 1 6 + + Samuel Butler, _Hudibras_: Cambridge + University Press 0 4 6 + + JOHN MILTON, _Poetical Works_: Oxford + Cheap Edition 0 2 0 + + JOHN MILTON, _Select Prose Works_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Andrew Marvell, _Poems_: Methuen's Little + Library 0 1 6 + + John Dryden, _Poetical Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + [Thomas Percy], _Reliques of Ancient + English Poetry_: Everyman's Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Spenser" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Jonson" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + + Arber's _"Shakspere" Anthology_: Oxford + University Press 0 2 0 + _________ + L3 7 6 + + +There were a number of brilliant minor writers in the seventeenth +century whose best work, often trifling in bulk, either scarcely +merits the acquisition of a separate volume for each author, or cannot +be obtained at all in a modern edition. Such authors, however, may not +be utterly neglected in the formation of a library. It is to meet this +difficulty that I have included the last three volumes on the above +list. Professor Arber's anthologies are full of rare pieces, and +comprise admirable specimens of the verse of Samuel Daniel, Giles +Fletcher, Countess of Pembroke, James I., George Peele, Sir Walter +Raleigh, Thomas Sackville, Sir Philip Sidney, Drummond of Hawthornden, +Thomas Heywood, George Wither, Sir Henry Wotton, Sir William Davenant, +Thomas Randolph, Frances Quarles, James Shirley, and other greater and +lesser poets. + +I have included all the important Elizabethan dramatists except John +Marston, all the editions of whose works, according to my researches, +are out of print. + +In the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods talent was so extraordinarily +plentiful that the standard of excellence is quite properly raised, +and certain authors are thus relegated to the third, or excluded, +class who in a less fertile period would have counted as at least +second-class. + + + SUMMARY OF THE FIRST PERIOD. L s. d. + + 19 prose authors in 36 volumes costing 2 1 6 + 29 poets in 36 " " 3 7 6 + __ __ _________ + 48 72 L5 9 0 + + +In addition, scores of authors of genuine interest are represented in +the anthologies. + +The prices given are gross, and in many instances there is a 25 +per cent. discount to come off. All the volumes can be procured +immediately at any bookseller's. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD II + + +After dealing with the formation of a library of authors up to John +Dryden, I must logically arrange next a scheme for the period covered +roughly by the eighteenth century. There is, however, no reason why +the student in quest of a library should follow the chronological +order. Indeed, I should advise him to attack the nineteenth century +before the eighteenth, for the reason that, unless his taste +happens to be peculiarly "Augustan," he will obtain a more immediate +satisfaction and profit from his acquisitions in the nineteenth +century than in the eighteenth. There is in eighteenth-century +literature a considerable proportion of what I may term "unattractive +excellence," which one must have for the purposes of completeness, +but which may await actual perusal until more pressing and more human +books have been read. I have particularly in mind the philosophical +authors of the century. + + + PROSE WRITERS. L s. d. + + JOHN LOCKE, _Philosophical Works_: Bohn's + Edition (2 vols.) 0 7 0 + + SIR ISAAC NEWTON, _Principia_ (sections 1, + 2, and 3): Macmillans 0 12 0 + + Gilbert Burnet, _History of His Own Time_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + William Wycherley, _Best Plays_: Mermaid + Series 0 2 6 + + WILLIAM CONGREVE, _Best Plays_: Mermaid + Series 0 2 6 + + Jonathan Swift, _Tale of a Tub_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Jonathan Swift, _Gulliver's Travels_: + Temple Classics 0 1 6 + + DANIEL DEFOE, _Robinson Crusoe_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + DANIEL DEFOE, _Journal of the Plague + Year_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Joseph Addison, Sir Richard Steele, + _Essays_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + William Law, _Serious Call_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Lady Mary W. Montagu, _Letters_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + George Berkeley, _Principles of Human + Knowledge_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + SAMUEL RICHARDSON, _Clarissa_ (abridged): + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + John Wesley, _Journal_: Everyman's + Library (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Tom Jones_: Routledge's + Edition 0 2 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Amelia_: Routledge's + Edition 0 2 0 + + HENRY FIELDING, _Joseph Andrews_: + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + David Hume, _Essays_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + LAURENCE STERNE, _Tristram Shandy_: + World's Classics 0 1 0 + + LAURENCE STERNE, _Sentimental Journey_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Horace Walpole, _Castle of Otranto_: King's + Classics 0 1 6 + + Tobias Smollett, _Humphrey Clinker_: + Routledge's Edition 0 2 0 + + Tobias Smollett, _Travels through France + and Italy_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + ADAM SMITH, _Wealth of Nations_: World's + Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Johnson, _Lives of the Poets_: + World's Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Samuel Johnson, _Rasselas_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + JAMES BOSWELL, _Life of Johnson_: Everyman's + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Oliver Goldsmith, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + + Henry Mackenzie, _The Man of Feeling_: + Cassell's National Library 0 0 6 + + Sir Joshua Reynolds, _Discourses on Art_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Edmund Burke, _Reflections on the French + Revolution_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Edmund Burke, _Thoughts on the Present + Discontents_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + EDWARD GIBBON, _Decline and Fall of the + Roman Empire_: World's Classics + (7 vols.) 0 7 0 + + Thomas Paine, _Rights of Man_: Watts + and Co.'s Edition 0 1 0 + + RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, _Plays_: + World's Classics 0 1 0 + + Fanny Burney, _Evelina_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Gilbert White, _Natural History of Selborne_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Arthur Young, _Travels in France_: York + Library 0 2 0 + + Mungo Park, _Travels_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Jeremy Bentham, _Introduction to the + Principles of Morals_: Clarendon + Press 0 6 6 + + THOMAS ROBERT MALTHUS, _Essay on the + Principle of Population_: Ward, + Lock's Edition 0 3 0 + + William Godwin, _Caleb Williams_: + Newnes's Edition 0 1 0 + + Maria Edgeworth, _Helen_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Edition 0 2 6 + + JANE AUSTEN, _Novels_: Nelson's New + Century Library (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + James Morier, _Hadji Baba_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Novels 0 2 6 + __________ + L5 1 0 + + +The principal omissions here are Jeremy Collier, whose outcry against +the immorality of the stage is his slender title to remembrance; +Richard Bentley, whose scholarship principally died with him, and +whose chief works are no longer current; and "Junius," who would have +been deservedly forgotten long ago had there been a contemporaneous +Sherlock Holmes to ferret out his identity. + + + POETS. L s. d. + + Thomas Otway, _Venice Preserved_: Temple + Dramatists 0 1 0 + + Matthew Prior, _Poems on Several Occasions_: + Cambridge English Classics 0 4 6 + + John Gay, _Poems_: Muses' Library + (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + ALEXANDER POPE, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 0 + + Isaac Watts, _Hymns_: Any hymn-book 0 1 0 + + James Thomson, _The Seasons_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + Charles Wesley, _Hymns_: Any hymn-book 0 1 0 + + THOMAS GRAY, Samuel Johnson, William + Collins, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + James Macpherson (Ossian), _Poems_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + THOMAS CHATTERTON, _Poems_: Muses' + Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + WILLIAM COWPER, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM COWPER, _Letters_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + George Crabbe, _Poems_: Methuen's Little + Library 0 1 6 + + WILLIAM BLAKE, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + William Lisle Bowles, Hartley Coleridge, + _Poems_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + ROBERT BURNS, _Works_: Globe Edition 0 3 6 + __________ + L1 7 0 + + + SUMMARY OF THE PERIOD. + + 39 prose writers in 60 volumes, costing L5 1 0 + 18 poets " 18 " " 1 7 0 + __ __ __________ + 57 78 L6 8 0 + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +AN ENGLISH LIBRARY: PERIOD III + + +The catalogue of necessary authors of this third and last period being +so long, it is convenient to divide the prose writers into Imaginative +and Non-imaginative. + +In the latter half of the period the question of copyright affects our +scheme to a certain extent, because it affects prices. Fortunately +it is the fact that no single book of recognised first-rate general +importance is conspicuously dear. Nevertheless, I have encountered +difficulties in the second rank; I have dealt with them in a spirit +of compromise. I think I may say that, though I should have included +a few more authors had their books been obtainable at a reasonable +price, I have omitted none that I consider indispensable to a +thoroughly representative collection. No living author is included. + +Where I do not specify the edition of a book the original copyright +edition is meant. + + + PROSE WRITERS: IMAGINATIVE. L s. d. + + SIR WALTER SCOTT, _Waverley, Heart of + Midlothian, Quentin Durward, Red-gauntlet, + Ivanhoe_: Everyman's + Library (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + SIR WALTER SCOTT, _Marmion_, etc.: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + Charles Lamb, _Works in Prose and Verse_: + Clarendon Press (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Charles Lamb, _Letters_: Newnes's Thin + Paper Classics 0 2 0 + + Walter Savage Landor, _Imaginary Conversations_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Walter Savage Landor, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Leigh Hunt, _Essays and Sketches_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Thomas Love Peacock, _Principal Novels_: + New Universal Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Mary Russell Mitford, _Our Village_: + Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Michael Scott, _Tom Cringle's Log_: Macmillan's + Illustrated Novels 0 2 6 + + Frederick Marryat, _Mr. Midshipman + Easy_: Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + John Galt, _Annals of the Parish_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Susan Ferrier, _Marriage_: Routledge's + edition 0 2 0 + + Douglas Jerrold, _Mrs. Caudle's Curtain + Lectures_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + Lord Lytton, _Last Days of Pompeii_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + William Carleton, _Stories_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Charles James Lever, _Harry Lorrequer_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Harrison Ainsworth, _The Tower of London_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + George Henry Borrow, _Bible in Spain, + Lavengro_: New Universal Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Lord Beaconsfield, _Sybil, Coningsby_: + Lane's New Pocket Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + W.M. THACKERAY, _Vanity Fair, Esmond_: + Everyman's Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + W.M. THACKERAY, _Barry Lyndon_, and + _Roundabout Papers_, etc.: + Nelson's New Century Library 0 2 0 + + CHARLES DICKENS, _Works_: Everyman's + Library (18 vols.) 0 18 0 + + Charles Reade, _The Cloister and the Hearth_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Anthony Trollope, _Barchester Towers, + Framley Parsonage_: Lane's New + Pocket Library (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Charles Kingsley, _Westward Ho!_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Henry Kingsley, _Ravenshoe_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Charlotte Bronte, _Jane Eyre, Shirley, + Villette, Professor, and Poems_: + World's Classics (4 vols.) 0 4 0 + + Emily Bronte, _Wuthering Heights_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Elizabeth Gaskell, _Cranford_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + Elizabeth Gaskell, _Life of Charlotte Bronte_ 0 2 6 + + George Eliot, _Adam Bede, Silas Marner, + The Mill on the Floss_: Everyman's + Library (3 vols.) 0 3 0 + + G.J. Whyte-Melville, _The Gladiators_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Alexander Smith, _Dreamthorpe_: New + Universal Library 0 1 0 + + George Macdonald, _Malcolm_ 0 1 6 + + Walter Pater, _Imaginary Portraits_ 0 6 0 + + Wilkie Collins, _The Woman in White_ 0 1 0 + + R.D. Blackmore, _Lorna Doone_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Samuel Butler, _Erewhon_: Fifield's + Edition 0 2 6 + + Laurence Oliphant, _Altiora Peto_ 0 3 6 + + Margaret Oliphant, _Salem Chapel_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Richard Jefferies, _Story of My Heart_ 0 2 0 + + Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland_: Macmillan's + Cheap Edition 0 1 0 + + John Henry Shorthouse, _John Inglesant_: + Macmillan's Pocket Classics 0 2 0 + + R.L. Stevenson, _Master of Ballantrae, + Virginibus Puerisque_: Pocket Edition + (2 vols.) 0 4 0 + + George Gissing, _The Odd Women_: Popular + Edition (bound) 0 0 7 + __________ + L5 0 1 + +Names such as those of Charlotte Yonge and Dinah Craik are omitted +intentionally. + + + PROSE WRITERS: NON-IMAGINATIVE. L s. d. + + William Hazlitt, _Spirit of the Age_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + William Hazlitt, _English Poets and Comic + Writers_: Bohn's Library 0 3 6 + + Francis Jeffrey, _Essays from Edinburgh + Review_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas de Quincey, _Confessions of an + English Opium-eater_, etc.: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + Sydney Smith, _Selected Papers_: Scott + Library 0 1 0 + + George Finlay, _Byzantine Empire_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + John G. Lockhart, _Life of Scott_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Agnes Strickland, _Life of Queen Elizabeth_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Hugh Miller, _Old Red Sandstone_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + J.H. Newman, _Apologia pro vita sua_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Lord Macaulay, _History of England_, (3), + _Essays_ (2): Everyman's Library (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + A.P. Stanley, _Memorials of Canterbury_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + THOMAS CARLYLE, _French Revolution_ (2), + _Cromwell_ (3), _Sartor Resartus and + Heroes and Hero-Worship_ (1): Everyman's + Library (6 vols.) 0 6 0 + + THOMAS CARLYLE, _Latter-day Pamphlets_: + Chapman and Hall's Edition 0 1 0 + + CHARLES DARWIN, _Origin of Species_: + Murray's Edition 0 1 0 + + CHARLES DARWIN, _Voyage of the Beagle_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + A.W. Kinglake, _Eothen_: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + John Stuart Mill, _Auguste Comte and + Positivism_: New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + John Brown, _Horae Subsecivae_: World's + Classics 0 1 0 + + John Brown, _Rab and His Friends_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Sir Arthur Helps, _Friends in Council_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + Mark Pattison, _Life of Milton_: English + Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + F.W. Robertson, _On Religion and Life_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Benjamin Jowett, _Interpretation of Scripture_: + Routledge's London Library 0 2 6 + + George Henry Lewes, _Principles of Success + in Literature_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Alexander Bain, _Mind and Body_ 0 4 0 + + James Anthony Froude, _Dissolution of the + Monasteries_, etc.: New Universal + Library 0 1 0 + + Mary Wollstonecraft, _Vindication of the + Rights of Women_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + John Tyndall, _Glaciers of the Alps_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + Sir Henry Maine, _Ancient Law_: New + Universal Library 0 1 0 + + JOHN RUSKIN, _Seven Lamps_ (1), _Sesame + and Lilies_ (1), _Stones of Venice_ (3): + George Allen's Cheap Edition (5 vols.) 0 5 0 + + HERBERT SPENCER, _First Principles_ (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + HERBERT SPENCER, _Education_ 0 1 0 + + Sir Richard Burton, _Narrative of a + Pilgrimage to Mecca_: Bohn's Edition + (2 vols.) 0 7 0 + + J.S. Speke, _Sources of the Nile_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Henry Huxley, _Essays_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + E.A. Freeman, _Europe_: Macmillan's + Primers 0 1 0 + + WILLIAM STUBBS, _Early Plantagenets_ 0 2 0 + + Walter Bagehot, _Lombard Street_ 0 3 6 + + Richard Holt Hutton, _Cardinal Newman_ 0 3 6 + + Sir John Seeley, _Ecce Homo_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + David Masson, _Thomas de Quincey_: + English Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + John Richard Green, _Short History of the + English People_ 0 8 6 + + Sir Leslie Stephen, _Pope_: English Men + of Letters Series 0 1 0 + + Lord Acton, _On the Study of History_ 0 2 6 + + Mandell Creighton, _The Age of Elizabeth_ 0 2 6 + + F.W.H. Myers, _Wordsworth_: English + Men of Letters Series 0 1 0 + __________ + L4 10 6 + + +The following authors are omitted, I think justifiably:--Hallam, +Whewell, Grote, Faraday, Herschell, Hamilton, John Wilson, Richard +Owen, Stirling Maxwell, Buckle, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Hamerton, F.D. +Maurice, Henry Sidgwick, and Richard Jebb. + +Lastly, here is the list of poets. In the matter of price per volume +it is the most expensive of all the lists. This is due to the fact +that it contains a larger proportion of copyright works. Where I do +not specify the edition of a book, the original copyright edition is +meant: + + + POETS. L s. d. + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, _Poetical Works_: + Oxford Edition 0 3 6 + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, _Literary Criticism_: + Nowell Smith's Edition 0 2 6 + + Robert Southey, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Robert Southey, _Life of Nelson_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Poetical Works_: + Newnes's Thin Paper Classics 0 2 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Biographia Literaria_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + S.T. COLERIDGE, _Lectures on Shakspere_: + Everyman's Library 0 1 0 + + JOHN KEATS, _Poetical Works_: Oxford + Edition 0 3 6 + + PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, _Poetical Works_: + Oxford Edition 0 3 6 + + LORD BYRON, _Poems_: E. Hartley Coleridge's + Edition 0 6 0 + + LORD BYRON, _Letters_: Scott Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Hood, _Poems_: World's Classics 0 1 0 + + James and Horace Smith, _Rejected Addresses_: + New Universal Library 0 1 0 + + John Keble, _The Christian Year_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + George Darley, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + T.L. Beddoes, _Poems_: Muses' Library 0 1 0 + + Thomas Moore, _Selected Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + James Clarence Mangan, _Poems_: D.J. + O'Donoghue's Edition 0 3 6 + + W. Mackworth Praed, _Poems_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + R.S. Hawker, _Cornish Ballads_: C.E. + Byles's Edition 0 5 0 + + Edward FitzGerald, _Omar Khayyam_: + Golden Treasury Series 0 2 6 + + P.J. Bailey, _Festus_: Routledge's Edition 0 3 6 + + Arthur Hugh Clough, _Poems_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + LORD TENNYSON, _Poetical Works_: Globe + Edition 0 3 6 + + ROBERT BROWNING, _Poetical Works_: + World's Classics (2 vols.) 0 2 0 + + Elizabeth Browning, _Aurora Leigh_: + Temple Classics 0 1 6 + + Elizabeth Browning, _Shorter Poems_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + P.B. Marston, _Song-tide_: Canterbury + Poets 0 1 0 + + Aubrey de Vere, _Legends of St. Patrick_: + Cassell's National Library 0 0 6 + + MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Poems_: Golden Treasury + Series 0 2 6 + + MATTHEW ARNOLD, _Essays_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Coventry Patmore, _Poems_: Muses' + Library 0 1 0 + + Sydney Dobell, _Poems_: Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + Eric Mackay, _Love-letters of a Violinist_: + Canterbury Poets 0 1 0 + + T.E. Brown, _Poems_ 0 7 6 + + C.S. Calverley, _Verses and Translations_ 0 1 6 + + D.G. ROSSETTI, _Poetical Works_ 0 3 6 + + Christina Rossetti, _Selected Poems_: + Golden Treasury Series 0 2 6 + + James Thomson, _City of Dreadful Night_ 0 3 6 + + Jean Ingelow, _Poems_: Red Letter Library 0 1 6 + + William Morris, _The Earthly Paradise_ 0 6 0 + + William Morris, _Early Romances_: Everyman's + Library 0 1 0 + + Augusta Webster, _Selected Poems_ 0 4 6 + + W.E. Henley, _Poetical Works_ 0 6 0 + + Francis Thompson, _Selected Poems_ 0 5 0 + __________ + L5 7 0 + + +Poets whom I have omitted after hesitation are: Ebenezer Elliott, +Thomas Woolner, William Barnes, Gerald Massey, and Charles Jeremiah +Wells. On the other hand, I have had no hesitation about omitting +David Moir, Felicia Hemans, Aytoun, Sir Edwin Arnold, and Sir Lewis +Morris. I have included John Keble in deference to much enlightened +opinion, but against my inclination. There are two names in the list +which may be somewhat unfamiliar to many readers. James Clarence +Mangan is the author of _My Dark Rosaleen_, an acknowledged +masterpiece, which every library must contain. T.E. Brown is a great +poet, recognised as such by a few hundred people, and assuredly +destined to a far wider fame. I have included FitzGerald because _Omar +Khayyam_ is much less a translation than an original work. + + + SUMMARY OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. + + 83 prose-writers, in 141 volumes, costing L9 10 7 + 38 poets " 46 " " 5 7 0 + __ ___ __________ + 121 187 L14 17 7 + + + GRAND SUMMARY OF COMPLETE LIBRARY. + + Authors. Volumes. Price. + + 1. To Dryden 48 72 L5 9 0 + + 2. Eighteenth Century 57 78 6 8 0 + + 3. Nineteenth Century 121 187 14 17 7 + ___ ___ ________ + 226 337 L26 14 7 + +I think it will be agreed that the total cost of this library is +surprisingly small. By laying out the sum of sixpence a day for three +years you may become the possessor of a collection of books which, +for range and completeness in all branches of literature, will bear +comparison with libraries far more imposing, more numerous, and more +expensive. + +I have mentioned the question of discount. The discount which you +will obtain (even from a bookseller in a small town) will be more than +sufficient to pay for Chambers's _Cyclopaedia of English Literature_, +three volumes, price 30s. net. This work is indispensable to a +bookman. Personally, I owe it much. + +When you have read, wholly or in part, a majority of these three +hundred and thirty-five volumes, _with enjoyment_, you may begin to +whisper to yourself that your literary taste is formed; and you may +pronounce judgment on modern works which come before the bar of your +opinion in the calm assurance that, though to err is human, you do at +any rate know what you are talking about. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MENTAL STOCKTAKING + + +Great books do not spring from something accidental in the great +men who wrote them. They are the effluence of their very core, the +expression of the life itself of the authors. And literature cannot be +said to have served its true purpose until it has been translated into +the actual life of him who reads. It does not succeed until it becomes +the vehicle of the vital. Progress is the gradual result of the +unending battle between human reason and human instinct, in which the +former slowly but surely wins. The most powerful engine in this +battle is literature. It is the vast reservoir of true ideas and high +emotions--and life is constituted of ideas and emotions. In a world +deprived of literature, the intellectual and emotional activity of all +but a few exceptionally gifted men would quickly sink and retract to +a narrow circle. The broad, the noble, the generous would tend +to disappear for want of accessible storage. And life would be +correspondingly degraded, because the fallacious idea and the petty +emotion would never feel the upward pull of the ideas and emotions +of genius. Only by conceiving a society without literature can it be +clearly realised that the function of literature is to raise the plain +towards the top level of the peaks. Literature exists so that where +one man has lived finely ten thousand may afterwards live finely. It +is a means of life; it concerns the living essence. + +Of course, literature has a minor function, that of passing the +time in an agreeable and harmless fashion, by giving momentary faint +pleasure. Vast multitudes of people (among whom may be numbered not a +few habitual readers) utilise only this minor function of literature; +by implication they class it with golf, bridge, or soporifics. +Literary genius, however, had no intention of competing with these +devices for fleeting the empty hours; and all such use of literature +may be left out of account. + +You, O serious student of many volumes, believe that you have a +sincere passion for reading. You hold literature in honour, and your +last wish would be to debase it to a paltry end. You are not of those +who read because the clock has just struck nine and one can't go +to bed till eleven. You are animated by a real desire to get out of +literature all that literature will give. And in that aim you keep on +reading, year after year, and the grey hairs come. But amid all this +steady tapping of the reservoir, do you ever take stock of what you +have acquired? Do you ever pause to make a valuation, in terms of your +own life, of that which you are daily absorbing, or imagine you +are absorbing? Do you ever satisfy yourself by proof that you +are absorbing anything at all, that the living waters, instead of +vitalising you, are not running off you as though you were a duck in a +storm? Because, if you omit this mere business precaution, it may well +be that you, too, without knowing it, are little by little joining +the triflers who read only because eternity is so long. It may well be +that even your alleged sacred passion is, after all, simply a sort of +drug-habit. The suggestion disturbs and worries you. You dismiss it +impatiently; but it returns. + +How (you ask, unwillingly) can a man perform a mental stocktaking? How +can he put a value on what he gets from books? How can he effectively +test, in cold blood, whether he is receiving from literature all that +literature has to give him? + +The test is not so vague, nor so difficult, as might appear. + +If a man is not thrilled by intimate contact with nature: with the +sun, with the earth, which is his origin and the arouser of his +acutest emotions-- + +If he is not troubled by the sight of beauty in many forms-- + +If he is devoid of curiosity concerning his fellow-men and his +fellow-animals-- + +If he does not have glimpses of the nuity of all things in an orderly +progress-- + +If he is chronically "querulous, dejected, and envious"-- + +If he is pessimistic-- + +If he is of those who talk about "this age of shams," "this age without +ideals," "this hysterical age," and this heaven-knows-what-age-- + +Then that man, though he reads undisputed classics for twenty hours +a day, though he has a memory of steel, though he rivals Porson +in scholarship and Sainte Beuve in judgment, is not receiving from +literature what literature has to give. Indeed, he is chiefly wasting +his time. Unless he can read differently, it were better for him if +he sold all his books, gave to the poor, and played croquet. He fails +because he has not assimilated into his existence the vital essences +which genius put into the books that have merely passed before his +eyes; because genius has offered him faith, courage, vision, noble +passion, curiosity, love, a thirst for beauty, and he has not taken +the gift; because genius has offered him the chance of living fully, +and he is only half alive, for it is only in the stress of fine ideas +and emotions that a man may be truly said to live. This is not a moral +invention, but a simple fact, which will be attested by all who know +what that stress is. + +What! You talk learnedly about Shakespeare's sonnets! Have you heard +Shakespeare's terrific shout: + + Full many a glorious morning have I seen + Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, + Kissing with golden face the meadows green, + Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy. + +And yet, can you see the sun over the viaduct at Loughborough Junction +of a morning, and catch its rays in the Thames off Dewar's whisky +monument, and not shake with the joy of life? If so, you and +Shakespeare are not yet in communication. What! You pride yourself on +your beautiful edition of Casaubon's translation of _Marcus Aurelius_, +and you savour the cadences of the famous: + + This day I shall have to do with an idle, curious man, with an + unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious + man. All these ill qualities have happened unto him, through + ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I + that understand the nature of that which is good, that it only + is to be desired, and of that which is bad, that it only + is truly odious and shameful: who know, moreover, that this + transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same + blood and seed, but by participation of the same reason and of + the same divine particle--how can I be hurt?... + +And with these cadences in your ears you go and quarrel with a cabman! + +You would be ashamed of your literary self to be caught in ignorance +of Whitman, who wrote: + + Now understand me well--it is provided in the essence of + things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, + shall come forth something to make a greater struggle + necessary. + +And yet, having achieved a motor-car, you lose your temper when it +breaks down half-way up a hill! + +You know your Wordsworth, who has been trying to teach you about: + + The Upholder of the tranquil soul + That tolerates the indignities of Time + And, from the centre of Eternity + All finite motions over-ruling, lives + In glory immutable. + +But you are capable of being seriously unhappy when your suburban +train selects a tunnel for its repose! + +And the A.V. of the Bible, which you now read, not as your forefathers +read it, but with an aesthetic delight, especially in the Apocrypha! +You remember: + + Whatsoever is brought upon thee, take cheerfully, and be + patient when thou art changed to a low estate. For gold + is tried in the fire and acceptable men in the furnace of + adversity. + +And yet you are ready to lie down and die because a woman has scorned +you! Go to! + +You think some of my instances approach the ludicrous? They do. They +are meant to do so. But they are no more ludicrous than life itself. +And they illustrate in the most workaday fashion how you can test +whether your literature fulfils its function of informing and +transforming your existence. + +I say that if daily events and scenes do not constantly recall and +utilise the ideas and emotions contained in the books which you have +read or are reading; if the memory of these books does not quicken the +perception of beauty, wherever you happen to be, does not help you to +correlate the particular trifle with the universal, does not smooth +out irritation and give dignity to sorrow--then you are, consciously +or not, unworthy of your high vocation as a bookman. You may say that +I am preaching a sermon. The fact is, I am. My mood is a severely +moral mood. For when I reflect upon the difference between what +books have to offer and what even relatively earnest readers take the +trouble to accept from them, I am appalled (or should be appalled, did +I not know that the world is moving) by the sheer inefficiency, the +bland, complacent failure of the earnest reader. I am like yourself, +the spectacle of inefficiency rouses my holy ire. + +Before you begin upon another masterpiece, set out in a row the +masterpieces which you are proud of having read during the past year. +Take the first on the list, that book which you perused in all the +zeal of your New Year resolutions for systematic study. Examine the +compartments of your mind. Search for the ideas and emotions which you +have garnered from that book. Think, and recollect when last something +from that book recurred to your memory apropos of your own daily +commerce with humanity. Is it history--when did it throw a light for +you on modern politics? Is it science--when did it show you order in +apparent disorder, and help you to put two and two together into an +inseparable four? Is it ethics--when did it influence your conduct in +a twopenny-halfpenny affair between man and man? Is it a novel--when +did it help you to "understand all and forgive all"? Is it +poetry--when was it a magnifying glass to disclose beauty to you, or +a fire to warm your cooling faith? If you can answer these questions +satisfactorily, your stocktaking as regards the fruit of your traffic +with that book may be reckoned satisfactory. If you cannot answer +them satisfactorily, then either you chose the book badly or your +impression that you _read_ it is a mistaken one. + +When the result of this stocktaking forces you to the conclusion that +your riches are not so vast as you thought them to be, it is necessary +to look about for the causes of the misfortune. The causes may be +several. You may have been reading worthless books. This, however, +I should say at once, is extremely unlikely. Habitual and confirmed +readers, unless they happen to be reviewers, seldom read worthless +books. In the first place, they are so busy with books of proved value +that they have only a small margin of leisure left for very modern +works, and generally, before they can catch up with the age, Time or +the critic has definitely threshed for them the wheat from the +chaff. No! Mediocrity has not much chance of hood-winking the serious +student. + +It is less improbable that the serious student has been choosing his +books badly. He may do this in two ways--absolutely and relatively. +Every reader of long standing has been through the singular experience +of suddenly _seeing_ a book with which his eyes have been familiar for +years. He reads a book with a reputation and thinks: "Yes, this is a +good book. This book gives me pleasure." And then after an interval, +perhaps after half a lifetime, something mysterious happens to his +mental sight. He picks up the book again, and sees a new and profound +significance in every sentence, and he says: "I was perfectly blind +to this book before." Yet he is no cleverer than he used to be. Only +something has happened to him. Let a gold watch be discovered by a +supposititious man who has never heard of watches. He has a sense of +beauty. He admires the watch, and takes pleasure in it. He says: +"This is a beautiful piece of bric-a-brac; I fully appreciate this +delightful trinket." Then imagine his feelings when someone comes +along with the key; imagine the light flooding his brain. Similar +incidents occur in the eventful life of the constant reader. He has no +key, and never suspects that there exists such a thing as a key. That +is what I call a choice absolutely bad. + +The choice is relatively bad when, spreading over a number of books, +it pursues no order, and thus results in a muddle of faint impressions +each blurring the rest. Books must be allowed to help one another; +they must be skilfully called in to each other's aid. And that this +may be accomplished some guiding principle is necessary. "And what," +you demand, "should that guiding principle be?" How do I know? Nobody, +fortunately, can make your principles for you. You have to make them +for yourself. But I will venture upon this general observation: that +in the mental world what counts is not numbers but co-ordination. +As regards facts and ideas, the great mistake made by the average +well-intentioned reader is that he is content with the names of things +instead of occupying himself with the causes of things. He seeks +answers to the question What? instead of to the question Why? He +studies history, and never guesses that all history is caused by the +facts of geography. He is a botanical expert, and can take you to +where the _Sibthorpia europaea_ grows, and never troubles to wonder +what the earth would be without its cloak of plants. He wanders +forth of starlit evenings and will name you with unction all the +constellations from Andromeda to the Scorpion; but if you ask him why +Venus can never be seen at midnight, he will tell you that he has not +bothered with the scientific details. He has not learned that names +are nothing, and the satisfaction of the lust of the eye a trifle +compared to the imaginative vision of which scientific "details" are +the indispensable basis. + +Most reading, I am convinced, is unphilosophical; that is to say, it +lacks the element which more than anything else quickens the poetry of +life. Unless and until a man has formed a scheme of knowledge, be it +a mere skeleton, his reading must necessarily be unphilosophical. +He must have attained to some notion of the inter-relations of the +various branches of knowledge before he can properly comprehend the +branch in which he specialises. If he has not drawn an outline map +upon which he can fill in whatever knowledge comes to him, as it +comes, and on which he can trace the affinity of every part with every +other part, he is assuredly frittering away a large percentage of his +efforts. There are certain philosophical works which, once they are +mastered, seem to have performed an operation for cataract, so that +he who was blind, having read them, henceforward sees cause and effect +working in and out everywhere. To use another figure, they leave +stamped on the brain a chart of the entire province of knowledge. + +Such a work is Spencer's _First Principles_. I know that it is +nearly useless to advise people to read _First Principles_. They are +intimidated by the sound of it; and it costs as much as a dress-circle +seat at the theatre. But if they would, what brilliant stocktakings +there might be in a few years! Why, if they would only read such +detached essays as that on "Manners and Fashion," or "The Genesis of +Science" (in a sixpenny volume of Spencer's _Essays_, published +by Watts and Co.), the magic illumination, the necessary power of +"synthetising" things, might be vouch-safed to them. In any case, +the lack of some such disciplinary, co-ordinating measure will amply +explain many disastrous stocktakings. The manner in which one single +ray of light, one single precious hint, will clarify and energise the +whole mental life of him who receives it, is among the most wonderful +and heavenly of intellectual phenomena. Some men search for that light +and never find it. But most men never search for it. + +The superlative cause of disastrous stocktakings remains, and it +is much more simple than the one with which I have just dealt. It +consists in the absence of meditation. People read, and read, and +read, blandly unconscious of their effrontery in assuming that they +can assimilate without any further effort the vital essence which the +author has breathed into them. They cannot. And the proof that they do +not is shown all the time in their lives. I say that if a man does not +spend at least as much time in actively and definitely thinking about +what he has read as he has spent in reading, he is simply insulting +his author. If he does not submit himself to intellectual and +emotional fatigue in classifying the communicated ideas, and +in emphasising on his spirit the imprint of the communicated +emotions--then reading with him is a pleasant pastime and nothing +else. This is a distressing fact. But it is a fact. It is distressing, +for the reason that meditation is not a popular exercise. If a friend +asks you what you did last night, you may answer, "I was reading," and +he will be impressed and you will be proud. But if you answer, "I +was meditating," he will have a tendency to smile and you will have a +tendency to blush. I know this. I feel it myself. (I cannot offer any +explanation.) But it does not shake my conviction that the absence of +meditation is the main origin of disappointing stocktakings. + + + + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + +NOVELS + + A MAN FROM THE NORTH + ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS + LEONORA + A GREAT MAN + SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE + WHOM GOD HATH JOINED + BURIED ALIVE + THE OLD WIVES' TALE + THE GLIMPSE + HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND + CLAYHANGER + THE CARD + +FANTASIAS + + THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL + THE GATES OF WRATH + TERESA OF WATLING STREET + THE LOOT OF CITIES + HUGO + THE GHOST + THE CITY OF PLEASURE + +SHORT STORIES + + TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS + THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS + +BELLES-LETTRES + + JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN + FAME AND FICTION + HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR + THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR + THE REASONABLE LIFE + HOW TO LIVE ON TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY + THE HUMAN MACHINE + LITERARY TASTE + MENTAL EFFICIENCY + +DRAMA + + POLITE FARCES + CUPID AND COMMONSENSE + WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS + + +(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS) + + THE SINEWS OF WAR: A ROMANCE + THE STATUE: A ROMANCE + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITERARY TASTE: HOW TO FORM IT*** + + +******* This file should be named 13852.txt or 13852.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/5/13852 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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