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diff --git a/79027-0.txt b/79027-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0356978 --- /dev/null +++ b/79027-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18800 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79027 *** + + + + + TOLSTOY ON ART + + + + + [Illustration: L. N. TOLSTOY and A. P. CHEKHOV + _At Gaspra, in the Crimea, during Tolstoy’s illness in 1902_] + + + + + TOLSTOY + ON + ART + + BY + AYLMER MAUDE + + + HUMPHREY MILFORD + OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS + LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW TORONTO + MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN BOMBAY CALCUTTA + + + + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + _Press of Geo. H. Ellis Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A._ + + + + + PREFACE + + +The title of this book calls for some explanation. What is of value +in it all belongs to, or derives from, Tolstoy. Why then is it not +issued simply as a translation of Tolstoy’s essays on art? + +The case is this: When Tolstoy’s _What is Art?_ (his chief work +on the subject) appeared in 1898, it gave rise to extensive +controversy. Several critics maintained that his propositions were +incomprehensible or ridiculous. + +It happened that I had translated the book into English in personal +consultation with Tolstoy, besides exchanging a score of letters +with him discussing every point in the book that was not perfectly +plain to me. When my translation was completed and he had read it +carefully, he wrote a preface for it, in which he appealed to “all +who are interested in my views on art only to judge of them by the +work in its present shape.” He also said, “This book of mine, _What +is Art?_ appears now for the first time in its true form. More than +one edition has already been issued in Russia, but in each case it +has been mutilated by the censor.” + +I wrote a thirty-page Introduction to the book, in which I set out, +as clearly as I could, what I understood to be Tolstoy’s essential +meaning, and in reply to an attack on Tolstoy in the _Quarterly +Review_, I wrote another article--which appeared in the _Contemporary +Review_--recapitulating my understanding of the matter. Both +these essays received Tolstoy’s emphatic approval. Of the first +he wrote, “I have read your Introduction with great pleasure. You +have admirably and strongly expressed the fundamental thought of +the book,” and of the second he wrote, “Your article pleased me +exceedingly, so clearly and strongly is the fundamental thought +expressed.” + +It therefore happens that, though I had contributed no original ideas +and had merely restated Tolstoy’s views, my articles serve as a +decisive reply to those who maintained that Tolstoy meant something +he did not mean. + +As evidence of his intention, therefore, these essays are worth +reproducing. Had I let the book be published simply as a translation +of Tolstoy, while including in it so much matter of my own, I should +have been reproached for encumbering the translation with matter not +written by Tolstoy. The objections to that course seem stronger than +those to the course I have adopted; and no third way of dealing with +the matter suggested itself to me. + +The book is intended less for those who specialise in some particular +sphere or art and are satisfied with the views held by their +coterie, than for readers interested in the relation of art to life +in general, and who wish to understand why art is of importance to +mankind. + +The illustrations consist chiefly of copies of Russian pictures +mentioned by Tolstoy and which, since the Revolution, are not +readily procurable. It has not in all cases been possible to procure +first-rate reproductions but, such as they are, they show what +Tolstoy was talking about and, as he was directing attention to the +feelings they convey rather than to their technique, the quality of +the reproduction is not of primary importance. + +It is inconvenient that the name of a great writer should be spelt +in more than one way; so I take this opportunity to mention that not +only did Tolstoy write his name with a y, as did his wife and his +literary executors, but that this is in accord with the plan laid +down by the British Academy, in its “Scheme for the Transliteration +into English of words and names belonging to Russian and other +Slavonic languages.” On the Committee that dealt with this matter +were Sir Paul Vinogradoff, Dr. Hagberg Wright, Dr. Seton Watson, +Mr. Nevill Forbes, Mr. Minns, and other eminent authorities. The +agreement of Tolstoy’s own practice with the conclusions arrived at +by such a Committee should suffice to set this vexed question finally +at rest. It is indeed seldom wise to attempt to improve on a great +modern writer’s way of spelling his own name. + +This volume presents, for the first time in English, a complete +collection of Tolstoy’s essays on art, and contains some that had not +previously been translated. + +_What is Art?_, which has appeared before, gives, I think, the +most lucid statement of the nature of artistic activity and of its +relation to the rest of life, that has ever been penned. The rest +of the essays are chiefly valuable for the light they throw on the +process by which Tolstoy--himself a great artist both in fiction +and in the drama--arrived at the solution of this problem, which +had occupied his mind from his youth upwards, but which he did not +succeed in solving to his satisfaction until he had reached the age +of three score years and ten. + + AYLMER MAUDE. + + Great Baddow + Chelmsford + England + 26th September, 1924 + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PART PAGE + + I A SURVEY OF TOLSTOY’S ESSAYS ON ART (1924) 1 + + II SCHOOLBOYS AND ART (1861) 21 + + III THE LAST SUPPER (1885) 29 + + IV ON TRUTH IN ART (1887) 33 + + V “WHAT IS TRUTH?” (1890) 36 + + VI INTRODUCTION TO AMIEL’S JOURNAL (1893) 38 + + VII INTRODUCTION TO S. T. SEMËNOV’S PEASANT STORIES (1894) 43 + + VIII INTRODUCTION TO THE WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT (1894) 46 + + IX FROM A LETTER TO PETER VERIGIN, THE DOUKHOBOR LEADER (1895) 72 + + X ON ART (_c._ 1895–7) 75 + + XI AN INTRODUCTION TO “WHAT IS ART?” (1899) 91 + + XII TOLSTOY’S PREFACE TO “WHAT IS ART?” (1898) 117 + + XIII WHAT IS ART? (1898) 121 + + APPENDICES 334 + + XIV TOLSTOY’S VIEW OF ART (1900 & 1924) 358 + + XV PREFACE TO POLENZ’S NOVEL _Der Büttnerbauer_ (1902) 378 + + XVI AN AFTERWORD, BY TOLSTOY, TO CHÉKHOV’S STORY, + _Darling_ (1905) 388 + + XVII SHAKESPEARE AND THE DRAMA (1906) 393 + + XVIII A TALK ON THE DRAMA (_c._ 1907) 464 + + XIX TWO KINDS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY (1908) 466 + + XX PREFACE TO N. ORLOV’S ALBUM OF _Russian Peasants_ (1909) 468 + + APPENDIX: _Darling_ BY ANTÓN CHÉKHOV 474 + + INDEX 491 + + + + + ERRATA + + +P. 271. _For_ English Academy _read_ Royal Academy + +P. 274. Illustration “Charity.” _For_ British Academy _read_ Royal +Academy + +P. 465. Delete date at end. + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + L. N. Tolstoy and A. P. Chékhov _Frontispiece_ + _At Gaspra, in the Crimea, during Tolstoy’s + illness in 1902_ + + PAGE + “The Last Supper” 30 + _After a painting by N. N. Gay, 1863_ + + “What is Truth?” 36 + _After a painting by N. N. Gay, 1890_ + + “The Day of Judgment” 270 + _A painting by V. M. Vasnetsov in Kiev Cathedral_ + + A Sketch illustrating Turgenev’s story, “The Quail” 272 + _By V. M. Vasnetsov_ + + “Charity” 274 + _By Walter Langley, British Academy, 1897_ + + “A Triumphal Procession” 288 + _A drawing by I. N. Kramskoy_ + + “Der Salontiroler” 290 + _By Franz Defregger_ + + “The Angels at the Tomb of Christ” 298 + _By E. Manet_ + + “The Return from Work” 470 + _By N. Orlov_ + + “The Monopoly” 472 + _By N. Orlov_ + + + + + TOLSTOY ON ART + + + + + TOLSTOY ON ART + + + PART I + + A SURVEY OF TOLSTOY’S ESSAY ON ART + + +Tolstoy’s little volume _What is Art?_ being out of print in +England at present, it occurs to me that it may be well, instead +of republishing it separately, to do what has not before been done +and bring together into a single volume all Tolstoy’s writings on +art, especially as some of these which certainly deserve attention, +are not included in any of the editions of his works that have been +published in England or in America. + +Tolstoy’s views on art are often referred to, but seldom correctly +presented. In the leading British literary organ, the _Times Literary +Supplement_, of 28th April 1921, for instance, two reviewers, dealing +with different works, referred to _What is Art?_ and both of them +attributed to Tolstoy views he had never either expressed or held. A +letter in reply appeared a fortnight later in the same paper, saying: + + “Allow me to point out to the reviewer of Mr. Joad’s + _Common-Sense Ethics_ that Tolstoy never ‘came to the + conclusion that the word beauty means nothing and is useless.’ + On the contrary, _What is Art?_ furnishes evidence--were + evidence needed--that Tolstoy knew the meaning of the word and + found it useful. For instance, he says: ‘I fear it will be + urged against me that having denied that _the conception of + beauty can supply a standard_ for works of art, I contradict + myself by acknowledging ornaments to be works of art. The + reproach is unjust, for the subject-matter of all kinds + of ornamentation consists not in the beauty, but in the + _feeling_ (of admiration of and delight in the combination + of lines and colours) which the artist has experienced and + with which he infects the spectator. Art remains what it was + and what it must be: nothing but the infection by one man of + another, or of others, with the _feelings_ experienced by the + infector. Among these feelings is the feeling of delight at + what pleases the sight’.... + + “Here and elsewhere in the same book he understands and + approves of beauty, and he uses the word, as in a passage in + which he denounces exclusive art produced for a select circle + as having ‘lost its beauty,’ but he is careful _not to base + his definition of art_ on the use of the word beauty, because + that would merely substitute one problem for another, since + there is as much vagueness in the use of the word ‘beauty’ as + in that of the word ‘art.’ ‘There is no objective definition + of beauty.’ Tolstoy required a clear workable definition, and + found one which meets the case. + + “The reviewer of Mr. Hind’s _Art and I_ says: ‘Tolstoy + held that a Russian peasant, just because he was a Russian + peasant, was a born judge of art.’ This is again a flagrant + misrepresentation. What Tolstoy says is that the highest + art has been understood by simple _unperverted peasant + labourers_; there is no special claim made on behalf of + Russians. He instances the poems of Homer, admitted to be + very great art yet eagerly listened to by ‘men of those times + who were even less educated than our labourers.’ Tolstoy’s + argument is, that a perverted education may sterilize man’s + capacity to enjoy art, but that an unperverted man naturally + possesses ‘that simple feeling familiar to the plainest man + and even to a child, that sense of infection with another’s + feeling--compelling us to joy in another’s gladness, to sorrow + at another’s grief, and to mingle souls with another--which is + the very essence of art.’” + +It would be easy to multiply instances both of the attention paid to +Tolstoy’s views and of the misrepresentation of them that is still +common, but the above will suffice for the present purpose. + +Something happened at the time of the first appearance of _What +is Art?_ which hindered the due understanding of it. Among his +many reformist activities, Tolstoy wished to see the business of +publishing set on a new basis, and he assumed that it would be easy +to improve on the methods employed by the best existing publishers. +Desiring no profit from his works, he was inclined to encourage the +publishing experiments of people who professed agreement with his +social and religious views; and it happened that _What is Art?_ was +completed just at the time when a small and impecunious group calling +itself The Brotherhood Publishing Co. had started business in London, +to propagate Tolstoyan views. At his wish and at that of his friend +Tchertkoff this Brotherhood Publishing Co. was entrusted with the +first publication of the version of _What is Art?_ which I had made +from Tolstoy’s manuscript chapter by chapter in consultation with him +as he wrote. It thus happened that the manager of the Brotherhood +Publishing Co. received the work before anyone in France and, without +asking permission, supplied to a Paris periodical the chapters in +which French writers and painters of the day were drastically dealt +with. The publication of this detached portion of the book apart from +the chapters disclosing his general argument was much regretted by +Tolstoy. It had the appearance of a wilful and unprovoked attack on a +number of distinguished individuals and evoked great indignation; so +that when, shortly afterwards, the book itself appeared in France, it +was at once met by a storm of invective and denunciation. + +Now in those days French criticism led the literary world of Europe +and America, especially in regard to Russian literature, and in face +of this storm only certain of the most independent English critics +ventured to trust their own judgment and to testify to the value and +importance of Tolstoy’s work. + +During the quarter of a century that has passed since then his views +have so far penetrated the public mind that some of them are already +becoming commonplaces, but there are many indications that his +message is still far from being completely understood. + +It may be of interest to see how Tolstoy’s opinions on art grew and +developed. At the age of thirty, in February, 1858, he joined the +Moscow Society of Lovers of Russian Literature, and delivered a +lecture on “The Supremacy of the Artistic Element in Literature.” +It was never published, and has now been lost. From the record that +remains, it would seem that he argued that art should treat of what +is always beautiful and of what is as unalterable as the fundamental +laws of the soul, and that he condemned the utilization of art for +the indictment of particular social evils in one’s own age and +country. Many literary men in Russia were then much concerned about +the emancipation of the serfs, and Tolstoy seems to have suggested +that they were making art a tool, and failing to employ it in the +loftiest way. He had evidently far to travel before reaching his +ultimate conclusions. + +In the winter of 1861, when absorbed in the school he had started +for peasant children at Yásnaya Polyána, he went for a walk late one +evening with some lads of ten or twelve years of age. Their talk +turned on singing, drawing, and art in general. Tolstoy’s account +of this walk will be found in the next chapter. He says: “We began +to speak of the fact that not everything exists for use, but that +there is also beauty, and that art is beauty, and we understood one +another, and Fedka quite understood what singing is for. It feels +strange to repeat what we said then, but it seems to me that we said +all that can be said about utility, and plastic and moral beauty.” + +In another article of that period he speaks of his amazement at +finding that these young peasant boys, when relieved of the technical +and mechanical difficulties of writing by having it done for them, +could compose stories showing high artistic feeling. + +After many experiments he found that the most efficacious way of +stimulating these boys was to suggest to them interesting themes: +for instance, that they should write short stories to illustrate +popular proverbs. When they became interested in framing these +stories, it was not in the first instance they who had to do the +actual writing, but Tolstoy who wrote at their dictation. In this +way their eagerness and their creative faculty were not checked, +and it was possible quickly to point out to them wherein the real +difficulties of authorship lie. The real difficulty, to anyone +possessed of imagination and an active mind, is to select from all +the thoughts that suggest themselves those which are really most +essential to the story, to avoid repetition, and to maintain a due +proportion between the various parts. As soon as the boys found that +they really could compose stories which interested other people (and +a talented child is able to do this almost from the first if he is +judiciously advised and his exuberances checked) they naturally +became intensely eager to master the mechanical difficulties, +especially as Tolstoy was careful not to annoy them by injudicious +remarks about the tidiness of their copybooks, the quality of their +penmanship, or mere grammatical errors. A mastery of these things +can best be acquired through the boy’s desire to avoid absurdity and +to be intelligible. Tolstoy found that it merely annoys boys to be +told that a certain mistake infringes a rule of grammar. They care +nothing about grammar--they detest it. But if you put the thing +another way round, and point out to a child that what he has said is +unintelligible, or is open to misconstruction, or is not the best way +of saying the thing, he understands the common sense of that, and +learns his grammar or orthography in order to reach the result he +desires. + +Similarly with all the sciences. Things that the schoolbooks and the +pedagogues often begin with, dry classifications and unknown words, +have the effect of repelling a boy and making him withdraw into +his shell as a tortoise does at the approach of danger. The proper +way, Tolstoy says, is to begin with things the child can verify +by his own observation, and in which he can be expected to take an +intelligent interest. When he already possesses an accumulation of +facts which to him are real and interesting, he may be glad enough to +accept classification and terminology, to enable him to sort out his +facts and deal with them more easily. + +With music also this is true. Tolstoy achieved remarkable success by +avoiding the usual pedantry and compulsion, not obliging any boy to +work at it who did not like it, and helping the pupils to get quickly +at the real art of the thing in its simplest forms. + +Convinced of the artistic capacity of these lads Tolstoy declared: + + “I think the need to enjoy art and to serve art is inherent + in every human being whatever race or class he may belong to, + and that this need has its rights and should be satisfied. + Taking that position as an axiom, I say that, if the enjoyment + and production of art by every one presents inconveniences + and inconsistencies, the reason lies in the character and + direction art has taken: about which we must be on our guard + lest we foist anything false on the rising generation and lest + we prevent it from producing something new both in form and + matter.” + +He was much troubled by the lack of good books for the people, and +wrote: “Let us print good books for the people.... How simple and +easy it seems, like all great thoughts! There is only one obstacle, +namely, that there exist no good books for the people either here or +in Europe. To print such books they must first be produced, and none +of our philanthropists think of undertaking _that_ line of work.” + +This was in 1862. Twenty years later Tolstoy set himself to the +task he saw to be so necessary, and wrote that delightful series of +short and simple stories for the people, which are collected in the +volume of _Twenty-Three Tales_.[1] He also published a short play +called _The First Distiller_, adapted for performance at any country +fair or by any workers’ group, and among his posthumous plays there +is another of similar character, _The Cause of It All_. They are +both included in the volume of his _Plays_ issued in _The World’s +Classics_ series. + +It is of course harder to produce work which shall really convey +a feeling to a wide audience than it is for a writer to restrict +himself to a circle who have undergone the same training, culture, +and social experience, as himself. To reach the wide mass of humanity +the artist, in addition to real sincerity, must have the qualities of +brevity and simplicity, as one sees them exemplified in the Gospel +parables, the Old Testament stories, popular folk tales, the old +ballads, and in a lesser degree in such modern works as Dickens’ _The +Christmas Carol_. But if the achievement be difficult, its social +importance is immensely great, and nothing in modern literature in +this direction has been more successful than Tolstoy’s stories in +_Twenty-Three Tales_. They have made their way into all languages and +have been welcomed everywhere by young and old, learned and simple +alike. + +Curiously enough, the Oxford University Press edition of Tolstoy’s +works, the aim of which is to give English-speaking readers a +more readable, reliable, authoritative, and complete, rendering +of Tolstoy’s works than had previously been produced, originated +from Tolstoy’s efforts to provide good literature for the Russian +people. When the late W. T. Stead visited him at Yásnaya Polyána +they discussed the possibility of providing popular editions of the +best literature at a cheap price. Tolstoy spoke of what was being +done in that direction under his auspices in Moscow. And Stead after +his return to England issued a series of penny booklets containing +summaries of the best books. This plan aimed too high, and was not +permanently successful; but Grant Richards, who was one of Stead’s +assistants at the time, saw the possibilities in the idea and, after +starting his own business, brought out the _World’s Classics_ series, +well-printed and well-bound at a very moderate price. One of the +volumes he issued was _Essays and Letters_ by Tolstoy. The book met +with Tolstoy’s cordial approval, and of the rendering he wrote me: +“Your translations are very good because, besides having excellent +command of both languages, you also love the thoughts you transmit; +this gives me great pleasure.” Henry Frowde, who was the London +representative of the Oxford University Press, took over the series +when Grant Richards failed, and continued it. _Twenty-Three Tales_ +was the next Tolstoy volume that was added, and others followed. What +distinguishes the _World Classics_ among other series of inexpensive +books is the care devoted to the editing and to the quality of the +versions produced. In this respect it claims to be far ahead of any +other edition of Tolstoy’s works. + +Tolstoy’s marriage and the production of _War and Peace_,[2] _Anna +Karénina_[2] and the _First Russian Reading Books_ occupied him for +twenty years, during which he wrote little about the philosophy of +art, though references to art in his novels and stories indicate that +its influence on life always occupied his mind. He had previously in +_Lucern_ (1857) described an itinerant Swiss musician and expressed +indignation that the wealthy tourists who enjoyed that musician’s +art failed to contribute to his needs. A year later, in _Albert_, +he described a drunken but talented violinist he met in Petersburg. +In actual life he took Rudolph (the prototype of Albert) to Yásnaya +Polyána, and there studied music with him. + +In _War and Peace_[2] there is a striking passage dealing with the +effect of Natasha’s singing on Nicholas, when he returns home in +despair after heavy losses at cards (ch. 15, Book IV, pp. 434–5). + +Later, in 1879, in his very interesting _Confession_,[2] in the +course of a scathing denunciation of the life of the social circles +to which he belonged he says: + + “During that time I began to write from vanity, covetousness, + and pride. In my writings I did the same as in my life. To + get fame and money, for the sake of which I wrote, it was + necessary to hide the good and to display the evil. And I did + so. How often in my writings I contrived to hide under the + guise of indifference, or even of banter, those strivings + towards goodness which gave meaning to my life! And I + succeeded in this and was praised. + + “At twenty-six years of age I returned to Petersburg after the + war and met the writers. They received me as one of themselves + and flattered me. And before I had time to look round I had + adopted the views on life of the set of authors I had come + among, and these views completely obliterated all my former + strivings to improve. Those views furnished a theory which + justified the dissoluteness of my life. + + “The view of life of these people, my comrades in authorship, + consisted in this: that life in general goes on developing, + and in this development we--men of thought--have the chief + part; and among men of thought it is we--artists and + poets[3]--who have the greatest influence. Our vocation is to + teach mankind. And lest the simple question should suggest + itself: what do I know and what can I teach? it was explained + in this theory that this need not be known, and that the + artist and poet teach unconsciously. I was considered an + admirable artist and poet, and therefore it was very natural + for me to adopt this theory. I, artist and poet, wrote and + taught, without myself knowing what. For this I was paid + money; I had excellent food, lodging, women, and society, and + I had fame; which showed that what I taught was very good. + + “This faith in the meaning of poetry and in the development + of life was a religion, and I was one of its priests. To be + its priest was very pleasant and profitable. And I lived a + considerable time in this faith without doubting its validity. + But in the second, and especially in the third year of this + life, I began to doubt the infallibility of this religion + and to examine it. My first cause of doubt was that I began + to notice that the priests of this religion were not all in + accord among themselves. Some said: we are the best and most + useful teachers; we teach what is needed but the others teach + wrongly. Others said: No! we are the real teachers and _you_ + teach wrongly. And they disputed, quarrelled, abused, cheated, + and tricked one another. There were also many among us who did + not care who was right and who was wrong, but were simply bent + on attaining their covetous aims by means of this activity of + ours. All this obliged me to doubt the validity of our creed. + + “Moreover, having begun to doubt the truth of the authors’ + creed itself, I also began to observe its priests more + attentively, and I became convinced that almost all the + priests of that religion, the writers, were immoral, and for + the most part men of bad worthless character, much inferior + to those whom I had met in my former dissipated and military + life; but they were self-confident and self-satisfied as + only those can be who are quite holy or who do not know what + holiness is. These people revolted me, and I realized that + that faith was a fraud. + + “But strange to say, though I understood this fraud and + renounced it, yet I did not renounce the rank these people + gave me: the rank of artist, poet and teacher. I naïvely + imagined that I was a poet and artist and could teach + everybody without myself knowing what I was teaching, and I + acted accordingly. + + “From my intimacy with these men I acquired a new vice: + abnormally developed pride, and an insane assurance that it + was my vocation to teach men, without knowing what. + + “To remember that time and my own state of mind and that of + those men (though there are thousands like them to-day) is sad + and terrible and ludicrous, and arouses exactly the feeling + one experiences in a lunatic asylum. + + “We were all then convinced that it was necessary for us to + speak, write, and print, as quickly as possible, and that it + was all wanted for the good of humanity. And thousands of + us, contradicting and abusing one another, all printed and + wrote--teaching others. And without remarking that we knew + nothing, and that to the simplest of life’s questions: What + is good and what is evil? we did not know how to reply, we + all, not listening to one another, talked at the same time, + sometimes backing and praising one another in order to be + backed and praised in turn, sometimes getting angry with one + another--just as in a lunatic asylum. + + “Thousands of workmen laboured to the extreme limit of their + strength day and night, setting the type and printing millions + of words which the post carried all over Russia, and we still + went on teaching, and could in no way find time to teach + enough, and were always angry that sufficient attention was + not paid us. + + “It was terribly strange, but it is now quite comprehensible. + Our real innermost concern was to get as much money and + praise as possible. To gain that end we could do nothing + except write books and papers. So we did that. But in order + to do such useless work and to feel assured that we were + very important people we required a theory justifying our + activity. And so among us this theory was devised: ‘All that + exists is reasonable. All that exists develops. And it all + develops by means of culture. And culture is measured by the + circulation of books and newspapers. And we are paid money + and are respected because we write books and newspapers, and + therefore we are the most useful and the best of men.’ This + theory would have been all very well if we had been unanimous, + but as every thought expressed by one of us was met by a + diametrically opposed thought expressed by another, we ought + to have been driven to reflection. But we ignored this; people + paid us money, and those on our side praised us; so each of us + considered himself justified. + + “It is now clear to me that this was just as in a lunatic + asylum; but then I only dimly suspected this, and, like all + lunatics, simply called all men lunatics except myself.” + +And further on he says: + + “Art, poetry?... Under the influence of success and the praise + of men I had long assured myself that this was a thing one + could do though death was drawing near--death which destroys + all things, including my work and its remembrance; but soon + I saw that that too was a fraud. It was plain to me that art + was an adornment of life, an allurement to life. But life had + lost its attraction for me; so how could I attract others? + As long as I was not living my own life but was borne on the + waves of some other life--as long as I believed that life had + a meaning, though one I could not express--the reflection of + life in poetry and art of all kinds afforded me pleasure: it + was pleasant to look at life in the mirror of art. But when + I began to seek the meaning of life, and felt the necessity + of living my own life, that mirror became for me unnecessary, + superfluous, ridiculous, or painful. I could no longer soothe + myself with what I now saw in the mirror, namely, that my + position was stupid and desperate. It was all very well to + enjoy the sight when in the depth of my soul I believed that + my life had a meaning. Then the play of lights--comic, tragic, + touching, beautiful, and terrible--in life amused me. But when + I knew life to be meaningless and terrible, the play in the + mirror could no longer amuse me.” + +But it is plain that in his _Confession_ Tolstoy is not primarily +concerned with the philosophy of art. He introduces it only as part +of his scathing indictment of the life of the well-to-do classes. + +Similarly in _What Then Must We Do?_ (1884) his terrific indictment +of modern civilisation includes frequent reference to art and +science, but there is no separate discussion of art, and his main +point is that, if art is as necessary and beneficial to man as +is generally supposed, a civilization is morally indefensible +that practically excludes the mass of the people from its +enjoyment--including those who spend their whole lives in printing +books, building theatres, libraries, and picture galleries, making +paints and canvas for artists, or providing food, clothing, shelter, +fuel and conveyance, for all who devote themselves to art. If the +labourer produces material food that the artist consents to consume, +the artist should in common fairness produce mental and spiritual +food adapted for the labourer’s consumption. But we, says Tolstoy, +consume what the labourer produces for us and then write books, +sonnets, and sonatas, not for him but for one another, dishonestly +leaving his mental needs unsatisfied. That indictment, powerful as it +is, is a thing apart from Tolstoy’s elucidation of the philosophy of +art, and finds its place better in _What Then Must We Do?_ (which is +due to appear shortly in the _World’s Classics_ series) than in this +volume. + +In 1889 appeared _The Kreutzer Sonata_,[4] containing some striking +references to music. + +The opinions there expressed are put into the mouth of Pózdnyshev, +a man mentally unbalanced, who has killed his wife without any +convincing proof that his jealousy was well-grounded. Tolstoy makes +Pózdnyshev’s abnormality quite clear. He is described as terribly +nervous and excitable, “with unnaturally glittering eyes which kept +rapidly moving from one object to another.” Pózdnyshev says that he +was “on the very point of suicide”; remarks that “you can drive me to +madness. I cannot answer for myself.” We are told of “the mad animal +jealousy in him.” And he says, “I could not have said what it was I +wanted. It was downright madness!” + +His whole way of expressing himself is extreme, and granting that +Tolstoy uses him to express in exaggerated form views he himself +arrived at while writing the book, we have no right to add anything +to such emphatic utterances. + +What then does this Pózdnyshev say? He says: + + “One of the most distressing conditions of life for a + jealous man (and every one is jealous in our world) are + certain society conventions which allow a man and woman the + greatest and most dangerous proximity. You would become a + laughing-stock to others if you tried to prevent such nearness + at balls, or the nearness of doctors to their women-patients, + or of people occupied with art, sculpture, or especially + music. A couple are occupied with the noblest of arts, + music; this demands a certain nearness, and there is nothing + reprehensible in that, and only a stupid jealous husband can + see anything undesirable in it. Yet everybody knows that it is + by means of those very pursuits, especially of music, that the + greater part of the adulteries in our society occur....” + +In another passage he continues his narration: + + “The dinner was, as dinners are, dull and pretentious. The + music began pretty early. Oh, how I remember every detail + of that evening! I remember how he brought in his violin, + unlocked the case, took off a cover a lady had embroidered + for him, drew out the violin, and began tuning it. I remember + how my wife sat down with pretended unconcern, under which I + saw that she was trying to conceal great timidity--chiefly + as to her own ability--sat down at the piano, and then the + usual a on the piano began, the pizzicato of the violin, + and the arrangement of the music. Then I remember how they + glanced at one another, turned to look at the audience who + were seating themselves, said something to one another and + began. He took the first chords. His face grew serious, stern, + and sympathetic, and listening to the sounds he produced, he + touched the strings with careful fingers. The piano answered + him. The music began.... + + “They played Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata. Do you know the + first presto? You do? Ugh! Ugh! It is a terrible thing, that + sonata. And especially that part. And in general music is a + dreadful thing! What is it? I don’t understand. What is music? + What does it do? And why does it do what it does? They say + music exalts the soul. Nonsense, it is not true! It has an + effect, an awful effect--I am speaking of myself--but not of + an exalting kind. _It has neither an exalting nor a debasing + effect, but it produces agitation._ How can I put it? Music + makes me forget myself, my real position; it transports me + to some other position, not my own. Under the influence of + music it seems to me that I feel what I do not really feel, + that I understand what I do not understand, that I can do what + I cannot do. I explain it by the fact that music acts like + yawning, like laughter: I am not sleepy, but I yawn when I see + some one yawning; there is nothing for me to laugh at, but I + laugh when I hear people laughing. + + “Music carries me immediately and directly into the mental + condition in which the man was who composed it. My soul merges + with his and together with him I pass from one condition into + another; but why this happens, I don’t know. You see, he who + wrote, let us say, the Kreutzer Sonata--Beethoven--knew of + course why he was in that condition; that condition caused + him to do certain actions, and therefore that condition had a + meaning for him, but for me--none at all. That is why music + only agitates and doesn’t lead to a conclusion. Well, when + a military march is played, the soldiers step to the music + and the music has achieved its object. A dance is played, I + dance, and the music has achieved its object. Mass has been + sung, I receive Communion, and that music too has reached a + conclusion. Otherwise it is only agitating, and what ought + to be done in that agitation is lacking. That is why music + sometimes acts so dreadfully, so terribly. In China, music is + a State affair. And that is as it should be. How can one allow + anyone who pleases to hypnotize another, or many others, and + do what he likes with them. And especially that this hypnotist + should be the first immoral man who turns up? + + “It is a terrible instrument in the hands of any chance user! + Take that Kreutzer Sonata, for instance, how can that first + presto be played in a drawing-room among ladies in low-necked + dresses? To hear that played, to clap a little, and then to + eat ices and talk of the latest scandal? Such things should + only be played on certain important significant occasions, + and then only when certain actions answering to such music are + wanted; play it then and do what the music has moved you to. + Otherwise an awakening of energy and feeling unsuited both to + the time and the place, to which no outlet is given, cannot + but act harmfully. At any rate on me that piece had an awful + effect; it was as if quite new feelings, new possibilities, of + which I had till then been unaware, had been revealed to me. + ‘That’s how it is: not at all as I used to think and live, but + that way,’ something seemed to say within me. What this new + thing was that had been revealed to me, I could not explain + to myself, but the consciousness of this new condition was + very joyous. All those same people, including my wife and him, + appeared in a new light. + + “After that allegro they played the beautiful, but common and + unoriginal, andante with trite variations, and the very weak + finale. Then, at the request of the visitors, they played + Ernst’s Elegy and a few small pieces. They were all good, + but they did not produce on me one-hundredth part of the + impression the first piece had. The effect of the first piece + formed the background for them all. + + “I felt lighthearted and cheerful the whole evening. I had + never seen my wife as she was that evening. Those shining + eyes, that severe, significant expression while she played, + and her melting languor and feeble, pathetic, and blissful + smile after they had finished. I saw all that, but did not + attribute any meaning to it except that she was feeling what + I felt, and that to her as to me new feelings, never before + experienced, were revealed or, as it were, recalled. The + evening ended satisfactorily and the visitors departed.” + +Subsequently Pózdnyshev says: + + “Only then did I remember their faces that evening when, after + the Kreutzer Sonata, they played some impassioned little + piece, I don’t remember by whom impassioned to the point of + obscenity.” + +These allusions of Pózdnyshev to music have frequently been +misrepresented, owing no doubt to the title of the story. But +anyone who reads it carefully will see that he does not attribute +any dissolute influence to the _Kreutzer Sonata_. He expressly says +that it was some little piece by a composer whose name he does not +remember which was “sensual to the point of obscenity.” Of the +_Kreutzer Sonata_, and of music generally, what he says is that it +can have a “terrible” influence, because it lifts a man out of his +ordinary condition and arouses emotions which upset his balance and +expose him to various influences, which, amid certain surroundings, +may be bad. + +It is an instance of the thoughtlessness with which works of fiction +are often read, that these utterances attributed to Pózdnyshev have +been taken as an indication that Tolstoy himself regarded Beethoven’s +_Kreutzer Sonata_ as an immoral work! One should compare Pózdnyshev’s +utterances with what Tolstoy had said in _War and Peace_, when +Nicholas Rostov felt his whole mood altered by his sister’s singing, +and ceased to despair or for a time even to feel his losses. Music +in both cases lifted people out of their customary or accidental +mood, and released energies which might flow in different directions +according to circumstances. + + “Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that + was best in Rostov’s soul! And this something was apart from + everything else in the world. What were losses and Dólokhov + and words of honour?... All nonsense! One might kill and rob + and yet be happy!” + +To see more clearly what was Tolstoy’s considered opinions about +music, one must turn to _What is Art?_ p. 287: + + “Sometimes people who are together, if not hostile to one + another, are at least estranged in mood and feeling, till + perhaps a story, a performance, a picture ... but oftenest of + all music, unites them all as by an electric flash, and in + place of their former isolation and even enmity, they are all + conscious of union and mutual love. Each is glad that another + feels what he feels; glad of the communion established not + only between him and all present, but also with all now living + who will yet share the same impression; and more than that, he + feels the mysterious gladness of a communion which, reaching + beyond the grave, unites us with all men of the past who have + been moved by the same feelings and with all men of the future + who will yet be touched by them.” + +That passage effectually disposes of the suggestion that Tolstoy +regarded the normal effects of music as harmful. + +Tolstoy felt that all art, by its power to sway man’s feelings, +contains much that is dangerous and terrible as well as much that is +necessary and ennobling, but one cannot read _What is Art?_ without +recognizing how strongly he felt the beneficial effect music may have. + +Besides these references in his novels and stories before he had +fully cleared the matter up in his own mind and had expressed it in +_What is Art?_ Tolstoy dealt with various aspects of the matter, +more particularly from the ethical side, in a series of articles, +most of which aimed at drawing attention to stories or pictures of +which he specially approved. Among the earliest of these were a note +to accompany a reproduction of his friend Gay’s picture, _The Last +Supper_,--a very simple account of the incident depicted, and an +article _On Truth in Art_, which served as preface to a book intended +for children; these were followed by an important and discriminating +preface to Guy de Maupassant’s works which greatly interested +Tolstoy, and by an appreciative preface to Semënov’s Peasant Stories. +After these came an essay _On Art_, in which Tolstoy attempted +to deal with the general philosophy of the matter, but he was +dissatisfied with this attempt and withheld it from publication till +the matter had completely cleared itself up in his mind, and he had +expressed it in _What is Art?_ in a way that seemed to him adequate. + +When _What is Art?_ appeared, Bernard Shaw wrote: “This book is a +most effective booby trap. It is written with so utter a contempt for +the objections which the routine critic is sure to allege against +it that many a dilettantist reviewer has already accepted it as a +butt set up by Providence.... Whoever is really conversant with art +recognizes in it the voice of the master.” And Mr. A. B. Walkley +said: “This calmly and cogently reasoned effort to put art on a new +basis is a literary event of the first importance.” Now the “booby +trap” of which Shaw speaks can be tried in this way. Induce some +friend--preferably one interested in art, or who has preconceived +opinions on the subject,--to read Tolstoy’s book, and if you find +that on reading it he concentrates on the dross he can find in it +and devotes himself to points and examples he can disagree with, +while remaining blind to the gold it contains, you have caught your +booby! For there is much gold to be found in it, and the gold is more +valuable than the dross. + +Before that (in 1893) he had published a preface to a translation of +extracts from Amiel’s _Journal_. Later he wrote prefaces to a Russian +translation of W. von Polenz’s German novel, _Der Büttnerbauer_ (in +1902), and to Chékhov’s story, _Darling_ (in 1905), and notes to +reproductions of _Orlóv’s Pictures of Peasant Life_ (in 1909). + +Besides these, in his last years, he wrote his highly controversial +article _On Shakespeare_, in 1906, of which one may say that, though +he read English with facility, Tolstoy was not so at home in our +language that he could be “enchanted by the mere word music that +makes Shakespeare so irresistible in English,” to borrow a phrase +from Bernard Shaw. But Tolstoy’s experience as a dramatist caused +him to acknowledge that “the movement of feeling, its increase, +alteration, and the combination of many contradictory feelings, are +often expressed truly and strongly in some of Shakespeare’s scenes. +And when performed by good actors this evokes, at least for a time, +sympathy with the characters presented. Shakespeare, himself an actor +and a clever man, knew how to express not by speech only but by +exclamations, gestures, and the repetition of words, the spiritual +conditions and variations of feeling that occur in the characters he +presents in his plays. So, for instance, in many places Shakespeare’s +characters, instead of uttering words, only exclaim or weep, or in +the middle of a monologue often show by a gesture the strain of their +position (as when Lear says ‘Pray you undo this button’), or in a +moment of strong emotion they repeat a question, and cause a word +that has struck them to be repeated, as is done by Othello, Macduff, +Cleopatra, and others. Similar clever methods of revealing the +movements of feeling, furnishing good actors with opportunities of +showing their powers, have often been mistaken, and are mistaken, by +many critics for the presentation of character.” + +Apart from this practical mastery of stage-craft, which gives actors +and actresses such great opportunities, Tolstoy denies the claims +usually made on behalf of Shakespeare as a thinker or a faithful +presenter of characters true to life. He gives reasons, examples, +and instances, for his opinion, and if he is in error it should not +be difficult for Shakespeare-lovers to furnish as closely reasoned a +reply. All that need here be said is that, knowing what a strongly +established opinion he was challenging, he perhaps emphasised his +statement the more--for moderation was never a characteristic of his. + +There is some indication that he was conscious of another side of the +case, for once, when his friend, A. P. Chékhov, came to see him when +he was ill in bed, he pressed the latter’s hand at parting and said, +“Good-bye, Anton Pávlovich. You know how fond I am of you, and how I +detest Shakespeare. Still, he did write plays better than you do.” + +_A Talk on the Drama_ has been added, which is taken from I. +Tenerómo’s _Life and Talks of L. N. Tolstoy_ (St. Petersburg, +undated, but _c._ 1907). This bears many signs of authenticity, +corresponds with what one knows of Tolstoy’s views, and seems +sufficiently interesting to justify its inclusion. + +In an Appendix is given a translation of Chékhov’s _Darling_, that +readers of Tolstoy’s preface to that work may see what he was writing +about. + + + + + PART II + + SCHOOLBOYS AND ART + + The following account of Tolstoy’s walk with boys from his + school at Yásnaya Polyána is taken from Chapter VIII, The + Schools, in Aylmer Maude’s _Life of Tolstoy_, Volume 1, + (Constable, London). It shows how Tolstoy, for the second + time, found himself faced by the question: What is Art? which + had arisen when he spoke to the Society of Lovers of Russian + Literature. This time it was put to him by a ten-year-old + peasant boy, and it then seemed to him that “we said all that + can be said about utility and plastic and moral beauty.” + + +The classes generally finish about eight or nine o’clock (unless +carpentering keeps the elder boys somewhat later), and the whole band +run shouting into the yard, and there, calling to one another, begin +to separate, making for different parts of the village. Occasionally +they arrange to coast down-hill to the village in a large sledge that +stands outside the gate. They tie up the shafts, throw themselves +into it, and squealing, disappear from sight in a cloud of snow, +leaving here and there on their path black patches of children +who have tumbled out. In the open air, out of school (for all its +freedom), new relations are formed between pupil and teacher: freer, +simpler and more trustful--those very relations which seem to us the +ideal which School should aim at. + +Not long ago we read Gógol’s story _Viy_[5] in the highest class. The +final scenes affected them strongly, and excited their imagination. +Some of them played the witch, and kept alluding to the last +chapters.... + +Out of doors it was a moonless winter night, with clouds in the sky, +not cold. We stopped at the crossroads. The elder boys, in their +third year at school, stopped near me asking me to accompany them +further. The younger ones looked at us and rushed off down-hill. They +had begun to learn with a new master, and between them and me there +is not the same confidence as between the older boys and myself. + +“Well, let us go to the wood” (a small wood about one hundred and +twenty yards from the house), said one of them. The most insistent +was Fédka, a boy of ten, with a tender, receptive, poetic yet daring +nature. Danger seems to form the chief condition of pleasure for him. +In summer it always frightened me to see how he, with two other boys, +would swim out into the very middle of the pond, which is nearly one +hundred and twenty yards wide, and would now and then disappear in +the hot reflection of the summer sun and swim under water; and how he +would then turn on his back, causing fountains of water to rise, and +calling with his high-pitched voice to his comrades on the bank to +see what a fine fellow he was. + +He now knew there were wolves in the wood, and so he wanted to go +there. All agreed; and the four of us went to the wood. Another boy, +a lad of twelve, physically and morally strong, whom I will call +Sëmka, went on in front and kept calling and “ah-ou-ing” with his +ringing voice, to some one at a distance. Prónka, a sickly, mild, and +very gifted lad, from a poor family (sickly probably chiefly from +lack of food), walked by my side. Fédka walked between me and Sëmka, +talking all the time in a particularly gentle voice: now relating +how he had herded horses in summer, now saying there was nothing to +be afraid of, and now asking, “Suppose one should jump out?” and +insisting on my giving some reply. We did not go into the wood: that +would have been too dreadful; but even where we were, near the wood, +it was darker, the road was scarcely visible, and the lights of the +village were hidden from view. Sëmka stopped and listened: “Stop, you +fellows! What is this?” said he suddenly. + +We were silent and, though we heard nothing, things seemed to grow +more gruesome. + +“What shall we do if it leaps out ... and comes at us?” asked Fédka. + +We began to talk about Caucasian robbers. They remembered a Caucasian +tale I had told them long ago, and I again told them of “braves,” +of Cossacks, and of Hadji Murad.[6] Sëmka went on in front, +treading boldly in his big boots, his broad back swaying regularly. +Prónka tried to walk by my side, but Fédka pushed him off the +path, and Prónka--who, probably on account of his poverty, always +submitted--only ran up alongside at the most interesting passages, +sinking in the snow up to his knees. + +Everyone who knows anything of Russian peasant children knows +that they are not accustomed to, and cannot bear, any caresses, +affectionate words, kisses, hand-touchings, and so forth. I have +seen a lady in a peasant school, wishing to pet a boy, say: “Come, +I will give you a kiss, dear!” and actually kiss him; and the boy +was ashamed and offended, and could not understand why he had been +so treated. Boys of five are already above such caresses--they are +no longer babies. I was therefore particularly struck when Fédka, +walking beside me, at the most terrible part of the story suddenly +touched me lightly with his sleeve, and then clasped two of my +fingers in his hand, and kept hold of them. As soon as I stopped +speaking, Fédka demanded that I should go on, and did this in such a +beseeching and agitated voice that it was impossible not to comply +with his wish. + +“Now then, don’t get in the way!” said he once angrily to Prónka, +who had run in front of us. He was so carried away as even to be +cruel; so agitated yet happy was he, holding on to my fingers, that +he could let no one dare to interrupt his pleasure. + +“More! More! It is fine!” said he. + +We had passed the wood and were approaching the village from the +other end. + +“Let’s go on,” said all the boys when the lights became visible. “Let +us take another turn!” + +We went on in silence, sinking here and there in the snow, not +hardened by much traffic. A white darkness seemed to sway before our +eyes; the clouds hung low, as though something had heaped them upon +us. There was no end to that whiteness, amid which we alone crunched +along the snow. The wind sounded through the bare tops of the aspens, +but where we were, behind the woods, it was calm. + +I finished my story by telling how a “brave,” surrounded by his +enemies, sang his death-song and threw himself on his dagger. All +were silent. + +“Why did he sing a song when he was surrounded?” asked Sëmka. + +“Weren’t you told?--he was preparing for death!” replied Fédka, +aggrieved. + +“I think he said a prayer,” added Prónka. + +All agreed. Fédka suddenly stopped. + +“How was it, you told us, your Aunt had her throat cut?” asked he. +(He had not yet had enough horrors.) “Tell us! Tell us!” + +I again told them that terrible story of the murder of the Countess +Tolstoy,[7] and they stood silently about me watching my face. + +“The fellow got caught!” said Sëmka. + +“He was afraid to go away in the night, while she was lying with her +throat cut!” said Fédka; “I should have run away!” and he gathered my +two fingers yet more closely in his hand. + +We stopped in the thicket beyond the threshing-floor at the very end +of the village. Sëmka picked up a dry stick from the snow and began +striking it against the frosty trunk of a lime tree. Hoar frost +fell from the branches on to our caps, and the noise of the blows +resounded in the stillness of the wood. + +“Lëv Nikoláevich,” said Fédka to me (I thought he was again going +to speak about the Countess), “why does one learn singing? I often +think, why, really, does one?” + +What made him jump from the terror of the murder to this question +heaven only knows; yet by the tone of his voice, the seriousness with +which he demanded an answer, and the attentive silence of the other +two, one felt that there was some vital and legitimate connection +between this question and our preceding talk. Whether the connection +lay in some response to my suggestion that crime might be explained +by lack of education (I had spoken of that), or whether he was +testing himself--transferring himself into the mind of the murderer +and remembering his own favourite occupation (he has a wonderful +voice and immense musical talent), or whether the connection lay in +the fact that he felt that now was the time for sincere conversation, +and all the problems demanding solution rose in his mind--at any rate +his question surprised none of us. + +“And what is drawing for? And why write well?” said I, not knowing at +all how to explain to him what art is for. + +“What is drawing for?” repeated he thoughtfully. He really was +asking, What is Art for? And I neither dared nor could explain. + +“What is drawing for?” said Sëmka. “Why, you draw anything, and can +then make it from the drawing.” + +“No, that is designing,” said Fédka. “But why draw figures?” + +Sëmka’s matter-of-fact mind was not perplexed. + +“What is a stick for, and what is a lime tree for?” said he, still +striking the tree. + +“Yes, what is a lime tree for?” said I. + +“To make rafters of,” replied Sëmka. + +“But what is it for in summer, when not yet cut down?” + +“It’s no use then.” + +“No, really,” insisted Fédka; “why does a lime tree grow?” + +And we began to speak of the fact that not everything exists for +use, but that there is also beauty, and that Art is beauty; and we +understood one another, and Fédka quite understood why the lime tree +grows and what singing is for. + +Prónka agreed with us, but he thought rather of moral beauty: +goodness. + +Sëmka understood with his big brain, but did not acknowledge beauty +apart from usefulness. He was in doubt (as often happens to men with +great reasoning power): feeling Art to be a force, but not feeling in +his soul the need of that force. He, like them, wished to get at Art +by his reason, and tried to kindle that fire in himself. + +“We’ll sing _Who hath_ to-morrow. I remember my part,” said he. (He +has a correct ear, but no taste or refinement in singing.) Fédka, +however, fully understood that the lime tree is good when in leaf: +good to look at in summer; and that that is enough. + +Prónka understood that it is a pity to cut it down, because it, too, +has life: + +“Why, when we take the sap of a lime, it’s like taking blood.” + +Sëmka, though he did not say so, evidently thought that there was +little use in a lime when it was sappy. + +It feels strange to repeat what we then said, but it seems to me that +we said all that can be said about utility, and plastic and moral +beauty. + +We went on to the village. Fédka still clung to my hand; now, it +seemed to me, from gratitude. We all were nearer one another that +night than we had been for a long time. Prónka walked beside us along +the broad village street. + +“See, there is still a light in Masánov’s house,” said he. “As I was +going to school this morning, Gavrúka was coming from the pub, as +dru-u-nk as could be! His horse all in a lather and he beating it! I +am always sorry for such things. Really, why should it be beaten?” + +“And the other day, coming from Túla, my daddy gave his horse the +reins,” said Sëmka; “and it took him into a snowdrift, and there he +slept--quite drunk.” + +“And Gavrúka kept on beating his horse over the eyes, and I felt so +sorry,” repeated Prónka again. “Why should he beat it? He got down +and just flogged it.” + +Sëmka suddenly stopped. + +“Our folk are already asleep,” said he, looking in at the window of +his crooked, dirty hut. “Won’t you walk a little longer?” + +“No.” + +“Go-o-od-bye, Lëv Nikoláevich!” shouted he suddenly, and tearing +himself away from us as it were with an effort, he ran to the house, +lifted the latch and disappeared. + +“So you will take each of us home? First one and then the other?” +said Fédka. + +We went on. There was a light in Prónka’s hut, and we looked in at +the window. His mother, a tall and handsome but toil-worn woman, with +black eyebrows and eyes, sat at the table, peeling potatoes. In the +middle of the hut hung a cradle. Prónka’s brother, the mathematician +from our second class, was standing at the table, eating potatoes +with salt. It was a black, tiny, and dirty hut. + +“What a plague you are!” shouted the mother at Prónka. “Where have +you been?” + +Prónka glanced at the window with a meek, sickly smile. His mother +guessed that he had not come alone, and her face immediately assumed +a feigned expression that was unpleasant. + +Only Fédka was left. + +“The travelling tailors are at our house, that is why there’s a light +there,” said he in the softened voice that had come to him that +evening. “Good-bye, Lëv Nikoláevich!” added he, softly and tenderly, +and he began to knock with the ring attached to the closed door. “Let +me in!” his high-pitched voice rang out amid the winter stillness +of the village. It was long before they opened the door for him. I +looked in at the window. The hut was a large one. The father was +playing cards with a tailor, and some copper coins lay on the table. +The wife, Fédka’s stepmother, was sitting near the torch-stand, +looking eagerly at the money. The young tailor, a cunning drunkard, +was holding his cards on the table, bending them, and looking +triumphantly at his opponent. Fédka’s father, the collar of his shirt +unbuttoned, his brow wrinkled with mental exertion and vexation, +changed one card for another, and waved his horny hand in perplexity +above them. + +“Let me in!” + +The woman rose and went to the door. + +“Good-bye!” repeated Fédka, once again. “Let us always have such +walks!” + + + + + PART III + + THE LAST SUPPER + + _Letter-press to accompany a Half-tone Reproduction of N. N. Gay’s + Picture, “The Last Supper.”_ + + John XIII, v. 1–35 inclusive. + + Jesus said: “Ye have heard that it was said, Thou shalt love thy + neighbor, and hate thine enemy: but I say unto you, Love your + enemies....” + + +At the last supper Jesus showed this by his acts. + +Having washed the feet of his twelve disciples, he said: “I have +given you an example, that ye also should do as I have done to you.” + +What had Jesus done, and what was the example he gave to his +disciples? + +When after supper Jesus began to wash the feet of his disciples and +Simon Peter wished to oppose it, Jesus said to him: “What I do thou +knowest not now; but thou shalt understand hereafter. Ye are clean +but not all.” + +Neither Simon Peter nor the other disciples then understood why he +said this. Only Judas Iscariot understood what Jesus was doing when, +kneeling before him, he washed his feet. + +Having washed the feet of his betrayer, Jesus rose, put on his +garment, and having again sat down, said: “Know ye what I have done +to you? Ye call me Master, and ye say well; for so I am.” + +But they, not knowing that Judas was a traitor, did not understand +what he had done and what he was teaching them. + +Then, being troubled in spirit, Jesus said: “Verily, verily, I say +unto you, that one of you shall betray me.” + +And again they did not understand what he was doing or what he was +saying to them. They only looked at one another seeking to discover +of whom he spoke. + +Meanwhile the beloved disciple of Jesus was reclining on his bosom. +And Simon Peter, raising himself, beckoned to the beloved disciple +that he should ask the teacher of whom he spoke. + +And the beloved disciple, leaning back on Jesus’ breast, asked him. + +But Jesus did not give a direct reply, knowing that if he named his +enemy the disciples would be indignant and would want to punish the +traitor. + +Wishing not to destroy but to save Judas, Jesus, instead of replying, +reached out his hand, took a piece of bread, and said softly: “He it +is for whom I shall dip the sop and give it him,” and when he had +given the sop to Judas he said: “What thou doest do quickly.” + +The disciples, having heard this, thought that Jesus was sending +Judas into the town to buy what was needed for the feast. + +But Judas understood that Jesus was saving him from the wrath of the +disciples, and immediately arose. + +That is what is shown in the picture. + +The beloved disciple, John, is the only one who knows who is the +traitor. + + [Illustration: “THE LAST SUPPER” + _After a painting by N. N. Gay, 1863_] + +He leaps up from his seat and stares at Judas. He does not +understand, does not believe that a living man can hate one who so +loves him. He is sorry for the unfortunate man and terrified for him. +Simon Peter guesses the truth from John’s look, and turns his eyes +now on John, now on Jesus, and now on the betrayer; and in his ardent +heart anger and desire to defend his beloved teacher flame up. + +Judas has risen, gathered up his garment, thrown it around him, and +taken the first step, but his eyes cannot turn away from the saddened +face of the teacher. There is still time. He can still turn back and +fall at his feet confessing his sin, but the devil already possesses +his heart. + +“Do not submit!” he says to him. “Do not yield to weakness, do not +subject yourself to reproaches from the proud disciples. They are +looking at you and only awaiting a chance to humiliate you. Go!” + +Jesus lies leaning on his arm. He is not looking, but sees all, and +knows what is going on in Judas’ heart, and he waits and suffers on +his account. He pities the son of perdition. Jesus with his own hand +has fed his enemy, washed his feet, saved him from human punishment, +and until the end calls him to repentance and forgives him. Yet Judas +does not return to him. + +And Jesus grieves for Judas, and for all who do not come to him. + +Judas went out and hid himself in the darkness of the night. + +Hardly had the door closed before the disciples all realized who the +betrayer was. They are agitated and indignant. Peter wants to run +after him. But Jesus raises his head and says: “Little children, yet +a little while I am with you. A new commandment I give unto you, +that ye love one another; even as I have loved you, that ye love +one another. By this shall it be known that ye are my disciples, +if ye have love one to another.” And only then did Simon Peter and +the other ten understand what Jesus had done. Only then did they +understand that having all his life long shown them an example of +love of one’s neighbour, he has now given an example of love of one’s +enemy. + +To the last moment he loved and pitied Judas, his enemy, called him +to himself and despite his unrepentance saved him from the anger of +the disciples. + + + + + PART IV + + ON TRUTH IN ART + + _Preface to a Miscellany, “The Flower Garden,” for Children._ + + “O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good + things? for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth + speaketh. The good man out of his good treasure bringeth + forth good things: and the evil man out of his evil treasure + bringeth forth evil things. And I say unto you, that every + idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account + thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be + justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.” (Matt. + xii, 34–37.) + + +In this book besides stories in which true occurrences are narrated +there are also stories, traditions, proverbs, legends, fables, and +fairy tales, that have been composed and written for man’s benefit. + +We have chosen such as we consider to be in accord with Christ’s +teaching, and therefore regard as good and truthful. + +Many people, especially children, when reading a story, fairy-tale, +legend, or fable, ask first of all: “Is it true?” and if they see +that what is described could not have happened, they often say: “Oh, +this is mere fancy, it isn’t true.” + +Those who judge so, judge amiss. + +Truth will be known not by him who knows only what has been, is, and +really happens, but by him who recognizes what should be, according +to the will of God. + +He does not write the truth who describes only what has happened, and +what this or that man has done, but he who shows what people do that +is right, that is, in accord with God’s will, and what people do +wrong, that is, contrary to God’s will. + +Truth is a path. Christ said, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” + +And so he will not know the truth who looks down at his feet, but he +who discerns by the sun which way to go. + +All verbal compositions are good and necessary not when they describe +what has happened, but when they show what ought to be; not when they +tell what people have done, but when they set a value on what is good +and evil--when they show men the narrow path of God’s will, which +leads to life. + +And in order to show that path one must not describe merely what +happens in the world. The world abides in evil and is full of +offence. If one is to describe the world as it is, one will describe +much evil and the truth will be lacking. In order that there may be +truth in what one describes, it is necessary to write not about what +is, but about what should be; to write not the truth of what is, but +of the kingdom of God which is drawing nigh unto us, but is not as +yet. That is why there are mountains of books in which we are told +what really has happened or might have happened, yet they are all +false if those who write them do not themselves know what is good +and what is evil, and do not know and do not show the one path which +leads to the kingdom of God. And there are fairy-tales, parables, +fables, legends in which marvellous things are described which never +happened, or ever could happen, and these legends, fairy-tales and +fables are true because they show wherein the will of God has always +been, and is, and will be: they show the truth of the kingdom of God. + +There may be a book, and there are indeed many novels and stories, +that describe how a man lives for his passions, suffers, torments +others, endures danger and want, schemes, struggles with others, +escapes from his poverty, and at last is united with the object of +his love and becomes distinguished, rich, and happy. Such a book, +even if everything described in it really happened, and though there +were in it nothing improbable, would nevertheless be false and +untrue, because a man who lives for himself and his passions, however +beautiful his wife may be and however distinguished and rich he +becomes, cannot be happy. + +And there may be a legend of how Christ and his apostles walked on +earth and went to a rich man, and the rich man would not receive him, +and they went to a poor widow, and she received him. And then he +commanded a barrel full of gold to roll to the rich man and sent a +wolf to the poor widow to eat up her last calf, and it might prove a +blessing for the widow, and be bad for the rich man. + +Such a story is totally improbable, because nothing of what is +described ever happened or could happen; but it may all be true +because in it is shown what always should be--what is good and what +is evil, and what a man should strive after in order to do the will +of God. + +No matter what wonders are described, or what animals may talk in +human language, what flying carpets may carry people from place to +place, the legends, parables, or fairy-tales will be true if there +is in them the truth of the kingdom of God. And if that truth is +lacking, then everything described, however well attested, will be +false, because it lacks the truth of the kingdom of God. Christ +himself spoke in parables, and his parables have remained eternally +true. He only added, “Take heed, how ye hear.” + + + + + PART V[8] + + WHAT IS TRUTH? + + +It was in 1890 that N. N. Gay painted the well-known picture of +Tolstoy in his room at Yásnaya Polyána. + +The picture which aroused most interest at Yásnaya that year, +however, was not a portrait of Tolstoy, but Gay’s “What is Truth?” +which had been exhibited in Petersburg early in the year and +prohibited. After being exhibited privately, Gay brought it to show +to Tolstoy, on whom it made a deep impression. + +Already in January, when Gay had sent him a drawing of it, Tolstoy +had written to him: + + “I am always thinking about you and your picture. I am longing + to hear how it is received. I am troubled over the figure of + Pilate which, with that arm, seems wrong somehow. I don’t say + it is, I only ask. If the connoisseurs say that that figure is + correct, I shall be satisfied. About the rest I know, and have + no need to ask anyone’s opinion.” + +Though Tolstoy knew very well that Pilate’s arm was not well drawn, +he was immensely pleased with the treatment of the subject and the +thought and feeling expressed. Feinermann tells us: + + “Leo Tolstoy, when he saw that painting, was so shaken and + agitated that for days after he could hardly speak of anything + else. + + [Illustration: “WHAT IS TRUTH?” + _After a painting by N. N. Gay, 1890_] + + “‘I am in raptures,’ he said. ‘That’s a master! I confess + that I myself only now understand the deep and true meaning + of that short passage which always appeared to me, as it has + to all the Bible commentators, unfinished and abrupt. Pilate + asked, “What is Truth?” and then went out to the crowd without + waiting for a reply. And everybody reads and understands it + that way. But this picture gives a different interpretation. + Pilate does not _ask_ what truth is, expecting a reply. No! + in the form of a question he contemptuously _replies_! When + Christ says that he has come into the world as a witness of + Truth, Pilate with a laugh and a contemptuous gesture throws + the words carelessly at him: “And what _is_ Truth? Truth + is a relative thing; everybody takes it his own way!” and, + evidently considering his retort decisive, he went out to + the crowd. That is the light in which the moment is seized. + It is new, it is profound, and how strongly and clearly the + picture expresses it! That fat shaven neck of the Roman + Governor, that half-turned, large, well-fed, sensual body, + that out-stretched arm with its gesture of contempt--are all + splendid--it is alive. It breathes and impresses itself on + the memory for ever. And the face.... Together with all the + dignity of that Roman figure there goes a slavish anxiety + about himself: the mean trepidation of a petty soul. He is + afraid he may be denounced at Rome.... And this smallness of + soul is wonderfully caught by Gay, and notwithstanding the + toga, and his height, and his majestic pose, Pilate appears so + petty before the wornout sufferer who has undergone during the + night arrest, judgment, and insults.... A wonderful picture! + That is the way to paint!’ + + “Gay, touched and deeply moved by Tolstoy’s delight, embraced + and kissed him, and said: ‘Do not praise it.... You will + praise me so that I shall become proud. I am afraid of + that.... I shan’t be able to paint!’” + + + + + PART VI + + INTRODUCTION TO AMIEL’S “JOURNAL.” + + +About eighteen months ago I chanced for the first time to read +Amiel’s book, _Fragments d’un journal intime_. I was struck by +the importance and profundity of its contents, the beauty of its +presentation, and above all by the sincerity of this book. + +While reading it I marked the passages which specially struck me. My +daughter[9] undertook to translate these passages and in this way +these extracts from _Fragments d’un journal intime_ were formed: +that is to say, they are extracts from the whole many-volumed diary +Amiel wrote day by day during thirty years, much of which remained +unprinted. + +Henri Amiel was born at Geneva in 1821, and was soon left an orphan. +Having completed a course of higher education at Geneva, Amiel went +abroad and spent some years at the universities of Heidelberg and +Berlin. Returning in 1849 to his native land he, a young man of 28, +obtained a professorship at the Geneva Academy, first of Esthetics +and afterwards of Philosophy, which he held till his death. + +Amiel’s whole life was passed at Geneva, where he died in 1881, in no +way distinguished from the large number of those ordinary professors +who, mechanically compiling their lectures from the latest books on +their specialities, pass them on in an equally mechanical way to +their hearers, and from the yet greater number of writers of verse +lacking in substance, who supply these wares, which though no one +needs them are still sold by tens of thousands in the periodicals +that are published. + +Amiel had not the slightest success either in the academic or +literary field. When he was already approaching old age he wrote of +himself as follows: + + “What have I been able to extract from the gifts bestowed upon + me, and from the special circumstances of my life of half-a- + century? What have I drawn from my soil? Is all my scribbling + collected together--my correspondence, _these thousands of + sincere pages_, my lectures, my articles, my verses, my various + memoranda--anything but a collection of dry leaves? To whom and + for what have I been of use? And will my name live for even a + day after me, and will it have any meaning for anyone? An + insignificant, empty life! _Vie nulle!_” + +Two well-known French authors have written on Amiel and his _Journal_ +since his death--his friend, the well-known critic, E. Scherer, and +the philosopher Caro. It is interesting to note the sympathetic but +rather patronizing tone in which both these writers refer to Amiel, +regretting that he lacked the qualities necessary for the production +of real works. Yet the real works of these two writers--the critical +works of Scherer and the philosophical works of Caro--will hardly +long outlive their authors, while the accidental, unreal work of +Amiel, his _Journal_, will always remain a living book, needed by men +and fruitfully affecting them. + +For a writer is precious and necessary for us only to the extent to +which he reveals to us the inner labour of his soul--supposing, of +course, that his work is new and has not been done before. Whatever +he may write--a play, a learned work, a story, a philosophic +treatise, lyric verse, a criticism, a satire--what is precious to us +in an author’s work is only that inner labour of his soul, and not +the architectural structure in which usually, and I think always, +distorting it, he packs his thoughts and feelings. + +All that Amiel poured into a ready mould: his lectures, treatises, +poems, are dead; but his _Journal_, where, without thinking of +the form, he only talked to himself, is full of life, wisdom, +instruction, consolation, and will ever remain one of those best of +all books which have been left to us accidentally by such men as +Marcus Aurelius, Pascal, and Epictetus. + +Pascal says: “There are only three kinds of people: those who, having +found God, serve Him; those who, not having found Him, are engaged in +seeking Him, and those who, though they have not found Him, do not +seek Him. + +“The first are sensible and happy; the last are senseless and +unhappy; the second are unhappy, but sensible.” + +I think that the contrast Pascal makes between the first and the +second groups, between those who, as he says in another place, having +found God, serve Him with their whole heart, and those who, not +having found Him, seek Him with their whole heart, is not only not so +great as he thought, but does not exist at all. I think that those +who with their whole heart and with suffering (_en gémissant_, as +Pascal says) seek God, are already serving Him. They are serving Him +because by the suffering they endure in their search they are laying, +and revealing to others, the road to God, as Pascal himself did in +his _Pensées_, and as Amiel did all his life in his _Journal_. + +Amiel’s whole life, as presented to us in this _Journal_, is +full of this suffering and whole-hearted search for God. And the +contemplation of this search is the more instructive because it never +ceases to be a search, never becomes settled, and never passes into +a consciousness of having attained the truth, or into a teaching. +Amiel is not saying either to himself or to others, “I now know the +truth--hear me!” On the contrary it seems to him, as is natural +to one who is sincerely seeking truth, that the more he knows the +more he needs to know, and he unceasingly does all he can to learn +more and more of truth, and is therefore constantly aware of his +ignorance. He is continually speculating on what Christianity and the +condition of a Christian should be, never for a moment pausing on the +thought that Christianity is the very thing that he is professing, +and that he is himself realizing the condition of a Christian. And +yet the whole _Journal_ is full of expressions of the most profound +Christian understanding and feeling. And these expressions act +on the reader with special force just by their unconsciousness +and sincerity. He is talking to himself, not thinking that he is +overheard, neither attempting to appear convinced of what he is not +convinced of, nor hiding his sufferings and his search. + +It is as if one were present without a man’s knowledge at the most +secret, profound, impassioned inner working of his soul, usually +hidden from an outsider’s view. + +And therefore while one may find many more shapely and elegant +expressions of religious feeling than Amiel’s, it is difficult to +find any more intimate or more heart-searching. Not long before his +death, knowing that his illness might any day end in strangulation, +he wrote: + +“When you no longer dream that you have at your disposal tens of +years, a year, or a month, when you already reckon in tens of hours +and the coming night brings with it the menace of the unknown, +obviously one renounces art, science, politics, and is content to +talk with oneself, and that is possible up to the very end. This +inner conversation is the only thing left to him who is sentenced +to death but whose execution is delayed. He (this condemned man) +concentrates within himself. He no longer emits rays, but only talks +with his own soul. He no longer acts, but contemplates.... Like a +hare he returns to his lair, and that lair is his conscience, his +thought. As long as he can hold a pen and has a moment of solitude he +concentrates before that echo of himself, and holds converse with God. + +“This is however not a moral investigation, not a repentance, not an +appeal; it is only an ‘Amen’ of submission. + +“‘My child, give me thine heart.’ + +“Renunciation and agreement are less difficult for me than for +others, because I want nothing. I should only like not to suffer. +Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane prayed for that same thing. Let us +say with him: ‘Nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done!’ and +let us wait.” + +Such was he on the eve of his death. He is not less sincere and +serious throughout his _Journal_, in spite of the elegance, and (in +passages) apparent choiceness of his phrasing, which had become +a habit with him. In the course of the whole thirty years of his +_Journal_ he felt what we all so carefully forget--that we are all +sentenced to death and our execution is only deferred. And that is +why this book is so sincere, serious, and useful. + + + + + PART VII + + INTRODUCTION TO S. T. SEMËNOV’S PEASANT STORIES + + +I long ago laid down for myself the rule of judging every artistic +production from three aspects, first from the side of its content; in +how far is that which the artist reveals from a new side important +and necessary for man; for any production is, I think, a work of +art only if it reveals a new side of life: secondly, in how far +is the form of the work good, beautiful, and in accord with its +contents: and thirdly, to what extent is the relation of the artist +to his subject sincere, that is, in how far does he believe in what +he presents to us. This last quality always seems to me the most +important in artistic work. It gives its force to a work of art, and +makes it infectious, that is, it evokes in the spectator, the hearer, +or the reader those feelings which the artist himself experiences. + +And Semënov possesses that quality in the highest degree. + +There is a well-known story of Flaubert’s which Turgenev has +translated, _La légende de Julien l’hospitalier_; the last episode, +intended to be the most touching in the story, is one in which +Julien lies down in the same bed with a leper and warms him with his +own body. This leper is Christ, who carries off Julien to heaven +with him. All this is told with great mastery, but I always remain +perfectly cold when I read that story. I feel that the author himself +would not have done and would not even have wished to do what his +hero does, and therefore I myself do not wish to do it and do not +experience any agitation at reading of this amazing exploit. + +But Semënov describes the simplest story and it always touches +me. A village youth comes to Moscow to find a place and, helped +by a coachman from his part of the country who is living with a +rich merchant, he gets a job as the yard-porter’s assistant. This +place had previously been held by an old man. The merchant, by his +coachman’s advice, had discharged the old man and taken the lad in +his place. The lad comes in the evening to begin his service, and +standing in the yard he hears the old man complain in the porter’s +lodge that through no fault of his he has been dismissed, merely to +give place to a younger man. The lad suddenly feels pity for the old +man and is ashamed to have pushed him out. He considers the matter, +hesitates, and finally decides to give up the situation which he +needs so much and would have been so glad to take. + +All this is told in such a way that every time I read it I feel that +the author would not only have wished to, but certainly would, have +acted in that way under similar circumstances; his feelings infect me +and I feel pleased, and it seems to me that I too should have done, +or have been ready to do, something good. + +Sincerity is Semënov’s chief merit. But besides that, his content is +always important: important because it relates to the most important +class in Russia, the peasantry, whom Semënov knows as only a peasant +can know them who himself lives in the laborious village; and the +content of his stories is also important because, in them all, the +chief interest is not in external events or in the peculiarity of +the life, but in the way men approach or fall away from the ideal of +Christian truth, which is present clearly and firmly in the author’s +soul and supplies him with a safe standard and appraisement of the +quality and importance of human actions. The form of the stories +fully corresponds to their content: it is serious and simple, +the details are always correct, and there are no false notes. +What is particularly good is the language, often quite original +in its expressions, but always natural and strikingly strong and +picturesque, in which the characters of the story speak. + + + + + PART VIII + + INTRODUCTION TO THE WORKS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT + + (This article was written by Tolstoy in 1894, to serve + as preface to a Russian edition of a selection of Guy de + Maupassant’s stories.) + + +It was, I think, in 1881 that Turgénev while visiting me took out of +his portmanteau a small French book entitled _La Maison Tellier_, and +gave it to me. + +“Read it some time,” said he in an off-hand way just as, a year +before, he had given me a number of _Russian Wealth_ that contained +an article by Gárshin, who was then only beginning to write. +Evidently on this occasion, as in Gárshin’s case, he was afraid +of influencing me one way or the other and wished to know my own +unbiassed opinion. + +“It is by a young French writer,” said he. “Have a look at it. It +isn’t bad. He knows you and appreciates you highly,” he added as +if wishing to propitiate me. “As a man he reminds me of Druzhínin. +He is, like Druzhínin, an excellent son, an admirable friend, _un +homme d’un commerce sûr_,[10] and, besides that, he associates +with the working people, guides them, and helps them. Even in his +relations with women he reminds me of Druzhínin.” And Turgénev told +me something astonishing, incredible, of Maupassant’s conduct in that +respect. + +That time (1881) was for me a period of most ardent inner +reconstruction of my whole outlook on life, and in this +reconstruction the activity called the fine arts, to which I had +formerly devoted all my powers, had not only lost the importance I +formerly attributed to it, but had become simply obnoxious to me on +account of the unnatural position it had hitherto occupied in my +life, as it does generally in the estimation of the people of the +well-to-do classes. + +And therefore such works as the one Turgénev was recommending to me +did not then interest me in the least. But to please him I read the +book he had handed me. + +From the first story, _La Maison Tellier_, despite the indecency +and insignificance of the subject of the story, I could not help +recognizing that the author had what is called talent. + +He possessed that particular gift called talent, which consists in +the capacity to direct intense concentrated attention according to +the author’s tastes on this or that subject, in consequence of which +the man endowed with this capacity sees in the things to which he +directs his attention some new aspect which others have overlooked; +and this gift of seeing what others have not seen Maupassant +evidently possessed. But judging by the little volume I read, he +unfortunately lacked the chief of the three conditions, besides +talent, essential to a true work of art. These are: (1) a correct, +that is, a moral relation of the author to his subject; (2) clearness +of expression, or beauty of form,--the two are identical; and (3) +sincerity, that is, a sincere feeling of love or hatred of what the +artist depicts. Of these three, Maupassant possessed only the two +last and was quite lacking in the first. He had not a correct, that +is a moral, relation to the subjects depicted. + +Judging by what I read I was convinced that Maupassant possessed +talent, that is to say, the gift of attention revealing in the +objects and facts of life with which he deals qualities others have +not perceived. He was also master of a beautiful style, expressing +what he wanted to say clearly, simply, and with charm. He was also +master of that condition of true artistic production without which +a work of art does not produce its effect, namely, sincerity; that +is, he did not pretend that he loved or hated, but really loved or +hated what he described. But unfortunately lacking the first and +perhaps the chief condition of worthy artistic production, a correct +moral relation to what he described--that is to say, a knowledge +of the difference between good and evil--he loved and described +things that should not have been loved and described. Thus, in this +little volume, the author described with great detail and fondness +how women seduce men, and men women; and in _La femme de Paul_ he +even describes certain obscenities difficult to understand. And he +presents the country labouring folk not merely with indifference but +even with contempt, as though they were animals. + +This unconsciousness of the difference between good and evil is +particularly striking in the story, _Une partie de campagne_, in +which is given, as a very pleasant and amusing joke, a detailed +description of how two men rowing with bare arms in a boat tempt and +afterwards seduce at the same time, one of them an elderly mother and +the other a young girl, her daughter. + +The sympathy of the author is evidently all the time so much on the +side of these two wretches that he not merely ignores, but simply +does not see, what must have been felt by the seduced mother and +the maid (her daughter), by the father, and by a young man who is +evidently engaged to the daughter; and therefore, not merely is an +objectionable description of a revolting crime presented in the +form of an amusing jest, but the occurrence itself is described +falsely, for what is given is only one side, and that the most +insignificant--namely, the pleasure received by the rascals. + +In that same little volume there is a story, _Histoire d’une fille +de ferme_, which Turgénev particularly recommended to me and which +particularly displeased me, again by this incorrect relation of the +author to his subject. He evidently sees in all the working folk he +describes mere animals, who rise to nothing more than sexual and +maternal love, so that his descriptions give one an incomplete and +artificial impression. + +Lack of understanding of the life and interests of working people and +the presentation of them as semi-brutes moved only by sensuality, +spite, and greed, is one of the chief and most important defects of +most recent French writers, including Maupassant, who not only in +this but in all his other stories where he refers to the people, +always describes them as coarse, dull animals at whom one can only +laugh. Of course the French writers should know the nature of their +own people better than I do; but despite the fact that I am a Russian +and have not lived among the French peasants, I nevertheless affirm +that in so representing their people the French authors are wrong, +and that the French labourers cannot be such as they represent them +to be. If France--such as we know her, with her truly great men and +the great contributions those great men have made to science, art, +citizenship, and the moral development of mankind--if this France +exists, then that working class which has maintained and maintains +on its shoulders this France with its great men, must consist not of +brutes but of people with great spiritual qualities, and I therefore +do not believe what I read in novels such as _La terre_[11] and in +Maupassant’s stories; just as I should not believe it if I were told +of the existence of a beautiful house standing without foundations. +It may very well be these high qualities of the people are not +such as are described to us in _La petite Fadette_ and _La mère +aux diables_,[12] but I am firmly convinced that these qualities +exist, and a writer who portrays the people only as Maupassant does, +describing with sympathy only the _hanches_ and _gorges_[13] of the +Breton servant girls and describing with detestation and ridicule +the life of the labouring men, commits a great artistic mistake, +because he describes his subject only from one, and that the least +interesting, physical, side and leaves quite out of sight another, +and the most important, spiritual, side wherein the essence of the +matter lies. + +On the whole, the perusal of the little book handed me by Turgénev +left me quite indifferent to the young writer. + +So repugnant to me were the stories, _Une partie de campagne_, _La +femme de Paul_, _L’historie d’une fille de ferme_, that I did not +then notice the beautiful story, _Le papa de Simon_, and the story, +excellent in its description of the night, _Sur l’eau_. + +“Are there not in our time, when so many people want to write, plenty +of men of talent who do not know to what to apply this gift, or who +boldly apply it to what should not, and need not, be described?” +thought I. And so I said to Turgénev, and thereupon forgot about +Maupassant. + +The first thing of his that fell into my hands after that was _Une +Vie_, which someone advised me to read. That book at once compelled +me to change my opinion of Maupassant, and since then I have read +with interest everything signed by him. _Une Vie_ is excellent, +not only incomparably the best of his novels, but perhaps the best +French novel since Hugo’s _Les Misérables_. Here, besides remarkable +talent--that special strenuous attention applied to the subject, +by which the author perceives quite new features in the life he +describes--are united in almost equal degree all three qualities of +a true, work of art, first, a correct, that is a moral, relation of +the author to his subject; secondly, beauty of form; and thirdly, +sincerity, that is, love of what the author describes. Here the +meaning of life no longer presents itself to the author as consisting +in the adventures of various male and female libertines; here the +subject, as the title indicates, is life--the life of a ruined, +innocent, amiable woman, predisposed to all that is good, but ruined +by precisely the same coarse animal sensuality which in his former +stories the author presented as if it were the central feature of +life, dominant over all else. And in this book the author’s whole +sympathy is on the side of what is good. + +The form, which was beautiful in the first stories, is here brought +to such a pitch of perfection as, in my opinion, has been attained +by no other French writer of prose. And above all, the author here +really loves, and deeply loves, the good family he describes; and he +really hates that coarse debauchee, who destroys the happiness and +peace of that charming family and, in particular, ruins the life of +the heroine. + +That is why all the events and characters of this novel are so +life-like and memorable. The weak, kindly, debilitated mother; the +upright, weak, attractive father; the daughter, still more attractive +in her simplicity, artlessness, and sympathy with all that is good; +their mutual relations, their first journey, their servants and +neighbours; the calculating, grossly sensual, mean, petty, insolent +suitor, who as usual deceives the innocent girl by the customary +empty idealization of the foulest instincts; the marriage, Corsica +with the beautiful descriptions of nature, and then village life, +the husband’s coarse faithlessness, his seizure of power over the +property, his quarrel with his father-in-law, the yielding of the +good people and the victory of insolence; the relations with the +neighbours--all this is life itself in its complexity and variety. +And not only is all this vividly and finely described, but the +sincere pathetic tone of it all involuntarily infects the reader. One +feels that the author loves this woman, and loves her not for her +external form but for her soul, for the goodness there is in her; +that he pities her and suffers on her account, and this feeling is +involuntarily communicated to the reader. And the questions: Why, for +what end, is this fine creature ruined? Ought it indeed to be so? +arise of themselves in the reader’s soul, and compel him to reflect +on the meaning of human life. + +Despite the false notes which occur in the novel, such as the +minute description of the young girl’s skin, or the impossible and +unnecessary details of how, by the advice of an abbé, the forsaken +wife again became a mother--details which destroy all the charm of +the heroine’s purity--and despite the melodramatic and unnatural +story of the injured husband’s revenge; notwithstanding these +blemishes, the novel not only seemed to me excellent, but I saw +behind it no longer a talented chatterer and jester who neither knew +nor wished to know right from wrong--as from his first little book +Maupassant had appeared to me to be--but a serious man penetrating +deeply into life and already beginning to see his way in it. + +The next novel of Maupassant’s that I read was _Bel-Ami_. + +_Bel-Ami_ is a very dirty book. The author evidently gives himself +a free hand in describing what attracts him, and at times seems to +lose his main negative attitude towards his hero and to pass over +to his side: but on the whole _Bel-Ami_, like _Une Vie_, has at its +base a serious idea and sentiment. In _Une Vie_ the fundamental idea +is perplexity in face of the cruel meaninglessness of the suffering +life of an excellent woman ruined by a man’s coarse sensuality; +whereas here it is not only perplexity, but indignation, at the +prosperity and success of a coarse, sensual brute who by that very +sensuality makes his career and attains a high position in society; +and indignation also at the depravity of the whole sphere in which +the hero attains his success. In the former novel the author seems +to ask: “For what, and why, was a fine creature ruined? Why did it +happen?” Here in the latter novel he seems to answer: all that is +pure and good has perished and is perishing in our society, because +that society is depraved, senseless, and horrible. + +The last scene in the novel--the marriage in a fashionable church of +the triumphant scoundrel, decorated with the Legion of Honour, to the +pure girl, the daughter of an elderly and formerly irreproachable +mother whom he had seduced; a wedding blessed by a bishop and +regarded as something good and proper by everybody--expresses this +idea with extraordinary force. In this novel, despite the fact that +it is encumbered with dirty details (in which it is to be regretted +that the author seems to find pleasure) the same serious demands are +presented to life. + +Read the conversation of the old poet with Duroy when after dinner, +if I remember rightly, they are leaving the Walters. The old poet +bares life to his young companion, and shows it as it is, with its +eternal and inevitable concomitant and end--death. + +“She has hold of me already, _la gueuse_,”[14] says he of death. +“She has already shaken out my teeth, torn out my hair, crippled my +limbs, and is now ready to swallow me. I am already in her power. She +is only playing with me, as a cat does with a mouse, knowing that +I cannot escape. Fame? Riches? What is the use of them, since they +cannot buy a woman’s love? For it is only a woman’s love that makes +life worth living, and that too death takes away. It takes that away, +and then one’s health, strength, and life itself. It is the same for +everyone, and there is nothing else.” + +Such is the meaning of what the old poet says. But Duroy, the +successful lover of all the women who please him, is so full of +sensual energy and strength that he hears and does not hear, +understands and does not understand, the old poet’s words. He hears +and understands, but the source of sensual life throbs in him so +strongly that this unquestionable truth, foretelling the same end for +him, does not disturb him. + +This inner contradiction, besides its satirical value, gives the +novel its chief significance. The same idea gleams in the fine scenes +of the death of the consumptive journalist. The author sets himself +the question: What is this life? How solve the contradiction between +the love of life, and the knowledge of inevitable death? He seems to +seek, pauses, and does not decide either one way or the other. And +therefore the moral relation to life in this novel continues to be +correct. + +But in the novels that follow, this moral relation to life grows +confused. The appraisement of the phenomena of life begins to waver, +to grow obscure, and in the last novels it is quite perverted. + +In _Mont-Oriol_ Maupassant seems to unite the motives of his two +previous novels and repeats himself to order. Despite the fine +descriptions of the fashionable watering-place and of the medical +activity in it, which is executed with delicate taste, we have +here the same bull-like Paul, just as empty and despicable as the +husband in _Une Vie_; and the same deceived, frank, meek, weak, +lonely--always lonely--good woman, and the same impassive triumph of +pettiness and triviality as in _Bel-Ami_. + +The thought is the same, but the author’s moral relation to what +he describes is already much lower, lower especially than in _Une +Vie_. The author’s inner appraisement of right and wrong begins to +get confused. Notwithstanding his abstract wish to be impartially +objective, the scoundrel Paul evidently has all his sympathy, and +therefore the love story of this Paul and his attempts at and success +in seduction produce a discordant impression. The reader does not +know what the author intends: is it to show the whole emptiness and +vileness of Paul (who turns indifferently away from, and insults, a +woman merely because her waist has been spoilt by her pregnancy with +his child); or, on the contrary, is it to show how pleasant and easy +it is to live as this Paul lives? + +In the next novels, _Pierre et Jean_, _Fort comme la mort_, and +_Notre cœur_, the author’s moral attitude towards his characters +becomes still more confused, and in the last-named is quite lost. +All these novels bear the stamp of indifference, haste, unreality, +and, above all, again that same absence of a correct moral relation +to life which was present in his first writings. This began from the +time when Maupassant’s reputation as a fashionable author had become +established and he became liable to the temptation, so terrible in +our day, to which every celebrated writer is subject, especially +one so attractive as Maupassant. In the first place the success +of his first novels, the praise of the press, and the flattery of +society, especially of women; in the second the ever increasing +amount of remuneration (never however keeping up with his continually +increasing wants); in the third the pertinacity of editors outbidding +one another, flattering, begging, and no longer judging the merits +of the works the author offers but enthusiastically accepting +everything signed by a name now established with the public. All +these temptations are so great that they evidently turn his head, and +he succumbs to them; and though he continues to elaborate the form of +his work as well as or sometimes even better than before, and even +though he is fond of what he describes, yet he no longer loves it +because it is good or moral and lovable to all, or hates it because +it is evil and hateful to all, but only because one thing pleases and +another thing happens to displease him. + +On all Maupassant’s novels, beginning with _Bel-Ami_, there lies +this stamp of haste and still more of artificiality. From that time +Maupassant no longer did what he had done in his first two novels. +He did not take as his basis certain moral demands and on that +ground describe the actions of his characters, but wrote as all hack +novelists do, that is, he devised the most interesting and pathetic, +or most up-to-date persons and situations, and made a novel out of +them, adorning it with whatever observations he had opportunity to +make which fitted into the framework of the story, quite indifferent +as to how the incidents described were related to the demands of +morality. Such are _Pierre et Jean_, _Fort comme la mort_, and _Notre +cœur_. + +Accustomed as we are to read in French novels of how families live +in threes, always with a lover known to everyone except the husband, +it still remains quite unintelligible to us how it happens that +all husbands are always fools, _cocus et ridicules_,[15] but all +lovers (who themselves in the end marry and become husbands) are +not only not _cocus et ridicules_, but are heroic! And still less +comprehensible is it how all women can be depraved, and yet all +mothers saintly. + +And on these unnatural and unlikely, and above all profoundly +immoral, propositions _Pierre et Jean_ and _Fort comme la mort_ are +built, and therefore the sufferings of the characters so situated +affect us but little. The mother of Pierre and Jean, who can live her +whole life deceiving her husband, evokes little sympathy when she +is obliged to confess her sin to her son, and still less when she +justifies herself by asserting that she could not but avail herself +of the chance of happiness which presented itself. Still less can we +sympathize with the gentleman who, in _Fort comme la mort_, having +all his life deceived his friend and debauched his friend’s wife, now +only regrets that having grown old he cannot seduce his mistress’s +daughter. The last novel, _Notre cœur_, has even no kernel at all +beyond the description of various kinds of sex-love. The satiated +emotions of an idle debauchee are described, who does not know what +he wants, and who first lives with a woman yet more depraved than +himself--a mentally depraved woman, who lacks even the excuse of +sensuality--then leaves her and lives with a servant girl, and then +again rejoins the former, and, it seems, lives with them both. If +in _Pierre et Jean_ and _Fort comme la mort_ there are still some +touching scenes, this last novel excites only disgust. + +The question in Maupassant’s first novel, _Une Vie_, consists in +this: here is a human being, good, wise, pleasing, ready for all +that is good, and this creature is for some reason offered up as +a sacrifice first to a coarse, small-minded, stupid animal of a +husband, without having given anything to the world. Why is this? +The author puts that question and as it were gives no answer, but +his whole novel, all his feeling of pity for her and abhorrence of +what has ruined her, serves as answer. If there is a man who has +understood her suffering and expressed it, then it is redeemed, as +Job put it to his friends when they said that no one would know of +his sufferings. When suffering is recognized and understood, it is +redeemed; and here the author has recognized and understood and shown +men this suffering, and the suffering is redeemed, for once it is +understood by men it will sooner or later be done away with. + +In the next novel, _Bel-Ami_, the question no longer is, Why do good +persons suffer? but Why do wealth and fame go to the unworthy? What +are wealth and fame? How are they obtained? And as before, these +questions carry with them their own answers, which consist in the +repudiation of all that the crowd of men so highly prize. The subject +of this second novel is still serious, but the moral relation of the +author to the subject he describes already weakens considerably, and +whereas in the first novel blots and sensuality which spoil it only +appear here and there, in _Bel-Ami_ these blots have increased and +many chapters are filled with dirt alone, which seems to please the +author. + +In the next book, _Mont-Oriol_, the questions: Why, and to what end, +does the amiable woman suffer and the savage male secure success and +happiness? are no longer put; but it seems tacitly admitted that it +should be so, and hardly any moral demands are felt. But without the +least necessity, uncalled for by any artistic consideration, dirty +sensual descriptions are presented. As an example of this violation +of artistic taste, resulting from the author’s incorrect relation +to his subject, the detailed description in this novel of the +heroine in her bath is specially striking. This description is quite +unnecessary, and is in no way connected either with the external or +the inner purpose of the novel: “Bubbles appear on her pink skin.” + +“Well, what of that?” asks the reader. + +“Nothing more,” replies the author. “I describe it because I like +such descriptions.” + +In the next novels, _Pierre et Jean_ and _Fort comme la mort_, +no moral demand at all is perceptible. Both novels are built on +debauchery, deceit, and falsehood, which bring the actors to tragic +situations. + +In the last novel, _Notre cœur_, the position of the actors is most +monstrous, wild, and immoral; they no longer struggle with anything, +but only seek satisfaction for their vanity, sensuality, and sexual +desires; and the author appears quite to sympathize with their aims. +The only deduction one can draw from this last novel is that the +greatest pleasure in life consists in sexual intercourse, and that +therefore one must secure that happiness in the pleasantest way. + +Yet more striking is this immoral relation to life in the half-novel, +_Yvette_. The subject, which is horrible in its immorality, is as +follows: A charming girl, innocent in soul and depraved only in +the manners she has learned in her mother’s dissolute circle, leads +a libertine into error. He falls in love with her, but imagining +that this girl knowingly chatters the obscene nonsense she has +picked up in her mother’s society and repeats parrot-like without +understanding--imagining that she is already depraved--he coarsely +offers her an immoral union. This proposal horrifies and offends her +(for she loves him); it opens her eyes to her own position and to +that of her mother, and she suffers profoundly. This deeply touching +scene is admirably described: the collision between a beautiful +innocent soul and the depravity of the world. And with that it might +end; but the author, without either external or inner necessity, +continues to write and makes this man penetrate by night to the girl +and seduce her. Evidently in the first part of the story the author +was on the girl’s side, but in the later part he has suddenly gone +over to the debauchee, and the one impression destroys the other--the +whole novel crumbles and falls to pieces like ill-kneaded bread. + +In all his novels after _Bel-Ami_ (I am not now speaking of the short +stories, which constitute his chief merit and glory--of them later) +Maupassant evidently submitted to the theory which ruled not only in +his circle in Paris, but which now rules everywhere among artists: +that for a work of art it is not only unnecessary to have any clear +conception of what is right and wrong, but that, on the contrary, +an artist should completely ignore all moral questions, there being +even a certain artistic merit in so doing. According to this theory +the artist may or should depict what is true to life, what really +is, what is beautiful and therefore pleases him, or even what may +be useful as material for “science”; but that to care about what is +moral or immoral, right or wrong, is not an artist’s business. + +I remember a celebrated painter showing me one of his pictures +representing a religious procession. It was all excellently painted, +but no relation of the artist to his subject was perceptible. + +“And do you regard these ceremonies as good and consider that they +should be performed, or not?” I asked him. + +With some condescension to my naïveté, he told me that he did not +know about that and did not want to know it; his business was to +represent _life_. + +“But at any rate you sympathize with this?” + +“I cannot say so.” + +“Well then do you dislike these ceremonies?” + +“Neither the one thing nor the other,” replied, with a smile of +compassion at my silliness, this modern, highly cultured artist who +depicted life without understanding its purpose and neither loving +nor hating its phenomena. + +And so unfortunately thought Maupassant. + +In his preface to _Pierre et Jean_ he says that people say to a +writer, “_Consolez-moi, amusez-moi, attristez-moi, attendrissez-moi, +faites-moi rêver, faites-moi rire, faites-moi frémir, faites-moi +pleurer, faites-moi penser. Seuls quelques esprits d’élites demandent +à l’artiste: faites-moi quelque chose de beau dans la forme qui vous +conviendra le mieux d’après votre tempérament._”[16] + +Responding to this demand of the _élite_ Maupassant wrote his novels, +naïvely imagining that what was considered beautiful in his circle +was that beauty which art should serve. + +And in the circle in which Maupassant moved, the beauty which should +be served by art was, and is, chiefly woman--young, pretty, and for +the most part naked--and sexual connection with her. It was so +considered not only by all Maupassant’s comrades in art--painters, +sculptors, novelists, and poets--but also by philosophers, the +teachers of the rising generation. Thus the famous Renan, in his +work, _Marc Aurèle_, p. 555, when blaming Christianity for not +understanding feminine beauty, plainly says: + +“_La défaut du christianisme apparaît bien ici. Il est trop +uniquement moral; la beauté, chez lui, est tout-à-fait sacrifiée. +Or, aux yeux d’une philosophie complète, la beauté, loin d’être un +avantage superficiel, un danger, un inconvénient, est un don de Dieu, +comme la vertu. Elle vaut la vertu; la femme belle exprime aussi bien +une face du but divin, une des fins de Dieu, que l’homme de génie +ou la femme vertueuse. Elle le sent et de là sa fierté. Elle sent +instinctivement le trésor infini qu’elle porte en son corps; elle +sait bien que, sans esprit, sans talent, sans grande vertu, elle +compte entre les premières manifestations de Dieu. Et pourquoi lui +interdire de mettre en valeur le don qui lui a été fait, de sertir +le diamant qui lui est échu? La femme, en se parant, accomplit un +devoir; elle pratique un art, art exquis, en un sens le plus charmant +des arts. Ne nous laissons pas égarer par le sourire que certain mots +provoquent chez_ LES GENS FRIVOLES. _On décerne le palme du génie à, +l’artiste grec qui a su résoudre le plus délicat des problèmes, orner +le corps humain, c’est à dire orner la perfection même, et l’on ne +veut voir qu’une affaire de chiffons dans l’essai de collaborer à la +plus belle œuvre de Dieu, à la beauté de la femme! La toilette de la +femme, avec tous ses raffinements est du grand art à sa manière. Les +siècles et les pays qui savent y réussir sont les grands siècles, +les grands pays, et le christianisme montra, par l’exclusion dont il +frappa ce genre de recherches, que l’idéal social qu’il concevait ne +deviendrait le cadre d’une société complète que bien plus tard, quand +la révolte des gens du monde aurait brisé le joug étroit imposé +primitivement à la secte par un piétisme exalté._”[17] + +(So that in the opinion of this leader of the young generation +only now have Paris milliners and coiffeurs corrected the mistake +committed by Christianity, and re-established beauty in the true and +lofty position due to it.) + +In order that there should be no doubt as to how one is to understand +beauty, the same celebrated writer, historian, and savant wrote +the drama, _L’Abbesse de Jouarre_, in which he showed that to have +sexual intercourse with a woman is a service of this beauty, that +is to say, is an elevated and good action. In that drama, which is +striking by its lack of talent and especially by the coarseness of +the conversations between d’Arcy and the abbesse, in which the first +words make it evident what sort of love that gentleman is discussing +with the supposedly innocent and highly moral maiden, who is not +in the least offended thereby--in that drama it is shown that the +most highly moral people, at the approach of death to which they +are condemned, a few hours before it arrives, can do nothing more +beautiful than yield to their animal passions. + +So that in the circle in which Maupassant grew up and was educated, +the representation of feminine beauty and sex-love was and is +regarded quite seriously, as a matter long ago decided and recognized +by the wisest and most learned men, as the true object of the highest +art--_Le grand art_. + +And it is this theory, dreadful in its folly, to which Maupassant +submitted when he became a fashionable writer; and, as was to be +expected, this false ideal led him in his novels into a series of +mistakes, and to ever weaker and weaker production. + +In this the fundamental difference between the demands of the novel +and of the short story is seen. A novel has for its aim, even for +external aim, the description of a whole human life or of many +human lives, and therefore its writer should have a clear and firm +conception of what is good and bad in life, and this Maupassant +lacked; indeed according to the theory he held, that is just what +should be avoided. Had he been a novelist like some talentless +writers of sensual novels, he would, being without talent, have +quietly described what was evil as good, and his novels would have +had unity, and would have been interesting to people who shared his +view. But Maupassant had talent, that is to say, he saw things in +their essentials and therefore involuntarily discerned the truth. +He involuntarily saw the evil in what he wished to consider good. +That is why, in all his novels except the first, his sympathies +continually waver, now presenting the evil as good, and now admitting +that the evil is evil and the good good, but continually shifting +from the one standpoint to the other. And this destroys the very +basis of any artistic impression--the framework on which it is built. +People of little artistic sensibility often think that a work of art +possesses unity when the same people act in it throughout, or when +it is all constructed on one plot, or describes the life of one man. +That is a mistake. It only appears so to a superficial observer. +The cement which binds any artistic production into one whole and +therefore produces the illusion of being a reflection of life, is not +the unity of persons or situations, but the unity of the author’s +independent moral relation to his subject. In reality, when we read +or look at the artistic production of a new author the fundamental +question that arises in our soul is always of this kind: “Well, what +sort of a man are you? Wherein are you different from all the people +I know, and what can you tell me that is new, about how we must look +at this life of ours?” Whatever the artist depicts--saints, robbers, +kings, or lackeys--we seek and see only the artist’s own soul. If +he is an established writer with whom we are already familiar, the +question no longer is, “What sort of a man are you?” but, “Well, what +more can you tell me that is new?” or, “From what new side will you +now illumine life for me?” And therefore a writer who has not a clear +definite and just view of the universe, and especially a man who +considers that this isn’t even wanted, cannot produce a work of art. +He may write much and admirably, but a work of art will not result. + +So it was with Maupassant in his novels. In his first two novels, +and especially in the first, _Une Vie_, there was a clear, definite, +and new relation to life, and it was an artistic production; but +as soon as, submitting to the fashionable theory, he decided that +this relation of the author to life was quite unnecessary and began +to write merely in order _faire quelque chose de beau_ (to produce +something beautiful), his novels ceased to be works of art. In _Une +Vie_ and _Bel-Ami_ the author knows whom he should love and whom +he should hate, and the reader agrees with him and believes in +him--believes in the people and events he describes. But in _Notre +cœur_ and _Yvette_ the author does not know whom he should love and +whom he should hate, and the reader does not know either. And not +knowing this, the reader does not believe in the events described and +is not interested in them. And therefore, except the two first or, +strictly speaking, excepting only the first novel, all Maupassant’s, +as novels, are weak; and if he had left us only his novels he would +have been merely a striking instance of the way in which brilliant +talents may perish as a result of the false environment in which he +developed and of these false theories of art that have been devised +by people who neither love nor understand it. But fortunately +Maupassant wrote short stories in which he did not subject himself +to the false theory he had accepted, and wrote not _quelque chose de +beau_, but what touched or revolted his moral feeling. And in these +short stories--not in all, but in the best of them--we see how that +moral feeling grew in the author. + +And it is in this that the wonderful quality of every true artist +lies, if only he does not do violence to himself under the influence +of a false theory. His talent teaches its possessor and leads him +forward along the path of moral development, compelling him to +love what deserves love and to hate what deserves hate. An artist +is an artist because he sees things not as he wishes to see them +but as they really are. The possessor of a talent, the man, may +make mistakes, but his talent if only it is allowed free play, +as Maupassant gave it free play in his short stories, discloses, +undrapes the object, and compels love of it if it deserves love +and hatred of it if it deserves hatred. With every true artist, +when under the influence of his circle he begins to represent what +should not be represented, there happens what happened to Balaam, +who, wishing to bless, cursed what should be cursed, and wishing to +curse, blessed what should be blessed: involuntarily he does, not +what he wishes to do but what he should do. And this happened to +Maupassant. + +There has hardly been another writer who so sincerely thought that +all the good, all the meaning of life, lies in woman--in love, and +who with such strength of passion described woman and her love from +all sides; and there has hardly ever been a writer who reached such +clearness and exactitude in showing all the awful phases of that very +thing which had seemed to him the highest and the greatest of life’s +blessings. The more he penetrated into the question the more it +revealed itself, and the more did the coverings fall from it and only +its horrible results and yet more horrible essence remain. + +Read of the idiot son, of the night with a daughter (_L’ermite_), +of the sailor with his sister (_Le port_), _Le champ d’oliviers_, +_La petite Roque_, of the English girl (_Miss Harriet_), _Monsieur +Parent_, _L’armoire_ (the girl who fell asleep in the cupboard), +the wedding in _Sur l’eau_, and last expression of all, _Un cas de +divorce_. Just what was said by Marcus Aurelius when devising means +to destroy the attractiveness of this sin in his imagination, is what +Maupassant does in most vivid artistic forms, turning one’s soul +inside out. He wished to extol sex-love, but the better he came to +know it the more he cursed it. He cursed sex-love for the misfortunes +and sufferings it bears within it, and for the disillusionments and, +above all, for the falsification of real love, for the fraud which is +in it from which man suffers the more acutely the more trustingly he +has yielded to the deception. + +The powerful moral growth of the author in the course of his literary +activity is recorded in indelible traits in these charming short +stories and in his best book, _Sur l’eau_. + +And not alone in this involuntary and therefore all the more +powerful dethronement of sex-love is the moral growth of the author +seen, but also in the more and more exalted moral demands he makes +upon life. + +Not alone in sex-love does he see the innate contradiction between +the demands of animal and rational man; he sees it in the whole +organization of the world. + +He sees that the world as it is, the material world, is not +only not the best of worlds, but might on the contrary be quite +different--this thought is strikingly expressed in _Horla_--and that +it does not satisfy the demands of reason and life. He sees that +there is some other world, or at least the demand for such another +world, in the soul of man. + +He is tormented not only by the irrationality of the material world +and its ugliness, but by its unlovingness, its discord. I do not know +a more heart-rending cry of horror from one who has lost his way and +is conscious of his loneliness, than the expression of this idea in +that most charming story, _Solitude_. + +The thing that most tormented Maupassant and to which he returns many +times, is the painful state of isolation, spiritual isolation, of +man; the barrier standing between him and his fellows; a barrier, he +says, the more painfully felt the nearer one’s bodily connexion. + +What is it torments him, and what would he have? What can destroy +this barrier? What end this isolation? Love--not feminine love, which +has become disgusting to him, but pure, spiritual, divine love. And +that is what Maupassant seeks. Towards it, towards this saviour of +life long since plainly disclosed to all men, he painfully strains +from those fetters in which he feels himself bound. + +He does not yet know how to name what he seeks. He does not +wish to name it with his lips alone, lest he should profane his +holy-of-holies. But his unexpressed striving, shown in his dread of +loneliness, is so sincere that it infects and attracts one more +strongly than many and many sermons about love, uttered only by the +lips. + + * * * * * + +The tragedy of Maupassant’s life is that being in a most monstrous +and immoral circle, he by the strength of his talent, by that +extraordinary light which was in him, was escaping from the outlook +on life held by that circle, and was already near to deliverance, +was already breathing the air of freedom but, having exhausted his +last strength in the struggle and not being able to make a last +effort--perished without having attained freedom. + +The tragedy of that ruin lies in what still afflicts the majority of +the so-called cultured men of our time. + +Men in general never have lived without an expression of the +meaning of their life. Always and everywhere, highly-gifted men +going in advance of others have appeared--the prophets, as they are +called--who have explained to men the meaning and purport of their +life; and always the ordinary, average men, who had not the strength +to explain that meaning for themselves, have followed the explanation +of life their prophets have disclosed to them. + +That meaning was explained eighteen hundred years ago by +Christianity, simply, clearly, indubitably, and joyfully, as is +proved by the lives of all who acknowledge it and follow the guidance +of life which results from that conception. + +But then people appeared who misinterpreted that meaning so that +it became meaningless, and men are placed in the dilemma either of +acknowledging Christianity as interpreted by Orthodoxy, Lourdes, +the Pope, the dogma of the Immaculate Conception and so forth, or +of going on with life according to the teachings of Renan and his +kind, that is, living without any direction or understanding of life, +following only their lusts as long as they are strong, and their +habits when their lusts become feeble. + +And people, ordinary people, choose the one or the other, sometimes +both, first dissoluteness and then Orthodoxy; and thus whole +generations live, shielding themselves with various theories, +invented not to disclose the truth but to hide it. And ordinary, and +more especially dull, people are content. + +But there are others--not many, they are rare--such as Maupassant, +who with their own eyes see things as they are, see their +significance, see the contradictions in life concealed from others, +and vividly realize to what these contradictions must inevitably lead +them--and seek to solve them in advance. They seek these solutions +everywhere except where they are to be found, namely in Christianity, +because Christianity appears to them outlived and discarded, +repelling them by its absurdity. And vainly trying to find these +solutions for themselves, they come to the conviction that there are +no solutions, and that it is inherent in life that one should always +bear in oneself these unsolved contradictions. And having come to +such a conclusion, if these people are feeble unenergetic natures, +they put up with such meaningless life and are even proud of their +position, accounting their ignorance a quality and a sign of culture. +But if they are energetic, truthful, and gifted natures, such as +Maupassant was, they do not endure this, but one way or other try to +get out of this senseless life. + +It is as if men thirsting in a desert sought water everywhere +except near those people who, standing round a spring pollute it +and offer stinking mire instead of the water that unceasingly flows +beneath the mire. Maupassant was in this position; he could not +believe--evidently it never even entered his head--that the truth he +sought had long ago been found and was so near him; but neither could +he believe that man can live in such contradiction as that in which +he felt himself to be living. + +Life, according to the theories in which he had been brought up, +which surrounded him and were corroborated by all the lusts of his +young, and mentally and physically strong, being--life consists +in pleasure, of which the chief is to be found in woman with her +love, and in the reproduction of this pleasure in its reflection, +in the presentation of this love, and in exciting it in others. All +this might be well; but on examining these pleasures quite other +things emerge, alien and hostile to this love and this beauty: +woman for some reason is disfigured, becomes unpleasantly pregnant +and repulsive, gives birth to children, unwanted children; then +come deceptions, cruelties, moral suffering, then mere old age, and +ultimately death. + +Then is this beauty indeed beauty? And why is all this so? It would +be all very well if one could arrest life, but life goes on. And what +does that mean? “Life goes on” means that the hair falls out, turns +grey, the teeth decay, and there are wrinkles and offensive breath. +Even before all is finished, everything becomes dreadful, repulsive: +the rouge, the powder, the sweat, the smell, and the disgustingness, +are evident. Where then is that which I serve? Where is beauty? But +she is all! And if she is not, there is nothing left. There is no +life! + +But not merely is there no life in what seemed to be life: one begins +to forsake it oneself, one becomes weaker, more stupid, one decays; +others before one’s eyes seize those delights in which all the good +of life lay. Nor is that all. Some other possibility of life begins +to glimmer on one’s mind; something else, some other kind of union +with men, with the whole world, one which does not admit of all these +deceptions, something which cannot by any means be infringed; which +is true and forever beautiful. But this cannot be. It is only the +tantalizing vision of an oasis when we know that it does not exist +and that there is nothing but sand everywhere. + +Maupassant reached that tragic moment in life when the struggle +begins between the falseness of the life about him and the truth of +life of which he began to be conscious. Pangs of spiritual birth had +already begun in him. + +And it is these pangs of this birth that are expressed in his best +work, especially in the short stories printed in this edition. + +Had he not been fated to die while still suffering, but to fulfil +all his possibilities, he would have left us great and illuminating +works; but even what he gave us in the midst of his pain is much. Let +us then be thankful to this strong and truthful man for what he has +given us. + + + + + PART IX + + FROM A LETTER TO PETER VERIGIN, THE DOUKHOBOR LEADER + + +The thoughts expressed in your letter about the advantage of living +intercourse over intercourse by means of dead books pleased me +greatly and I share them. I write books, and therefore know all the +evil they produce. I know how people who do not wish to receive the +truth can avoid reading books, or understanding what goes against +the grain and exposes them, and I know how they can misinterpret +and pervert--as they have done with the Gospels. All this I know, +but yet I consider books to be, in our time, inevitable. I say “in +our time” in contradistinction to the Gospel times, when there +were no printing-presses and books were not used and the means +of communication were vocal. Then it was possible to do without +books, for the enemies of truth had none. But now one cannot leave +this powerful engine entirely for the enemies of truth to use for +deception, but must also see that it is used on the side of truth. + +To refuse to make use of a book or a letter to convey one’s thoughts, +or to get at the thoughts of others, would be like refusing to use +one’s strength of voice to convey to many people at once what one +has to say, or the use of one’s ears to understand what some one is +saying in a loud voice. It would be like refusing to acknowledge the +possibility of conveying thought except tête-à-tête or in a whisper. +Writing and printing have but multiplied a thousand, a hundred +thousand, times the number of people by whom the thoughts expressed +may be heard; but the relation between him who expresses and him +who receives the thoughts remains as before. As in conversation the +hearer may grasp and understand what is said or may let it go in at +one ear and out at the other, so it is with printed matter. As the +reader of a book may twist it this way or that, so also may he who +hears spoken words. As in books (and we constantly see this) much +may be written that is superfluous and empty, so it is with speech. +A difference exists, but it is a difference that is sometimes to the +advantage of vocal sometimes of printed communication. The advantage +of vocal communication is that the hearer feels the spirit of the +speaker, but the disadvantage is that very often empty talkers (for +instance lawyers), having a gift of words, sway men not by their +reasonableness but by their mastery of oratorical art, which is not +so with books. Another advantage of verbal communication is that a +hearer who has not understood a matter can ask questions, but there +is the accompanying disadvantage that those who have failed to +understand (often purposely failed) can put questions which are not +to the point and thus divert the stream of thought--which is not so +with books. + +The disadvantages of books are: first, that paper can endure all +things, and people can have any nonsense printed causing enormous +labour to be wasted in paper-making and type-setting, which is not +so with vocal communication, for people can refuse to listen to +nonsense. Secondly, that books are multiplying enormously, so that +the good ones get lost in the sea of empty and harmful ones. But then +again the advantages of the press are very great, and consist chiefly +in the fact that the circle of hearers is extended a hundredfold or a +thousandfold as compared to the hearers of the spoken word. And this +increase in the circle of readers is important, not because there are +many readers, but because, among the millions of people of different +nations and stations to whom a book becomes accessible, those who +share similar thoughts discover one another, and while living +thousands of miles apart, not knowing one another, are yet united and +live by one spirit, having the spiritual joy and encouragement of +feeling that they are not alone. Such communication I now have with +you and with many, many, men of other nations--men who have never +seen me, but who yet are nearer to me than sons or brothers of my own +blood. + +The chief consideration in favour of books is, that since men reached +a certain stage of development in the external conditions of life, +books and printing in general have become a means of communication +among men and therefore must not be neglected. So many harmful books +have been written and circulated that the evil can only be met by +other books. One wedge drives out another! Christ said: “What I tell +you in the ear proclaim upon the housetops.” Printing is just that +proclamation from the housetops. The printed word is a tongue--a +tongue that reaches very far; and for this reason all that is said of +the tongue relates also to the printed word: “Therewith bless we the +Lord; and therewith curse we men, made after the likeness of God.” +Therefore one cannot be too careful what one says and listens to, nor +what one prints and reads.... + + The above extract is from a letter written to Verigin while he + was in exile at Obdórsk, near the mouth of the Obi in Northern + Siberia. The whole letter is given in _Essays and Letters_ by + Tolstoy, in the “World’s Classics” series. Oxford University + Press. + +1895. + + + + + PART X + + The essay _On Art_ that follows was the last attempt Tolstoy + made, after many years’ reflection, to express his views on + art, before he wrote _What is Art?_ This essay (_On Art_) did + not satisfy him, but in several respects it drew very near to + what he was finally to say. What he had not arrived at when + he wrote it was (1) the clear-cut working definition of art + which he gives in his later work, and (2) the clear perception + of the importance and necessity of appraising separately the + _form_ of a work of art, which makes it infectious, and the + _subject-matter of feeling_ which connects it with the whole + of life, and which benefits or harms mankind. + + One feels, in _On Art_, that Tolstoy is still treading warily + a path he has not fully explored; it was only later--in _What + is Art?_--that he let himself go, careless of the eggs he + broke and feelings he disturbed, and asserting his convictions + with emphasis and exuberance. + + + ON ART: + + What is and What is not Art; And When is Art Important + and When is it Trivial? + + + I + +In our life there are many insignificant or even harmful activities +which enjoy a respect they do not deserve, or are tolerated merely +because they are considered to be of importance. The copying of +flowers, horses and landscapes, such clumsy learning of musical +pieces as is carried on in most of our so-called educated families, +and the writing of feeble stories and bad verses, hundreds of which +appear in the newspapers and magazines, are obviously not artistic +activities; and the painting of indecent, pornographic pictures +stimulating sensuality, or the composition of songs and stories of +that nature, even if they have artistic qualities, is not a good +activity worthy of respect. + +And therefore, taking all the productions which are considered among +us to be artistic, I think it would be useful, first, to separate +what really is art from what has no right to that name; and secondly, +taking what really is art, to distinguish what is important and good +from what is insignificant and bad. + +The question of how and where to draw the line separating Art from +Not-art, and the good and important in art from the insignificant and +evil, is one of enormous importance to life. + +A great many of the wrong-doings and mistakes in our life result from +our calling things art which are not art. We accord an unmerited +respect to things which not only do not deserve it, but deserve +condemnation and contempt. Apart from the enormous amount of human +labour spent on the preparation of articles needed for the production +of art: studios, paints, canvas, marble, musical instruments, and +the theatres with their scenery and appliances,--even the lives of +human beings are actually perverted by the one-sided labours demanded +in the preparation of those who train for the arts. Hundreds of +thousands if not millions of children are forced to one-sided toil, +practising the so-called arts of dancing and music. Not to speak of +the children of the educated classes who pay their tribute to art in +the form of tormenting lessons,--children devoted to the ballet and +musical professions are simply distorted in the name of art to which +they are dedicated. If it is possible to compel children of seven or +eight to play an instrument, and for ten or fifteen years to continue +to do so for seven or eight hours a day; if it is possible to place +girls in the schools for the ballet,[18] and then to make them cut +capers during the first months of their pregnancy, and if all this is +done in the name of art, then it is certainly necessary to define, +first of all, what really is art--lest under the guise of art a +counterfeit should be produced; and then also to prove that art is a +matter of importance for mankind. + +Where then is the line dividing art, an important and necessary +matter valuable to humanity, from useless occupations, commercial +productions, and even from immorality? In what does the essence and +importance of true art lie? + + + II + +One theory--which its opponents call “tendentious”--says that the +essence of true art lies in the importance of the subject treated of: +that for art to be art, it is necessary that its content should be +something important, necessary to man, good, moral, and instructive. + +According to that theory the artist--that is to say the man who +possesses a certain skill--by taking the most important theme which +interests society at the time, can, by clothing it in what looks like +artistic form, produce a work of true art. According to that theory +religious, moral, social, and political truths clothed in what seems +like artistic form are artistic productions. + +Another theory, which calls itself “esthetic,” or “art for art’s +sake,” says that the essence of true art lies in the beauty of its +form; that for art to be true, it is necessary that what it presents +should be beautiful. + +According to that theory it is necessary for the production of art, +that an artist should possess technique, and should depict an object +which produces in the highest degree a pleasant impression; and +therefore a beautiful landscape, flowers, fruit, a nude figure, and +ballets, will be works of art. + +A third theory--which calls itself “realistic”--says that the essence +of art consists in the truthful, exact presentation of reality: +that, for art to be true it is necessary that it should depict life +as it really is. + +According to that theory, it follows that works of art may be +anything an artist sees or hears, all that he is able to make use of +in his function of reproduction, independently of the importance of +the subject or beauty of the form. + + * * * * * + +Such are the theories; and on the basis of each of them so-called +works of art appear which fit the first, the second, or the third. +But, apart from the fact that each of these theories contradicts +the others, not one of them satisfies the chief demand, namely, +to ascertain the boundary which divides art from commercial, +insignificant, or even harmful productions. + +In accordance with each of these theories, works can be produced +unceasingly, as in any handicraft, and they may be insignificant or +harmful. + +As to the first theory (“tendency”), important subjects--religious, +moral, social, or political--can always be found ready to hand, +and therefore one can continually produce works of so-called +art. Moreover, such subjects may be presented so obscurely and +insincerely that works treating of the most important of them will +prove insignificant and even harmful when the lofty content has been +degraded by insincere expression. + +Similarly according to the second theory (“esthetic”), any man having +learned the technique of any branch of art can incessantly produce +something beautiful and pleasant, but again this beautiful and +pleasant thing may be insignificant and harmful. + +Just in the same way according to the third theory (“realistic”), +everyone who wishes to be an artist can incessantly produce objects +of so-called art, because everybody is always interested in +something. If the author is interested in what is insignificant and +evil, then his work will be insignificant and evil. + +The chief point is that, according to each of these three theories, +“works of art” can be produced incessantly, as in every handicraft, +and that they actually are being so produced. So that these three +dominant and discordant theories not merely fail to fix the line that +separates art from not-art, but, on the contrary, they serve more +than anything else to stretch the domain of art and to bring within +it all that is insignificant and harmful. + + + III + +Where then is the boundary dividing art that is needful and important +and deserves respect from that which is unnecessary, unimportant, and +deserves not respect but contempt--such as productions which have a +plainly depraving effect? In what does true artistic activity consist? + +To answer this question clearly we must first discriminate between +artistic activity and another activity (usually confused with it), +namely, that of handing on impressions and perceptions received from +preceding generations--separating such activity as that, from the +reception of new impressions--those namely which will thereafter be +handed on from generation to generation. + +The handing on of what was known to former generations, in the sphere +of art, as in the sphere of science, is an activity of teaching and +learning. But the production of something _new_ is creation--the real +artistic activity. + +The business of handing on knowledge--teaching--has not an +independent significance but depends entirely on the importance +people attach to that which has been created--what it is they +consider it necessary to hand on from generation to generation. And +therefore the definition of what a creation is will also define what +it is that should be handed on. Moreover, the teacher’s business is +not usually considered to be artistic; the importance of artistic +activity is properly attributed to creation--that is to artistic +production.[19] + +What then is artistic (and scientific) creation? + +Artistic (and also scientific) creation is such mental activity as +brings dimly-perceived feelings (or thoughts) to such a degree of +clearness that these feelings (or thoughts) are transmitted to other +people. + +The process of “creation”--one common to all men and therefore known +to each of us by inner experience--occurs as follows: a man surmises +or dimly feels something that is perfectly new to him, which he has +never heard of from anybody. This something new impresses him, and +in ordinary conversation he points out to others what he perceives, +and to his surprise finds that what is apparent to him is quite +unseen by others. They do not see or do not feel what he tells them +of. This isolation, discord, disunion from others, at first disturbs +him, and verifying his own perception the man tries in different ways +to communicate to others what he has seen, felt, or understood; +but these others still do not understand what he communicates to +them, or do not understand it as he understands or feels it. And the +man begins to be troubled by a doubt as to whether he imagines and +dimly feels something that does not really exist, or whether others +do not see and do not feel something that does exist. And to solve +this doubt he directs his whole strength to the task of making his +discovery so clear that there cannot be the smallest doubt, either +for himself or for other people, as to the existence of that which +he perceives; and as soon as this elucidation is completed and the +man himself no longer doubts the existence of what he has seen, +understood, or felt, others at once see, understand, and feel as +he does, and it is this effort to make clear and indubitable to +himself and to others what both to others and to him had been dim and +obscure, that is the source from which flows the production of man’s +spiritual activity in general, or what we call works of art--which +widen man’s horizon and oblige him to see what had not been perceived +before.[20] + +It is in this that the activity of an artist consists; and to this +activity is related the feeling of the recipient. This feeling has +its source in imitativeness, or rather in a capacity to be infected, +and in a certain hypnotism--that is to say in the fact that the +artist’s stress of spirit elucidating to himself the subject that +had been doubtful to him, communicates itself, through the artistic +production, to the recipients. A work of art is then finished when +it has been brought to such clearness that it communicates itself +to others and evokes in them the same feeling that the artist +experienced while creating it. + +What was formerly unperceived, unfelt, and uncomprehended, by them +is by intensity of feeling brought to such a degree of clearness that +it becomes acceptable to all, and the production is a work of art. + +The satisfaction of the intense feeling of the artist who has +achieved his aim gives pleasure to him. Participation in this same +stress of feeling and in its satisfaction, a yielding to this +feeling, the imitation of it and infection by it (as by a yawn), the +experiencing in brief moments of what the artist has lived through +while creating his work, is the enjoyment those who assimilate a work +of art obtain. + +Such in my opinion is the peculiarity distinguishing art from any +other activity. + + + IV + +According to this division, all that imparts to mankind something +new, achieved by an artist’s stress of feeling and thought, is a +work of art. But that this mental activity should really have the +importance people attach to it, it is necessary that it should +contribute what is good to humanity, for it is evident that to a +new evil, to a new temptation leading people into evil, we cannot +attribute the value given to art as to something that benefits +mankind. The importance, the value, of art consists in widening +man’s outlook, in increasing the spiritual wealth that is humanity’s +capital. + +Therefore, though a work of art must always include something new, +yet the revelation of something new will not always be a work of art. +That it should be a work of art, it is necessary: + + (1) That the new idea, the content of the work, should be of + importance to mankind. + + (2) That this content should be expressed so clearly that + people may understand it. + + (3) That what incites the author to work at his production + should be an inner need and not an external inducement. + +And therefore that will not be a work of art in which no new thing is +disclosed; and that which has for its content what is insignificant +and therefore unimportant to man will not be a work of art, however +intelligibly it may be expressed and even if the author has worked at +it sincerely from an inner impulse. Nor will that be a work of art +which is so expressed as to be unintelligible however sincere may be +the author’s relation to it; nor that which has been produced by its +author not from an inner impulse but for an external aim, however +important may be its content and however intelligible its expression. + +That is a work of art which discloses something new and at the same +time in some degree satisfies the three conditions: content, form, +and sincerity. + +And here we come to the problem of how to define that lowest degree +of content, beauty, and sincerity, which a production must possess to +be a work of art. + +To be a work of art it must, in the first place, be a thing which has +for its content something hitherto unknown but of which man has need; +secondly, it must show this so intelligibly that it becomes generally +accessible; and thirdly, it must result from the author’s need to +solve an inner doubt. + +A work in which all three conditions are present even to a slight +degree, will be a work of art; but a production from which even one +of them is absent will not be a work of art. + +But it will be said that every work contains something needed by +man, and every work will be to some extent intelligible, and that +an author’s relation to every work has some degree of sincerity. +Where is the limit of needful content, intelligible expression, and +sincerity of treatment? A reply to this question will be given us by +a clear perception of the highest limit to which art may attain: the +opposite of the highest limit will show the lowest limit, dividing +all that cannot be accounted art from what is art. The highest +limit of content is such as is always necessary to all men. That +which is always necessary to all men is what is good or moral.[21] +The lowest limit of content, consequently, will be such as is not +needed by men, and is a bad and immoral content. The highest limit +of expression will be such as is always intelligible to all men. +What is thus intelligible is that which has nothing in it obscure, +superfluous, or indefinite, but only what is clear, concise, and +definite,--what is called beautiful. Conversely, the lowest limit of +expression will be such as is obscure, diffuse, and indefinite,--that +is to say formless. The highest limit of the artist’s relation to his +subject will be such as evokes in the soul of all men an impression +of reality--the reality not so much of what exists, as of what goes +on in the soul of the artist. This impression of reality is produced +by truth only; and therefore the highest relation of an author to his +subject is _sincerity_. The lowest limit, conversely, will be that in +which the author’s relation to his subject is not genuine, but false. +All works of art lie between these two limits. + +A perfect work of art will be one in which the content is important +and significant to all men, and therefore it will be _moral_. The +expression will be quite clear, intelligible to all, and therefore +_beautiful_; the author’s relation to his work will be altogether +sincere, and heartfelt, and therefore _true_. Imperfect works, but +still works of art, will be such productions as satisfy all three +conditions though it be but in unequal degree. That only will be no +work of art, in which either the content is quite insignificant and +unnecessary to man, or the expression quite unintelligible, or the +relation of the author to the work is quite insincere. In the degree +of perfection attained in each of these respects lies the difference +in quality between all true works of art. Sometimes the first +predominates, sometimes the second, and sometimes the third. + +All the remaining imperfect productions fall naturally, according +to the three fundamental conditions of art, into three chief kinds: +1) those which stand out by the importance of their content, 2) +those which stand out by their beauty of form, and 3) those which +stand out by their heartfelt sincerity. These three kinds all yield +approximations to perfect art and are inevitably produced wherever +there is art. + +Thus among young artists heartfelt sincerity chiefly prevails, +coupled with insignificance of content and more or less beauty of +form. Among older artists, on the contrary, the importance of the +content often predominates over beauty of form and sincerity. Among +laborious artists beauty of form predominates over content and +sincerity. + +All works of art may be appraised by the prevalence in them of +the first, the second, or the third quality, and they may all be +subdivided into 1) those that have content and are beautiful, but +have little sincerity; 2) those that have content, but little beauty +and little sincerity; 3) those that have little content, but are +beautiful and sincere, and so on, in all possible combinations and +permutations. + +All works of art, and in general all the mental activities of man, +can be appraised on the basis of these three fundamental qualities; +and they have been and are so appraised. + +The differences in valuation have resulted, and do result, from the +extent of the demand presented to art by certain people at a certain +time in regard to these three conditions. + +So for instance in classical times the demand for significance of +content was much higher, and the demand for clearness and sincerity +much lower than they subsequently became, especially in our time. The +demand for beauty became greater in the Middle Ages, but on the other +hand the demand for significance and sincerity became lower; and in +our time the demand for sincerity and truthfulness has become much +greater, but on the other hand the demand for beauty, and especially +for significance, has been lowered. + + + V + +The valuation of works of art is necessarily correct when all three +conditions are taken into account; and inevitably incorrect when +works are valued not on the basis of all three conditions but only of +one or two of them. + +And yet such valuation of works of art on the basis of only one of +the three conditions is a particularly prevalent error in our time, +lowering the general level of what is demanded from art to what can +be reached by a mere imitation of it, and confusing the minds of +critics, and of the public, and of artists themselves, as to what is +really art and as to where its boundary lies--the line that divides +it from craftsmanship and from mere amusement. + +This confusion arises from the fact that people who lack the capacity +to understand true art judge of works of art from one side only, and +according to their own characters and training observe in them the +first, the second, or the third side only, imagining and assuming +that this one side perceptible to them--and the significance of art +based on this one condition--defines the whole of art. Some see only +the importance of the content, others only the beauty of form, and +others again only the artist’s sincerity and therefore truthfulness. +And according to what they see, they define the nature of art itself, +construct their theories, and praise and encourage those who, like +themselves, not understanding wherein a work of art consists, turn +them out like pancakes and inundate our world with foul floods of all +kinds of follies and abominations, which they call “works of art.” + +Such are the majority of people and, as representatives of that +majority, such were the originators of the three esthetic theories +already alluded to, which meet the perceptions and demands of that +majority. + +All these theories are based on a misunderstanding of the whole +importance of art, and on severing its three fundamental conditions; +and therefore these three false theories of art clash, as a result +of the fact that real art has three fundamental conditions, of which +each of those theories accepts but one. + +The first theory, of so-called “tendencious” art, accepts as a work +of art one that has for its subject something which, though it be not +new, is important to all men by its moral content, independently of +its beauty and spiritual depth. + +The second (“art for art’s sake”) recognizes as a work of art only +that which has beauty of form, independently of its novelty, the +importance of its content, or its sincerity. + +The third theory, the “realistic,” recognizes as a work of art +only that in which the author is sincerely related to his subject +and which is therefore truthful. The last theory says that however +insignificant or even nasty may be the content, with a more or less +beautiful form, the work will be good if the author’s relation to +what he depicts is sincere and therefore truthful. + + + VI + +All these theories forget one chief thing--that neither importance, +nor beauty, nor sincerity, provides the requisite for works of art, +but that the basic condition of the production of such works is that +the artist should be conscious of something new and important. And +that, therefore, as it always has been so it always will be necessary +for a true artist to be able to perceive something quite new and +important. For the artist to see what is new, it is necessary that he +should observe and think, and not occupy his life with trifles which +hinder his attentive penetration into, and meditation on, life’s +phenomena. In order that the new things he sees may be important +ones, the artist must be a morally enlightened man and he must not +live a selfish life, but must share the common life of humanity. + +If only he sees what is new and important, he will be sure to find a +form which will express it, and the sincerity which is an essential +content of artistic production will be present. He must be able to +express the new subject so that all may understand it. For this he +must have such mastery of his craft that when working he will think +as little about the rules of that craft as a man when walking thinks +of the laws of motion. And in order to attain this, the artist must +not look round on his work and admire it, must not make technique +his aim, as one who is walking should not contemplate and admire his +gait, but should be concerned only to express his subject clearly and +in such a way as to be intelligible to all. + +Finally, to work at his subject not for external aims but to satisfy +his inner need, the artist must rise superior to motives of avarice +and vanity. He must love with his own heart and not with another’s, +and not pretend that he loves what others love or consider worthy of +love. + +And to attain all this the artist must do as Balaam did when the +messengers came to him, and he went apart awaiting God, so as to +say only what God commanded; and he must not do as that same Balaam +afterwards did when, tempted by gifts, he went to the king against +God’s command, as was evident even to the ass on which he rode, +though not perceived by him while blinded by avarice and vanity. + + + VII + +In our time nothing of that kind is demanded. A man who wishes to +follow art need not wait for some important and new perception to +arise in his soul, which he can sincerely love and having loved can +clothe in suitable form. In our time a man who wishes to follow art +either takes a subject current at the time and one praised by people +who in his opinion are clever, and clothes it as best he can in what +is called “artistic form”; or he chooses a subject which gives him +most opportunity to display his technical skill, and with toil and +patience produces what he considers to be a work of art; or having +received some chance impression he takes what caused that impression +for his subject, imagining that it will yield a work of art since it +happened to produce an impression on him. + +And so there appear an innumerable quantity of so-called works of +art; which, as in every mechanical craft, can be produced without +the least intermission. There always are current fashionable notions +in society, and with patience a technique can always be learnt, and +something or other will always seem interesting to someone. Having +separated the conditions that should be united in a true work of art, +people have produced so many works of pseudo-art that the public, the +critics, and the pseudo-artists themselves, are left quite without +any definition of what they themselves hold to be art. + +The people of to-day have as it were said to themselves: “Works of +art are good and useful; so it is necessary to produce more of them.” +It would indeed be a very good thing if there were more; but the +trouble is that you can only produce to order works which are no +better than works of mere craftsmanship because of their lack of the +essential conditions of art. + +A really artistic production cannot be made to order, for a true +work of art is the revelation (by laws beyond our grasp) of a +new conception of life arising in the artist’s soul, which, when +expressed, lights up the path along which humanity progresses. + + + + + PART XI + + AN INTRODUCTION TO “WHAT IS ART?” + + Tolstoy’s _What is Art?_ both in Russian and in my + translation, appeared in separate parts during the first half + of 1898. I wrote the following Introduction about a year + later, for an edition issued in April 1899. + + +An estimable and charming Russian lady I knew, felt so strongly the +charm of the music and ritual of the services of the Russo-Greek +Church that she wished the peasants, in whom she was interested, to +retain their blind faith though she herself disbelieved the Church +doctrines. “Their lives are so poor and bare, they have so little +art, so little poetry and colour in their lives--let them at least +enjoy what they have; it would be cruel to undeceive them,” said she. + +Suppose a false and antiquated view of life is supported by means of +art and is inseparably linked to some manifestations of art which we +enjoy and prize; if the false view of life be destroyed this art will +cease to appear valuable. Is it better to screen the error for the +sake of preserving the art? Or should the art be sacrificed for the +sake of truth? + +Again and again in history a dominant Church has utilized art to +maintain its sway over men. Reformers (early Christians, Mohammedans, +Puritans, and others) have perceived that art bound people to the old +faith and have been angry with art. They diligently chipped the noses +from statues and images, and were wroth with ceremonies, decorations, +stained-glass windows, and processions. They were even ready to +banish art altogether, for besides the superstitions it upheld, they +saw that it depraved and perverted men by dramas, drinking-songs, +novels, pictures, and dances, of a kind that awakened man’s lower +nature. Yet art always re-asserted her sway and to-day we are told +by many that art has nothing to do with morality--that art should be +followed for art’s sake. + +I went one day with a woman artist to the Bodkin Art Gallery, in +Moscow. In one of the rooms, on a table, lay a book of coloured +pictures, issued in Paris and supplied, I believe, to private +subscribers only. The pictures were admirably executed, but +represented scenes in the private cabinets of a restaurant. A +particular crisis of sexual indulgence was the chief subject of each +picture: women extravagantly dressed and partly undressed; women +exposing their legs and breasts to men in evening dress; men and +women taking liberties with each other, or dancing the _can-can_, +etc., etc. My companion the artist, a maiden lady of irreproachable +conduct and reputation, began deliberately to look at these pictures. +I could not let my attention dwell on them without ill effects. Such +things had a certain attraction for me and tended to make me restless +and nervous. I ventured to suggest that the subjects of the pictures +were objectionable. But my companion (who prided herself on being an +artist) remarked with conscious superiority that from an artist’s +point of view the _subject_ was of no consequence. The pictures being +very well executed were artistic, and therefore worthy of attention +and study. Morality had nothing to do with art. + +Here again is a problem. One remembers Plato’s advice not to let our +thoughts run upon women for if we do we shall not think clearly about +anything else, and one knows that to neglect this advice is to lose +tranquillity of mind; but then one does not wish to be considered +narrow, ascetic, or inartistic, or to lose artistic pleasures which +those around us esteem so highly. + +Again, the newspapers not long ago printed proposals to construct a +Wagner Opera House, to cost, if I recollect rightly, £100,000--about +as much as a hundred labourers may earn by five or ten years’ hard +work. The writers thought it would be a good thing if such an Opera +House were erected and endowed. But I had a talk lately with a +man who, till his health failed him, had worked as a builder in +London. He told me that when he was younger he had been very fond of +theatre-going, but later, when he thought things over and considered +that in almost every number of his weekly paper he read of cases of +people whose death was hastened by lack of sufficient food, he felt +it was not right that so much labour should be spent on theatres. + +In reply to this argument it is urged that food for the mind is as +important as food for the body. As the labouring classes work to +produce food and necessaries for themselves and for the cultured, so +some of the cultured class work to produce plays and operas. It is a +division of labour. But this again invites the rejoinder that, sure +enough, the labourers produce food for themselves and also food that +the cultured class accept and consume; but that the artists seem too +often to produce their spiritual food for the cultured only--at any +rate a singularly small share seems to reach the country labourers +who work to supply the bodily food! Even were the division of labour +shown to be a fair one, the division of products seems remarkably +one-sided. + +Once again: How is it that often when a new work is produced, +neither the critics, the artists, the publishers, nor the public, +seem to know whether it is valuable or worthless? Some of the most +famous books in English literature could at first hardly find a +publisher, or were savagely derided by leading critics; while other +works once acclaimed as masterpieces are now laughed at or utterly +forgotten. A play[22] which nobody now reads was once passed off as a +newly-discovered masterpiece of Shakespeare’s, and was produced at a +leading London theatre. Are the critics playing blindman’s buff? Are +they relying on each other? Is each following his own whim and fancy? +Or do they possess a criterion never revealed to those outside the +profession? + +Such are a few of the many problems relating to art which present +themselves to us all, and it is the purpose of Tolstoy’s _What is +Art?_ to enable us to reach such a comprehension of art, and of the +position art should occupy in our lives, as will enable us to answer +these questions. + +The task is one of enormous difficulty. Under the cloak of “art” so +much selfish amusement and self-indulgence tries to justify itself, +and so many mercenary interests are concerned in preventing the +light from shining in upon the subject, that the clamour raised by +this book can only be compared to that raised by the silversmiths of +Ephesus when they shouted, “Great is Diana of the Ephesians!” for +about the space of two hours. + +Elaborate theories block the path with subtle sophistries or +ponderous pseudo-erudition. Merely to master these and expose them +was by itself a great labour, necessary in order to clear the road +for any fresh view. To have accomplished this in a couple of chapters +is a remarkable achievement. To have done it without making the book +intolerably dry is more wonderful still. In Chapter III (where a +rapid summary of some sixty esthetic writers is given) even Tolstoy’s +powers fail to make the subject interesting, and he has to plead +with his readers “not to be overcome by dulness, but to read these +extracts through.” + +Among the writers mentioned, English readers miss the names of John +Ruskin and William Morris, especially as much that Tolstoy says is in +accord with their views. + +Of Ruskin, Tolstoy has a very high opinion. I once heard him say, +“I don’t know why you English make such a fuss about Gladstone--you +have a much greater man in Ruskin.” As a stylist, too, Tolstoy +spoke of him with high commendation. Ruskin, however, though he +wrote on art with profound insight and said many things with which +Tolstoy fully agrees, as well as some things he dissents from, has, +I think, nowhere so systematized and summarized his view that it can +be readily quoted in the concise way which has enabled Tolstoy to +indicate his points of essential agreement with Home (Lord Kames), +Véron, and Kant.[23] + +As to William Morris, we are reminded of his dictum that art is the +workman’s expression of joy in his work, by Tolstoy’s “As soon as +the author is not producing art for his own satisfaction--does not +himself feel what he wishes to express--a resistance immediately +springs up” (p. 267); and again, “In such transmission to others of +the feelings that have arisen in him, he (the artist) will find his +happiness” (p. 316). Tolstoy sweeps over a far wider range of +thought, but he and Morris are not opposed. Morris was emphasizing +part of what Tolstoy is implying. + +A difficulty not yet mentioned lurks in the hearts of most of us. +We have enjoyed works of “art.” We have been interested by the +psychology analysed in a novel, or we have been thrilled by an +unexpected “effect”; have admired the exactitude with which real +life has been reproduced, or have had our feelings touched by +allusions to, or imitations of, works--old German legends, Greek +myths, or Hebrew poetry--which moved us long ago, as they moved +generations before us. And we thought all this was “art.” Not clearly +understanding what art is and wherein its importance lies, we were +not only attached to these things, but attributed importance to them, +calling them “artistic” and “beautiful” without well knowing what we +meant by those words. + +But here is a book that obliges us to clear our minds. It challenges +us to define “art” and “beauty,” and to say what grounds we have for +attaching _importance_ to these things that happen to please us. + +As to beauty, we find that the definition given by esthetic writers +amounts merely to this, that “Beauty is a kind of pleasure received +by us, not having personal advantage for its object.” But it follows +from this, that “beauty” is a matter of taste, differing among +different people; and to attach special importance to what pleases +_me_ (and others who have had the same sort of training that I have +had) is merely to repeat the old, old mistake which so divides human +society: it is like declaring that my race is the best race, my +nation the best nation, my Church the best Church, and my family the +best family. It indicates ignorance and selfishness. + +But “truth angers those whom it does not convince”; there are people +who do not wish to understand these things. It seems, at first, as +though Tolstoy were obliging us to sacrifice something valuable. We +do not realize that we are being helped to select the best art, but +we do feel that we are being deprived of our sense of satisfaction in +Baudelaire. + +Both the magnitude and the difficulty of the task were therefore +very great, but they have been surmounted in a marvellous manner. In +its construction, in co-ordination, in concise presentation of many +converging thoughts, this is, probably, the most masterly of all +Tolstoy’s works. + +He was indeed peculiarly qualified for the task he has accomplished. +It was after many years of work as a writer of fiction, and when +he was already standing in the very foremost rank of European +novelists,[24] that he found himself compelled to face, in deadly +earnest, the deepest problems of human life. He not only could +not go on writing books, but he felt he could not live, unless he +found clear guidance, so that he might walk with a sure foot and +know the purpose and meaning of his life. Not as a mere question of +speculative curiosity but as a matter of vital necessity, he devoted +years to re-discover the truths which underlie all religion. + +To fit him for this task he possessed great knowledge of men and +books, a wide experience of life, a knowledge of languages, and +freedom from bondage to any authority but that of reason and +conscience. He was pinned to no Nicene Creed, nor was he in receipt +of any retaining fee he was not prepared to sacrifice. Another +rare gift was his wonderful sincerity, and (due, I think, to that +sincerity) an amazing power of looking at the phenomena of our +complex and artificial life with the eyes of a child; going straight +to the real, obvious facts of the case and brushing aside the +sophistries, conventionalities, and “authorities” by which they are +obscured. + +He commenced the task when he was about fifty years of age, and +during the following twenty years produced a dozen philosophical +works of first-rate importance, besides many stories and short +articles. + +And all this time the problems of Art--What is Art? What importance +should we attach to it? How is it related to the rest of life?--were +working in his mind. He was a great artist, often upbraided for +having abandoned his art. He, of all men, was bound to clear his +thoughts on this perplexing subject and to express them. His whole +philosophy of life--the “religious perception” to which, with such +tremendous labour and effort, he had attained--forbade him to detach +art from life, and place it in a water-tight compartment where it +should not act on life or be re-acted upon by life. + +Life to him is rational. It has a clear aim and purpose, discernible +by the aid of reason and conscience. And no human activity can be +fully understood or rightly appreciated until the central purpose of +life is perceived. + +You cannot piece together a puzzle-map as long as you keep one bit +in a wrong place, but when the pieces all fit together you have +a demonstration that they are all in their right places. Tolstoy +used that simile years ago when explaining how the comprehension of +the text, “resist not him that is evil,” enabled him to perceive +the coherence of Christ’s teaching, which had long baffled him. +So it is with the problem of Art. Wrongly understood, it tends to +confuse and perplex one’s whole comprehension of life. But the clue +supplied by true “religious perception” enables us to place art so +that it fits in with a right understanding of politics, economics, +sex-relationships, science, and all other phases of human activity. + +The basis on which the work rests is a perception of the meaning +of human life. This was lost sight of by some reviewers, who when +the book first appeared misrepresented what Tolstoy said and then +demonstrated how stupid he would have been had he said what they +attributed to him. Leaving his premises and arguments untouched, they +dissented from various conclusions--as though it were all a question +of taste. But such criticism can lead to nothing. Discussions as to +why one man likes pears and another prefers meat do not help towards +finding a definition of what is essential in nourishment; and, just +so, “the solution of questions of taste in art does not help to make +clear what this particular human activity which we call art really +consists in.” + +The object of the following summary of a few main points is to help +the reader to avoid pitfalls into which many reviewers fell. It aims +at being no more than a bare statement of the positions--for more +than that the reader must turn to the book itself. + +Let it be granted at the outset that Tolstoy writes for those who +have ears to hear. He seldom pauses to safeguard himself against the +captious critic, and cares little for minute verbal accuracy. For +instance, on page 266, he mentions “Paris,” where an English writer +(even one who knew to what an extent Paris is the art centre of +France, and how many artists flock thither from Russia, America, and +all ends of the earth) would have been almost sure to say “France,” +for fear of being thought to exaggerate. One needs some alertness of +mind to follow Tolstoy in his task of compressing so large a subject +into so small a space. Moreover, he is an emphatic writer, who says +what he means and even sometimes overemphasises it. With this much +warning let us proceed to a brief summary of Tolstoy’s view of art. + +“Art is a human activity,” and consequently does not exist for its +own sake, but is valuable or objectionable in proportion as it is +serviceable or harmful to mankind. The object of this activity is +to transmit to others feelings the artist has experienced. Such +feelings--intentionally re-evoked and successfully transmitted to +others--are the subject-matter of all art. By certain external +signs--movements, lines, colours, sounds, or arrangements of +words--an artist infects other people so that they share his +feelings. Thus “art is a means of union among men, joining them +together in the same emotions.” + +In Chapters II to V of _What is Art?_ we have an examination of +various theories which have taken art to be something other than +this, and step by step we are brought to the conclusion that art is +precisely what this definition indicates. + +Having got our definition of art, we first consider art independently +of its subject-matter, that is without asking whether the feelings +transmitted are good, bad, or indifferent. Without adequate +expression there is no art, for there is no “infection,” no +transference to others of the author’s feeling. The test of art is +infection. If an author has moved you so that you feel as he felt, if +you are so united to him in feeling that it seems to you that he has +expressed just what you have long wished to express, the work that +has so infected you is a work of art. + +In this sense it is true that art has nothing to do with morality; +for the test lies in the infection and not in any consideration of +the goodness or badness of the emotions conveyed. Thus the test of +art is an _internal_ one. The activity of art is based on the fact +that a man, receiving through his sense of hearing or sight another +man’s expression of feeling, is capable of experiencing the emotion +that moved the man who expressed it. We all share the same common +human nature, and in this sense at least are sons of one Father. To +take the simplest example: a man laughs, and another, who hears, +becomes merry; or a man weeps, and another, who hears, feels sorrow. +But note in passing that it does not amount to art “if a man infects +others directly, immediately, at the very time he experiences the +feeling: if he causes another man to yawn when he himself cannot help +yawning, and so forth.” Art begins when someone, _with the object of +making others share his feeling_, expresses that feeling by certain +external indications. + +This faculty of being infected by the expression of another man’s +emotions is possessed by all normal human beings. For a plain man +of unperverted taste, living in contact with nature, with animals, +and with his fellow-men, say, for “a country peasant of unperverted +taste, this is as easy as it is for an animal of unspoilt scent to +follow the trace he needs.” And he will know indubitably whether +a work presented to him does, or does not, unite him in feeling +with the author. But very many people “of our circle” (upper and +middle-class society) live such unnatural lives, in such conventional +relations to the people around them, and in such artificial +surroundings, that they have lost “that simple feeling ... that +sense of infection with another’s feeling--compelling us to joy in +another’s gladness, to sorrow in another’s grief, and to mingle souls +with another--which is the essence of art.” Such people, therefore, +have no _inner_ test by which to recognize a work of art; and they +will always be mistaking other things for art, and seeking for +external guides, such as the opinions of “recognized authorities.” +Or they will mistake for art something that produces a merely +physiological effect: lulling or exciting them; or some intellectual +puzzle that gives them something to think about. + +But if most people of the “cultured crowd” are impervious to true +art, is it really possible that a common country peasant, for +instance, whose working-days are filled with labour, and whose +brief leisure is largely taken up by his family life and by his +participation in the affairs of his village--is it possible that +_he_ can recognize and be touched by works of art? Certainly it is! +Just as in ancient Greece crowds assembled to hear the poems of +Homer, so to-day in many countries, as has been the case in many +ages, the Gospel parables, and much else of the highest art, are +gladly heard by the common people. And this does not refer to any +religious use of the Bible, but to its use as literature. + +Not only do normal labouring country people possess the capacity +to be infected by good art--“the epic of Genesis, folk-legends, +fairy-tales, folk-songs, etc.,”--but they themselves produce songs, +stories, dances, decorations, and so forth, which are works of true +art. Take as examples the works of Burns or Bunyan, and the peasant +women’s song mentioned in Chapter XIV of _What is Art?_; or some +of those melodies produced by the negro slaves on the southern +plantations, which have touched, and still touch, many of us with the +emotions felt by their unknown and unpaid composers. + +The one great quality which makes a work of art truly contagious is +its _sincerity_. If an artist is really actuated by a feeling, and is +strongly impelled to communicate that feeling to other people--not +for money or fame or anything else, but because he feels he must +impart it--then he will not be satisfied till he has found a _clear_ +way of expressing it. And the man who is not borrowing his feelings, +but has drawn what he expresses from the depths of his nature, is +sure to be _original_, for in the same way that no two people have +exactly similar faces or forms, no two people have exactly similar +minds or souls. + +That, in brief outline, is what Tolstoy says about art considered +apart from its subject-matter. And this is how certain critics have +met it. They say that when Tolstoy says the test of art is internal, +he must mean that it is external. When he says that country peasants +have in the past appreciated, and do still appreciate, great works +of art, he means that the way to detect a work of art is to see what +is apparently most popular among the masses. Go into the streets +or music-halls of the cities in any particular country and year, +and observe what is most frequently sung, shouted, or played on the +barrel-organs. It may happen to be + + “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” + +or, + + “We don’t want to fight, + But, by Jingo, if we do!” + +But whatever it is, you may at once declare these songs to be the +highest musical art, without pausing to ask to what they owe their +vogue: what actress, or singer, or politician, or wave of patriotic +passion has conduced to their popularity! Nor need you consider +whether that popularity is merely temporary and local. Tolstoy has +said that works of the highest art are understood by unperverted +country peasants, and here are things which are popular with a town +mob--_ergo_, these things must be the highest art. The critics then +proceed to say that such a test is utterly absurd. And on this point +we may agree with the critics. + +Some of these writers commence their articles by saying that Tolstoy +is a most profound thinker, a great prophet, an intellectual force, +etc. Yet when Tolstoy, in his emphatic way, makes the sweeping remark +that “good art always pleases everyone,” the critics do not read on +to find out what he means, but reply: “No! good art does not please +everyone; some people are colour-blind, and some are deaf, or have no +ear for music.” + +It is as though a man strenuously arguing a point were to say, +“Everyone knows that two and two make four,” and a boy who did not +at all see what the speaker was driving at were to reply: “No, +our new-born baby doesn’t know it!” It would be true enough, and +would distract attention from the subject in hand, but it would not +elucidate matters. + +There is, of course, a verbal contradiction between the statements +that “good art always pleases everyone” (p. 224), and the remark +concerning “people of our circle,” artists and public and critics +who, “with very few exceptions ... cannot distinguish true works +of art from counterfeits, but continually mistake for real art the +worst and most artificial” (p. 273). But I venture to think that no +unprejudiced and intelligent person, reading the book carefully, +should fail to reach the author’s meaning. + +A point to be well noted is the distinction between science and +art. “Science investigates and brings to human perception such +truths and such knowledge as the people of a given time and society +consider most important. Art transmits these truths from the region +of perception to the region of emotion.” Science is an “activity of +the understanding which demands preparation and a certain sequence +of knowledge, so that one cannot learn trigonometry before knowing +geometry.” “This business of art”, on the other hand, “lies just +in this: to make that understood and felt which in the form of an +argument might be incomprehensible and inaccessible” (p. 225). It +“infects any man, whatever his plane of development,” and “(as is +said in the Gospel) the hindrance to understanding the best and +highest _feelings_ does not at all lie in deficiency of development +or learning, but, on the contrary, in false development and false +learning” (p. 226). Science and art are frequently blended in one +work, _e. g._, in the Gospel elucidation of Christ’s comprehension of +life, or, to take a modern instance, in Henry George’s elucidation of +the land question in _Social Problems_. + +The class distinction to which Tolstoy repeatedly alludes needs +some explanation. The position of the lower classes in England and +in Russia is different. In Russia a much larger number of people +live on the verge of starvation, the condition of the factory-hands +is much worse than in England, and there are many glaring cases +of brutal cruelty inflicted on the peasants by the officials, the +police, or the military; but in Russia a far greater proportion of +the population live in the country, and a peasant usually has his +own house and tills his share of the communal lands. Though Tolstoy +puts forward no claim that the Russian peasants are more susceptible +to art than men of other nationalities, yet he had them before his +eyes and in speaking of an “unperverted country peasant” he was no +doubt thinking of a man who perhaps suffered grievous want when +there was a bad harvest in his province but who was accustomed to +the experiences of a natural life, to the management of his own +affairs, and to a real voice in all the arrangements of the village +commune. The Government interfered from time to time to collect its +taxes by force, to take the young men for soldiers, or to maintain +the “rights” of the upper classes; but otherwise the peasant was free +to do what he saw to be necessary and reasonable. On the other hand, +English labourers are, for the most part, not so poor, they have more +legal rights and they have votes; but a far larger number of them +live in towns and are engaged in unnatural occupations, while even +those that do live in touch with nature are usually mere wage-earners +tilling other men’s land, and living often in abject submission to +the farmer, the parson, or the lady-bountiful. They are dependent on +an employer for daily bread, and the condition of a wage-labourer is +as unnatural as that of a landlord. + +The tyranny of the Petersburg bureaucracy was more dramatic but +less omnipresent, and probably far less fatal to the capacity to +enjoy art, than the tyranny of our respectable, self-satisfied, and +property-loving middle-class. I am, therefore, afraid that we have +no great number of “unperverted” country labourers to compare with +those of whom Tolstoy spoke, some of whom I have known personally. +But the truth Tolstoy elucidates lies too deep in human nature to be +infringed by such differences of local circumstance. Whatever those +circumstances may be, the fact remains that in proportion as a man +approaches towards the condition not only of “earning his subsistence +by some kind of labour,” but of “living on all its sides the life +natural and proper to mankind,” his capacity to appreciate true art +tends to increase. On the other hand, when a class settles down into +an artificial way of life--loses touch with nature, becomes confused +in its perceptions of what is good and what is bad, and prefers +the condition of a parasite to that of a producer--its capacity to +appreciate true art must diminish. Losing all clear perception of +the meaning of life, such people are necessarily left without any +criterion which will enable them to distinguish good from bad art, +and they are sure to follow eagerly after beauty, that is to say +after “that which pleases them.” + +The artists of our society can usually only reach people of the upper +and middle classes. But is the great artist he who delights a select +audience of his own day and class, or he whose works link generation +to generation and race to race in a common bond of feeling? Surely +art should fulfil its purpose as completely as possible. A work of +art that united every one with the author and with one another would +be perfect art. Tolstoy, in his emphatic way, speaks of works of +“universal” art, and (though the profound critics hasten to inform us +that no work of art ever reached everybody) certainly the more nearly +a work of art approaches to such expression of feeling that every +one may be infected by it, the nearer (apart from all question of +subject-matter) it approaches perfection. + +But now as to subject-matter. The subject-matter of art consists of +feelings which can be spread from man to man, feelings which are +“contagious” or “infectious.” Is it of no importance _what_ feelings +increase and multiply among men? + +One man feels that submission to the authority of _his_ Church, and +belief in all that it teaches him, is good; another is imbued by a +sense of each man’s duty to think with his own head: to use for his +guidance in life the reason and conscience given him. One man feels +that his nation _ought_ to wipe out in blood the shame of a defeat +inflicted on her; another feels that we are brothers, sons of one +spirit, and that the slaughter of man by man is always wrong. One +man feels that the most desirable thing in life is the satisfaction +obtainable by the love of women; another man feels that sex-love is +an entanglement and a snare, hindering his real work in life. And +each of these, if he possess an artist’s gift of expression and if +the feeling be really his own and sincere, may infect other men. But +some of these feelings will benefit and some will harm mankind, and +the more widely they are spread the greater will be their effect. + +Art unites men. Surely it is desirable that the feelings in which it +unites them should be “the best and highest to which men have risen,” +or at least should not run contrary to our perception of what makes +for the well-being of ourselves and of others. And our perception +of what makes for the well-being of ourselves and of others is what +Tolstoy calls our “religious perception.” + +Therefore the subject-matter of what we in our day can esteem as +being the best art, can be of two kinds only:-- + +1) Feelings flowing from the highest perception now attainable by man +of our right relation to our neighbour and to the Source from which +we come. Of such art, Dickens’s _Christmas Carol_, uniting us in a +more vivid sense of compassion and love, is a ready example. + +2) The simple feelings of common life, accessible to every one, +provided that they are such as do not hinder progress towards +well-being. Art of this kind makes us realize to how great an extent +we already are members one of another, sharing the feelings of one +common human nature. + +The success of a very primitive novel, the story of Joseph, which +made its way into the sacred books of the Jews, spread from land +to land and from age to age, and continues to be read to-day among +people quite free from bibliolatry--shows how nearly “universal” may +be the appeal of this kind of art. This branch includes all harmless +jokes, folk-stories, nursery rhymes, and even dolls, if only the +author or designer has expressed a feeling (tenderness, pleasure, +humour, or what not) so as to infect others. + +But how are we to know what _are_ the “best” feelings? What is good? +and what is evil? This is decided by religious perception. Some such +perception exists in every human being; there is always something he +approves of, and something he disapproves of. Reason and conscience +are always present, active or latent, as long as man lives. Lady +Lugard tells us that the most degraded cannibal she ever met drew the +line at eating his own mother: nothing would induce him to entertain +the idea, his moral sense was revolted by the suggestion. In more +advanced societies the religious perception they have reached--the +foremost stage which has been discerned in mankind’s long march +towards perfection--has been clearly expressed by someone, and more +or less consciously accepted as an ideal by the many. But there are +transition periods in history when the worn-out formularies of a past +age have ceased to satisfy men, or have become so incrusted with +superstitions that their original brightness is lost. The religious +perception that is dawning may not yet have found such expression as +to be generally understood, but for all that it exists, and shows +itself by compelling men to repudiate beliefs that satisfied their +forefathers, the outward and visible signs of which are still endowed +and dominant long after their spirit has taken refuge in temples not +made with hands. + +At such times it is difficult for men to understand each other, for +the very words needed to express the deepest experiences of men’s +consciousness mean different things to different men. So, among us +to-day, to many minds “faith” means “credulity,” and “God” suggests a +person of the male sex, father of one only-begotten son, and creator +of the universe. + +This is why Tolstoy’s rational religious perception, expressed +in the books he wrote during the last thirty years of his life, +is frequently spoken of by people who have not grasped it, as +“mysticism.”[25] + +The narrow materialist is shocked to find that Tolstoy will not +confine himself to the “objective” view of life. Encountering in +himself that “inward voice” which compels us all to choose between +good and evil, Tolstoy refuses to be diverted from a matter of +immediate and vital importance to him by discussions as to the +derivation of the external manifestations of conscience which +biologists are able to detect in remote forms of life. The mystic, +on the other hand, shrinks from Tolstoy’s desire to try all things +by the light of reason, to depend on nothing vague, and to accept +nothing on authority. The man who does not trust his own reason, +fears that life thus squarely faced will prove less worth having than +it is when clothed in mist. + +In this work, however, Tolstoy does not recapitulate at length what +he has said before. He does not pause to re-explain why he condemns +patriotism, that is, each man’s preference for the predominance of +_his own_ country, which leads to the slaughter of man by man in war; +or Churches, which are sectarian, that is, which (striving to assert +that _your_ doxy is heterodoxy, but _our_ doxy is orthodoxy) make +external authorities (Popes, Bibles, Councils) supreme, and cling +to superstitions (_their own_ miracles, legends, and myths), thus +separating themselves from communion with the rest of mankind. He +merely summarizes it all in a few sentences, defining the “religious +perception” of to-day, which alone can decide for us “the degree +of importance both of the feelings transmitted by art and of the +information transmitted by science.” + +“The religious perception of our time, in its widest and most +practical application, is the consciousness that our well-being, +both material and spiritual, individual and collective, temporal and +eternal, lies in the growth of brotherhood among men--in their loving +harmony with one another” (p. 281). + +And again:-- + +“However differently in form people belonging to our Christian +world may define the destiny of man: whether they see it in human +progress in whatever sense of the words, in the union of all men in +a socialist realm, or in the establishment of a commune; whether +they look forward to the union of mankind under the guidance of one +universal Church, or to a federation of the world--however various in +form their definitions of the destination of human life may be, all +men in our times already admit that the highest well-being attainable +by men is to be reached by their union with one another” (p. 309). + +This is the foundation on which the whole work is based. It follows +necessarily from this perception that we should consider as most +important in science “investigations into the results of good and +bad actions, considerations of the reasonableness or unreasonableness +of human institutions and beliefs, considerations of how human life +should be lived in order to obtain the greatest well-being for each; +as to what one may and should, and what one cannot and should not +believe; how to subdue one’s passions, and how to acquire the habit +of virtue.” This is the science that occupied the greatest sages of +the ancient world, and it is precisely to this kind of scientific +investigation that Tolstoy devoted most of the last thirty years of +his life, and for the sake of which the author of _Resurrection_ was +often said to have “abandoned art.” + +Since science, like art, is “a human activity,” that science best +deserves our esteem, best deserves to be “chosen, tolerated, +approved, and diffused,” which treats of what is supremely important +to man; which deals with urgent, vital, inevitable problems of actual +life. Such science as this brings “to the consciousness of men the +truths that flow from the religious perception of our times,” and +“indicates the various methods of applying this consciousness to +life.” “Art should transform this perception into feeling.” + +Experimental science studies questions of pure curiosity, or things +harmful to mankind (such as quick-firing cannon), or technical +improvements which in a better state of society would lighten the +workers’ burden. But, even at its best, such science “cannot serve as +a basis for art,” for it is occupied with subjects unrelated to human +conduct. + +Naturally enough, the last chapter of the book deals with the +relation between science and art. And the conclusion is, that: + +“The destiny of art in our time is to transmit from the realm of +reason to the realm of feeling, the truth that well-being for men +consists in being united together, and to set up, in place of +the existing reign of force, that kingdom of God--that is, of +love--which we all recognize to be the highest aim of human life” (p. +333). + +And this art of the future will, in subject-matter, not be poorer, +but far richer, than the art of to-day. From the lullaby--that will +delight millions of people, generation after generation--to the +highest religious art, dealing with strong, rich, and varied emotions +flowing from a fresh outlook upon life and all its problems, the +field open for good art is enormous. With so much to say that is +urgently important to all, the art of the future will, in matter +of form, also, be far superior to our art in “clearness, beauty, +simplicity, and compression” (p. 315). + +For beauty (which is “that which pleases”)--though it depends on +taste, and can furnish no _criterion_ for art--will be a natural +characteristic of work done, not for hire nor even for fame, but +because men, living a natural and healthy life, wish to share the +“highest spiritual strength which passes through them” with the +greatest possible number of others. The feelings such an artist +wishes to share he will transmit in a way that will please him and +will therefore please other men who share his nature. + +In the subject-matter of art that really lives, morality is as +unavoidable as in life itself. It is in the nature of things and we +cannot escape it. + +In a society where each man sets himself to obtain wealth, the +difficulty of obtaining an honest living tends to become greater +and greater. The more keenly a society pants to obtain “that which +pleases,” and puts this forward as the first and great consideration, +the more puerile and worthless will its art become. But in a society +which seeks primarily for right relations between its members, an +abundance will be obtainable for all; and when “religious perception” +guides a people’s art beauty inevitably results, as has always been +the case when men have seized a fresh perception of life and of its +purpose. + +Tried by such tests the enormous majority of the things we have been +taught to consider great works of art are found wanting. Either they +fail to infect (and attract merely by being interesting, realistic, +dramatic, or by borrowing from others) and are therefore not works of +art at all; or they are works of “exclusive art,” poor in form and +capable of infecting only a select audience trained and habituated to +such inferior art; or they are bad in subject-matter, transmitting +feelings harmful to mankind. + +But strive as we may to be clear and explicit, our approval and +disapproval is a matter of _degree_. The thought which underlay the +remark: “Why callest thou me good? none is good, save one, even God,” +applies, not to man only but to all things human. + +Tolstoy does not shrink from condemning his own artistic productions; +with the exception of two short stories,[26] he tells us, they are +works of bad art. Take, for instance, the novel _Resurrection_, of +which he has somewhere spoken disparagingly, as being “written in +my former style.” What does this mean? The book is a masterpiece +in its own line; it undoubtedly infects many people, and the +feelings transmitted are in the main such as Tolstoy approves of: in +fact, they are the feelings to which his religious perception has +brought him. If for a moment lust is shown, the reaction follows as +inevitably as in real life and is transmitted with great artistic +power. Tolstoy approved of treating all the problems of life, +including the sex-question, quite plainly and explicitly. To guide us +in life we need, not ignorance nor evasion of facts, but soundness of +religious perception, clearness of thought, and a right direction +and development of feeling. In subject-matter then _Resurrection_ is +as clearly a work of religious art as any novel mentioned by Tolstoy +in _What is Art?_ And with regard to the manner in which the matter +is presented, I think it may safely be said that in “clearness,” +as well as in “simplicity and compression,” it stands easily first +among Tolstoy’s novels. Of its “individuality and sincerity,” to say +that it equals his former works is to say that it is unsurpassed in +those qualities by any novel we possess. Why the work did not satisfy +Tolstoy is, I think, because it is a work of “exclusive art,” laden +with details of time and place. “Simplicity and compression” it +possesses, but not in the degree required in works of “universal” +art. It is a novel appealing mainly to the class that has leisure for +novel-reading because it neglects to produce its own food, make its +own clothes, or build its own houses. But if these considerations +apply to _Resurrection_, they apply with at least equal force to all +the best novels extant. If Tolstoy is sometimes severe on others, it +must be admitted that he is at least as severe on himself, and to +enable us to discern the _comparative_ merits of different works of +art we may use his principles without applying them as exactingly as +he does himself. + +There is one defect in Tolstoy’s writings in general which needs to +be noted. It is observable in his novels, but it is more serious in +his essays and in his philosophical works. He does not write in a +style always easy to read. He expects more strenuous co-operation +from his readers than can safely be looked for from the ordinary +man. His sentences are often long, sometimes extremely involved, and +occasionally even faulty in structure. The strenuous labour he puts +into his work all goes to elucidate his perception of the matter, +and the sequence of the ideas. For the mere phraseology he trusted +to his great power of expression, and he had as little inclination +to polish it on a final revision as when writing the first rough +draft. He would re-shape an article again and again if the thoughts +expressed did not satisfy him. But he would sometimes leave +uncorrected a careless sentence which might baffle many an unwary +reader. This characteristic was not noticeable in his earlier works, +when the matter he wrote about was less absorbingly important.[27] +He certainly in his later years cared nothing at all for the elegant +phraseology so highly prized by writers who having nothing particular +to express attach supreme importance to their power of expression. +But his readers have occasionally to pay for his indifference. + +_What is Art?_ itself is a philosophical work, though many passages, +and even some whole chapters, appeal to us as works of art, and we +feel the contagion of the author’s hope, his anxiety to serve the +cause of truth and love, his indignation (sometimes rather sharply +expressed) at whatever blocks the path of progress, and his contempt +for much that the “cultured crowd” in our erudite, perverted society +have persuaded themselves, and would fain persuade others, is the +highest art. + +One result which follows inevitably from Tolstoy’s view (and which +illustrates how widely his views differ from the fashionable esthetic +mysticism), is that art is not stationary but progressive. It is +true that our highest religious perception found expression eighteen +hundred years ago, and then served as the basis of a literary art +which is still unmatched, and that similar cases can be instanced +from the farther East. But allowing for such great exceptions--to +which, not inaptly, the term “inspiration” has been specially +applied--the subject-matter of art improves, though long periods of +time may have to be viewed to make this obvious. Our power of verbal +expression may be no better now than it was in the days of David, +but we must no longer esteem as good in _subject-matter_ poems which +appeal to the Eternal to destroy a man’s private or national foes; +for we have reached a religious perception which bids us have no +foes, and the ultimate source (undefinable by us) from which this +consciousness has come, is what we mean when we speak of God. + + + + + PART XII + + WHAT IS ART? + + _Tolstoy’s Preface to the First English Edition, translated + by Aylmer Maude from the Original Mss._ + + +This book of mine, “What is Art?” appears now for the first time +in its true form. More than one edition has already been issued in +Russia, but in each case it has been so mutilated by the Censor +that I request all who are interested in my views on art only to +judge of them by the work in its present shape. The causes which led +to the publication of the book--with my name attached to it--in a +mutilated form, were the following: In accordance with a decision I +arrived at long ago,--not to submit my writings to the Censorship +(which I consider to be an immoral and irrational institution), +but to print them only in the shape in which they were written,--I +intended not to attempt to print this work in Russia. However, my +good acquaintance Professor Grote, editor of a Moscow psychological +magazine, having heard of the contents of my work asked me to print +it in his magazine, and promised me that he would get the book +through the Censor’s office unmutilated if I would but agree to a few +very unimportant alterations, merely toning down certain expressions. +I was weak enough to agree to this, and it has resulted in a book +appearing under my name, from which not only have some essential +thoughts been excluded, but into which the thoughts of other +men--even thoughts utterly opposed to my own convictions--have been +introduced. + +The thing occurred in this way. First Grote softened my expressions +and in some cases weakened them. For instance, he replaced the +words: _always_ by _sometimes_, _all_ by _some_, _Church_ religion +by _Roman Catholic_ religion, “_Mother of God_” by _Madonna_, +_patriotism_ by _pseudo-patriotism_, _palaces_ by _palatii_,[28] +etc., and I did not consider it necessary to protest. But when the +book was already in type, the Censor required that whole sentences +should be altered, and that instead of what I said about the evil of +landed property, a remark should be substituted on the evils of a +landless proletariat.[29] I agreed to this also and to some further +alterations. It seemed not worth while to upset the whole affair for +the sake of one sentence, and when one alteration had been agreed to +it seemed not worth while to protest against a second and a third. +Thus little by little expressions crept into the book which altered +the sense and attributed things to me that I could not have wished to +say. So that by the time the book was printed it had been deprived of +some part of its integrity and sincerity. But there was consolation +in the thought that the book, even in this form, if it contains +something good, would be of use to Russian readers whom it would +otherwise not have reached. Things however turned out otherwise. +_Nous comptions sans notre hôte._ After the legal term of four +days had already elapsed, the book was seized and, on instructions +received from Petersburg, it was handed over to the Spiritual Censor. +Then Grote declined all further participation in the affair, and +the Spiritual Censor proceeded to do what he liked with the book. +The Spiritual Censorship is one of the most ignorant, venal, stupid, +and despotic institutions in Russia. Books which disagree in any way +with the recognised State religion of Russia, if once it gets hold +of them, are almost always totally suppressed and burnt; which is +what happened to all my religious works when attempts were made to +print them in Russia. Probably a similar fate would have overtaken +this work also, had not the editors of the magazine employed all +means to save it. The result of their efforts was that the Spiritual +Censor, a priest who probably understands art and is interested in +art as much as I understand or am interested in church services, +but who gets a good salary for destroying whatever is likely to +displease his superiors, struck out all that seemed to him to +endanger his position, and substituted his thoughts for mine wherever +he considered it necessary to do so. For instance, where I speak of +Christ going to the Cross for the sake of the truth he professed, the +Censor substituted a statement that Christ died for mankind, that +is, he attributed to me an assertion of the dogma of the Redemption, +which I consider to be one of the most untruthful and harmful of +Church dogmas. After correcting the book in this way, the Spiritual +Censor allowed it to be printed. + +To protest in Russia is impossible; no newspaper would publish such +a protest, and to withdraw my book from the magazine and place the +editor in an awkward position with the public was also impossible. + +So the matter has remained. A book has appeared under my name +containing thoughts attributed to me which are not mine. + +I was persuaded to give my article to a Russian magazine in order +that my thoughts, which may be useful, should become the possession +of Russian readers; and the result has been that my name is affixed +to a work from which it might be assumed that I quite arbitrarily +assert things contrary to the general opinion, without adducing my +reasons; that I only consider false patriotism bad, but patriotism +in general a very good feeling; that I merely deny the absurdities +of the Roman Catholic Church and disbelieve in the Madonna, but +that I believe in the Orthodox Eastern faith and in the “Mother of +God”; that I consider all the writings collected in the Bible to be +holy books, and see the chief importance of Christ’s life in the +Redemption of mankind by his death. + +I have narrated all this in such detail because it strikingly +illustrates the indubitable truth, that all compromise with +institutions of which your conscience disapproves,--compromises +which are usually made for the sake of the general good,--instead +of producing the good you expect, inevitably lead you not only +to acknowledge the institution you disapprove of, but also to +participate in the evil that institution produces. + +I am glad to be able by this statement at least to do something to +correct the error into which I was led by my compromise. + +I have also to mention that besides reinstating the parts excluded by +the Censor from the Russian editions, other corrections and additions +of importance have been made in this edition. + + LEO TOLSTOY. + +_29th March 1898._ + + NOTE: + +When a subscription edition of Tolstoy’s works edited by Professor +Leo Wiener, was published in 1904, by Dana Estes in U. S. A. and G. +M. Dent & Co. in London, this request of Tolstoy’s to “all who are +interested in my views on art only to judge of them by the work in +its present shape,” was disregarded, another version was substituted, +and incidentally this preface was omitted from that “complete +edition” of his works. + + + + + PART XIII + + WHAT IS ART? + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I + + Time and labour spent on art--Lives stunted in its + service--Morality sacrificed to, and anger justified by, + art--The rehearsal of an opera described. + + + CHAPTER II + + Does art compensate for so much evil?--What is art?--Confusion of + opinions--Is it “that which produces beauty”?--The word “beauty” + in Russian--Chaos in esthetics. + + + CHAPTER III + + Summary of various esthetic theories and definitions, from + Baumgarten to the present day. + + + CHAPTER IV + + Definitions of art founded on beauty--Taste not definable--A clear + definition needed to enable us to recognise works of art. + + + CHAPTER V + + Definitions not founded on beauty--Tolstoy’s definition--The extent + and necessity of art--How people in the past distinguished good + from bad in art. + + + CHAPTER VI + + How art for pleasure came into esteem--Religions indicate + what is considered good and bad--Church Christianity--The + Renaissance--Scepticism of the upper classes--They confound + beauty with goodness. + + + CHAPTER VII + + An esthetic theory framed to suit the view of life of the ruling + classes. + + + CHAPTER VIII + + Who have adopted it?--Real art needful for all men--Our art + too expensive, too unintelligible, and too harmful, for the + masses--“The elect” in art. + + + CHAPTER IX + + Perversion of our art--It has lost its natural subject-matter--Has + no flow of fresh feeling--Transmits chiefly three base emotions. + + + CHAPTER X + + Loss of comprehensibility--Decadent art--Recent French art--Have + we a right to say it is bad, and that what we like is good + art?--The highest art has always been comprehensible to normal + people--What fails to infect normal people is not art. + + + CHAPTER XI + + Counterfeits of art produced by: Borrowing; Imitating; Arranging + effects; Creating interest--Qualifications needful for the + production of real works of art, and those sufficient for + production of counterfeits. + + + CHAPTER XII + + Causes of production of + counterfeits--Professionalism--Criticism--Schools of art. + + + CHAPTER XIII + + Wagner’s “Ring of the Nibelung” a type of counterfeit art--Its + success, and the reasons thereof. + + + CHAPTER XIV + + Truths fatal to preconceived views are not readily + recognised--Proportion of works of art to + counterfeits--Perversion of taste and incapacity to recognise + art--Examples. + + + CHAPTER XV + + The quality of art, considered apart from its subject-matter--The + sign of art: infectiousness--Incomprehensible to those whose + taste is perverted--Conditions of infection: Individuality; + Clearness; Sincerity. + + + CHAPTER XVI + + The quality of art, considered according to its subject-matter--The + better the feeling the better the art--The cultured crowd--The + religious perception of our age--New ideals put fresh demands to + art--Art unites--Religious art--Universal art--Both co-operate + to one result--The new appraisement of art--Bad art--Examples of + art--How to test a work claiming to be art. + + + CHAPTER XVII + + Results of absence of true art--Results of perversion of art: + Labour and lives spent on what is useless and harmful--The + abnormal life of the rich--Perplexity of children and + plain folk--Confusion of right and wrong--Nietzsche and + Redbeard--Superstition, Patriotism, and Sensuality. + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + The purpose of human life is the brotherly union of man--Art must + be guided by this perception. + + + CHAPTER XIX + + The art of the future not the possession of a select minority, but + a means toward perfection and unity. + + + CHAPTER XX + + The connection between science and art--The mendacious sciences; + the trivial sciences--Science should deal with the great + problems of human life and serve as a basis for art. + + + APPENDICES + + Appendix I. Translations of French poems and prose quoted in + Chap. X of _What is Art?_ + + Appendix II. Translation from Mallarmé. + + Appendix III. Poems by Henri de Régnier, Vielé-Griffin, Verhaeren, + Moréas, and Montesquiou, with translations. + + Appendix IV. The contents of Wagner’s _Nibelungen Ring_. + + (This Table of Contents is compiled by the translator.) + + + + + CHAPTER I + + _Time and labour spent on art. Lives stunted in its service. + Morality sacrificed to, and anger justified by, art. The + rehearsal of the opera described._ + + +Take up any one of our ordinary newspapers and you will find a part +devoted to the theatre and music. In almost every number you will +find a description of some art-exhibition or of some particular +picture, and you will always find reviews of new works of art that +have appeared: of volumes of poems, of short stories, or of novels. + +Promptly and in detail as soon as it has occurred, an account is +published of how such and such an actress or actor played this or +that rôle in such and such a drama, comedy, or opera, and of the +merits of the performance; as well as of the contents of the new +drama, comedy, or opera, with its defects and merits. With as much +care and detail or even more, we are told how such and such an +artist has sung a certain piece, or has played it on the piano or +violin, and what were the merits and defects of the piece and of the +performance. In every large town there is sure to be at least one, +if not more than one, exhibition of new pictures, the merits and +defects of which are discussed in the utmost detail by critics and +connoisseurs. + +New novels and poems, in separate volumes or in the magazines, appear +almost every day, and the newspapers consider it their duty to give +their readers detailed accounts of these artistic productions. + +For the support of art in Russia (where for the education of the +people only a hundredth part is spent of what would be required to +give everyone an opportunity of instruction) the Government grants +millions of roubles in subsidies to academies, conservatoires, and +theatres. In France twenty million francs are assigned for art, and +similar grants are made in Germany and elsewhere. + +In every large town enormous buildings are erected for museums, +academies, conservatoires, dramatic schools, and for performances +and concerts. Hundreds of thousands of workmen,--carpenters, masons, +painters, joiners, paperhangers, tailors, hairdressers, jewellers, +moulders, type-setters,--spend their whole lives in hard labour to +satisfy the demands of art; so that hardly any other department of +human activity, the military excepted, consumes so much energy as +this. + +Not only is enormous labour spent on this activity, but in it as in +war the very lives of men are sacrificed. Hundreds of thousands of +people devote their lives from childhood to learning to twirl their +legs rapidly (dancers), or to touch notes and strings very rapidly +(musicians), or to draw with paint and represent what they see +(artists), or to turn every phrase inside out and find a rhyme to +every word. And these people, often very kind and clever and capable +of all sorts of useful labour, grow savage over their specialised +and stupefying occupations and become one-sided and self-complacent +specialists, dull to all the serious phenomena of life and skilful +only at rapidly twisting their legs, their tongues, or their fingers. + +But even this stunting of human life is not the worst. I remember +being once at the rehearsal of one of the most ordinary of the new +operas which are produced at all the opera houses of Europe and +America. + +I arrived when the first act had already commenced. To reach the +auditorium I had to pass through the stage-entrance. By dark +entrances and passages, past immense machines for changing the +scenery and for lighting the stage and the theatre, I was led +through the vaults of an enormous building; and there in the gloom +and dust I saw workmen busily engaged. One of these men--pale, +haggard, in a dirty blouse, with dirty, work-worn hands and cramped +fingers, evidently tired and out of humour--went past me, angrily +scolding another man. Ascending by a dark stair, I came out on the +boards behind the scenes. Amid various poles and rings and scattered +scenery decorations and curtains, stood and moved dozens, if not +hundreds, of painted and dressed-up men in costumes fitting tight to +their thighs and calves, and also women, who were as usual, as nearly +nude as might be. These were all singers, or members of the chorus, +or ballet-dancers, awaiting their turns. My guide led me across the +stage and, by means of a bridge of boards, across the orchestra (in +which perhaps a hundred musicians of all kinds, from kettle-drum to +flute and harp, were seated), to the dark pit-stalls. + +On an elevation between two lamps with reflectors and in an arm-chair +placed before a music-stand, sat the director of the musical part, +_bâton_ in hand, managing the orchestra and singers and in general +the production of the whole opera. + +The performance had already commenced, and on the stage was being +represented a procession of Indians who had brought home a bride. +Besides men and women in costume, two other men in ordinary clothes +bustled and ran about on the stage: one was the director of the +dramatic part, and the other, who stepped about in soft shoes and ran +from place to place with unusual agility, was the dancing-master, +whose salary per month exceeded what ten labourers earn in a year. + +These three directors arranged the singing, the orchestra, and the +procession. The procession, as usual, was enacted by men and women +in couples with tinfoil halberds on their shoulders. They all came +from one place and walked round and round again and then stopped. +The procession took a long time to arrange: first the Indians with +halberds came on too late, then too soon; then at the right time, but +crowded together at the exit; then they did not crowd, but arranged +themselves badly at the sides of the stage,--and each time the whole +performance was stopped and recommenced from the beginning. The +procession is preceded by a recitative, delivered by a man dressed +up like some variety of Turk, who, opening his mouth in a curious +way, sings, “Home I bring the bri-i-ide.” He sings, and waves his +arm (which is of course bare) from under his mantle. The procession +commences. But here the French horn, in the accompaniment of the +recitative, does something wrong; and the director, with a shudder as +if some catastrophe had occurred, raps with his stick on the stand. +All is stopped, and the director, turning to the orchestra, attacks +the French horn, scolding him in the rudest terms, as cabmen abuse +one another, for taking the wrong note. And again the whole thing +recommences. The Indians with their halberds again come on, treading +softly in their extraordinary boots; again the singer sings, “Home I +bring the bri-i-ide.” But here the pairs get too close together. More +raps with the stick, more scolding, and a recommencement. Again “Home +I bring the bri-i-ide,” again the same gesticulation with the bare +arm from under the mantle, and again the couples, treading softly +with halberds on their shoulders, some with sad and serious faces, +some talking and smiling, arrange themselves in a circle and begin +to sing. All seems to be going well, but again the stick raps and +the director, in a distressed and angry voice, begins to scold the +men and women of the chorus. It appears that when singing they had +omitted to raise their hands from time to time in sign of animation. +“Are you all dead, or what? Cows that you are! Are you corpses, +that you can’t move?” Again they re-commence, “Home I bring the +bri-i-ide,” and again, with sorrowful faces, the chorus women sing, +first one and then another of them raising their hands. But two +chorus-girls speak to each other,--again a more vehement rapping with +the stick. “Have you come here to talk? Can’t you gossip at home? You +there in red breeches, come nearer. Look at me! Begin again!” Again +“Home I bring the bri-i-ide.” And so it goes on for one, two, three +hours. The whole of such a rehearsal lasts six hours on end. Raps +with the stick, repetitions, placings, corrections of the singers, +of the orchestra, of the procession, of the dancers,--all seasoned +with angry scolding. I heard the words, “asses,” “fools,” “idiots,” +“swine,” addressed to the musicians and singers at least forty times +in the course of one hour. And the unhappy individual to whom the +abuse is addressed--flautist, horn-blower, or singer,--physically +and mentally demoralised, does not reply and does what is demanded +of him. Twenty times is repeated the one phrase, “Home I bring the +bri-i-ide,” and twenty times the striding about in yellow shoes with +a halberd over the shoulder. The conductor knows that these people +are so demoralised that they are no longer fit for anything but to +blow trumpets and walk about with halberds and in yellow shoes, +and that they are also accustomed to dainty easy living, so that +they will put up with anything rather than lose their luxurious +life. He therefore gives free vent to his churlishness, especially +as he has seen the same thing done in Paris and Vienna, and knows +that this is the way the best conductors behave, and that it is a +musical tradition of great artists to be so carried away by the great +business of their art that they cannot pause to consider the feelings +of other artists. + +It would be difficult to find a more repulsive sight. I have seen +one workman abuse another for not supporting the weight piled upon +him when goods were being unloaded, or, at hay-stacking, the village +Elder scold a peasant for not making the rick right, and the man +submitted in silence. And however unpleasant it was to witness the +scene, the unpleasantness was lessened by the consciousness that +the business in hand was necessary and important and that the fault +for which the Elder scolded the labourer was one which might spoil a +needful undertaking. + +But what was being done here? For what, and for whom? Very likely the +conductor was tired out, like the workman I passed in the vaults; +it was even evident that he was; but who made him tire himself? And +why was he tiring himself? The opera he was rehearsing was one of +the most ordinary of operas for people who are accustomed to them, +but also one of the most gigantic absurdities that could possibly +be devised. An Indian king wants to marry; they bring him a bride; +he disguises himself as a minstrel; the bride falls in love with +the minstrel and is in despair, but afterwards discovers that the +minstrel is the king, and everyone is highly delighted. + +That there never were, or could be, such Indians, and that they +were not only unlike Indians, but that what they were doing was +unlike anything on earth except other operas, was beyond all manner +of doubt; that people do not converse in such a way as recitative, +and do not place themselves at fixed distances, in a quartet, +waving their arms to express their emotions; that nowhere, except +in theatres, do people walk about in such a manner, in pairs, with +tinfoil halberds and in slippers; that no one ever gets angry in such +a way, or is affected in such a way, or laughs in such a way, or +cries in such a way; and that no one on earth can be moved by such +performances,--all this is beyond the possibility of doubt. + +Instinctively the question presents itself: For whom is this being +done? Whom _can_ it please? If there are occasionally good melodies +in the opera to which it is pleasant to listen, they could have been +sung simply, without these stupid costumes and all the processions +and recitatives and hand-wavings. + +The ballet, in which half-naked women make voluptuous movements, +twisting themselves into various sensual wreathings, is simply a lewd +performance. + +So one is quite at a loss as to whom these things are done for. The +man of culture is heartily sick of them, while to a real working man +they are utterly incomprehensible. If anyone can be pleased by these +things (which is doubtful), it can only be some young footman or +depraved artisan, who has contracted the spirit of the upper classes +but is not yet satiated with their amusements and wishes to show his +breeding. + +And all this nasty folly is prepared, not simply, nor with kindly +merriment, but with anger and brutal cruelty. + +It is said that it is all done for the sake of art, and that art +is a very important thing. But is it true that art is so important +that such sacrifices should be made for its sake? This question is +especially urgent, because art, for the sake of which the labour of +millions, the lives of men and, above all, love between man and man, +are all being sacrificed,--this very art is becoming something more +and more vague and uncertain to human perception. + +Criticism, in which the lovers of art used to find support for their +opinions, has latterly become so self-contradictory that if we +exclude from the domain of art all to which the critics of various +schools themselves deny the title, there is scarcely any art left. + +The artists of various sects, like the theologians of various sects, +mutually exclude and destroy one another. Listen to the artists of +the schools of our times, and in all branches you will find each +set of artists disowning others. In poetry the old romanticists +deny the parnassians and the decadents; the parnassians disown the +romanticists and the decadents; the decadents disown all their +predecessors and the symbolists; the symbolists disown all their +predecessors and _les mages_; and _les mages_ disown all, all their +predecessors. + +Among novelists we have naturalists, psychologists, and +“nature-ists,” all rejecting each other. And it is the same in +dramatic art, in painting, and in music. So that art, which demands +such tremendous labour-sacrifices from the people, which stunts human +lives and transgresses against human love, is not only _not_ a thing +clearly and firmly defined, but is understood in such contradictory +ways by its own devotees that it is difficult to say what is meant by +art, and especially what is good, useful art,--art for the sake of +which we might condone such sacrifices as are being offered at its +shrine. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + _Does art compensate for so much evil? What is art? Confusion + of opinions. Is it “that which produces beauty”? The word + “beauty” in Russian. Chaos in esthetics._ + + +For the production of every ballet, circus, opera, operetta, +exhibition, picture, concert, or printed book, the intense and +unwilling labour of thousands and thousands of people is needed at +what is often harmful and humiliating work. It were well if artists +made all they require for themselves, but as it is they all need +the help of workmen, not only to produce art, but also for their +own usually luxurious maintenance. And one way or other they get +it, either through payments from rich people, or through subsidies +given by Government (in Russia, for instance, in grants of millions +of roubles to theatres, conservatoires and academies). This money is +collected from the people, some of whom have to sell their only cow +to pay the tax, and who never get those esthetic pleasures which art +gives. + +It was all very well for a Greek or Roman artist, or even for a +Russian artist of the first half of the nineteenth century (when +there still were slaves and it was considered right that there should +be), with a quiet mind to make people serve him and his art; but in +our day, when in all men there is at least some dim perception of the +equal rights of all, it is impossible to constrain people to labour +unwillingly for art, without first deciding the question whether it +is true that art is so good and so important an affair as to redeem +this evil. + +If not, we have the terrible probability to consider, that while +fearful sacrifices of the labour and lives of men and of morality +itself are being made to art, that same art may be not only useless +but even harmful. + +And therefore it is necessary for a society in which works of art +arise and are supported, to find out whether all that professes to +be art is really art; whether (as is presupposed in our society) all +that is art is good, and whether it is important, and worth those +sacrifices which it necessitates. It is still more necessary for +every conscientious artist to know this, in order that he may be +sure that all he does has a valid meaning,--that it is not merely +an infatuation of the small circle of people among whom he lives +which excites in him the false assurance that he is doing a good +work--and that what he takes from others for the support of his often +very luxurious life will be compensated for by those productions at +which he works. And that is why answers to the above questions are +especially important in our time. + +What is this art, which is considered so important and necessary for +humanity that for its sake these sacrifices of labour, of human life, +and even of goodness, may be made? + +“What is art? What a question! Art is architecture, sculpture, +painting, music, and poetry in all its forms,” usually replies the +ordinary man, the art amateur, or even the artist himself, imagining +the matter about which he is talking to be perfectly clear, and +uniformly understood by everybody. But in architecture, one inquires +further, are there not simple buildings which are not objects of art, +and buildings with artistic pretensions which are unsuccessful and +ugly and therefore not to be considered as works of art?--wherein +lies the characteristic sign of a work of art? + +It is the same in sculpture, in music, and in poetry. Art, in all its +forms, is bounded on one side by the practically useful and on the +other by unsuccessful attempts at art. How is art to be marked off +from each of these? The ordinary educated man of our circle, and even +the artist who has not occupied himself specially with esthetics, +will not hesitate at this question either. He thinks the solution has +been found long ago, and is well known to everyone. + +“Art is such activity as produces beauty,” says such a man. + +If art consists in that,--then is a ballet or an operetta art? you +inquire. + +“Yes,” says the ordinary man, though with some hesitation, “a good +ballet or a graceful operetta is also art, in so far as it manifests +beauty.” + +But without even asking the ordinary man what differentiates the +“good” ballet and the “graceful” operetta from their opposites (a +question he would have much difficulty in answering), if you ask him +whether the activity of costumers and hairdressers, who ornament +the figures and faces of the women for the ballet and the operetta, +is art; or the activity of Worth, the dressmaker; of scent-makers +and men-cooks, then he will in most cases deny that their activity +belongs to the domain of art. But in this the ordinary man makes a +mistake, just because he is an ordinary man and not a specialist, and +because he has not occupied himself with esthetic questions. Had he +looked into these matters, he would have seen in the great Renan’s +book, _Marc Aurèle_, a dissertation showing that the dressmaker’s +work is art, and that those who do not see in the adornment of +woman an affair of the highest art are very small-minded and dull. +“_C’est le grand art_,” says Renan. Moreover, he would have known +that in many esthetic systems--for instance, in the esthetics of the +learned Professor Kralik, _Weltschönheit, Versuch einer allgemeinen +Æsthetik, von Richard Kralik_, and in _Les problèmes de l’Esthétique +Contemporaine_, by Guyau--the arts of costume, of taste, and of touch +are included. + +“_Es Folgt nun ein Fünfblatt von Künsten, die der subjectiven +Sinnlichkeit entkeimen_” (There results then a pentafoliate of arts, +growing out of the subjective perceptions), says Kralik (p. 175). +“_Sie sind die ästhetische Behandlung der fünf Sinne._” (They are the +esthetic treatment of the five senses.) + +These five arts are the following:-- + +_Die Kunst des Geschmacksinns_--The art of the sense of taste (p. +175). + +_Die Kunst des Geruchsinns_--The art of the sense of smell (p. 177). + +_Die Kunst des Tastsinns_--The art of the sense of touch (p. 180). + +_Die Kunst des Gehörsinns_--The art of the sense of hearing (p. 182). + +_Die Kunst des Gesichtsinns_--The art of the sense of sight (p. 184). + +Of the first of these--_die Kunst des Geschmacksinns_--he says: _Man +hält zwar gewöhnlich nur zwei oder hochstens drei Sinne für würdig +den Stoff künstlerischer Behandlung abzugeben, aber ich glaube nur +mit bedingtem Recht. Ich will kein allzugroses Gewicht darauf legen, +dass der gemeine Sprachgebrauch manch andere Künste, wie zum Beispiel +die Kochkunst kennt._[30] + +And further: _Und es ist doch gewiss eine ästhetische Leistung, +wenn es der Kochkunst gelingt aus einem thierischen Kadaver einen +Gegenstand des Geschmacks in jedem Sinne zu machen. Der Grundsatz +der Kunst des Geschmacksinns (die weiter ist als die sogenannte +Kochkunst) ist also dieser: Es soll alles Geniessbare als Sinnbild +einer Idee behandelt werden und in jedesmaligem Einklang zur +auszudrückenden Idee._[31] + +This author, like Renan, acknowledges a _Kostümkunst_ (Art of +Costume) (p. 200), etc. + +Such is also the opinion of the French writer, Guyau, who is highly +esteemed by some authors of our day. In his book, _Les Problèmes de +l’esthétique contemporaine_, he speaks seriously of touch, taste, and +smell as giving, or being capable of giving, esthetic impressions: +_Si la couleur manque au toucher, il nous fournit en revanche une +notion que l’œil seul ne peut nous donner, et qui a une valeur +esthétique considérable, celle du_ doux, _du_ soyeux, _du_ poli. +_Ce qui caractérise la beauté du velour c’est sa douceur au toucher +non moins que son brillant. Dans l’idée que nous nous faisons de +la beauté d’une femme, le velouté de sa peau entre comme élément +essentiel._ + +_Chacun de nous probablement avec un peu d’attention se rappellera +des jouissances du goût, qui out éte de veritables jouissances +esthétiques._[32] And he recounts how a glass of milk drunk by him in +the mountains gave him esthetic enjoyment. + +So it turns out that the conception of art as consisting in making +beauty manifest is not at all so simple as it seemed, especially now, +when in this conception of beauty are included our sensations of +touch and taste and smell, as they are by the latest esthetic writers. + +But the ordinary man either does not know, or does not wish to know, +all this, and is firmly convinced that all questions about art +may be simply and clearly solved by acknowledging beauty to be the +content of art. To him it seems clear and comprehensible that art +consists in manifesting beauty, and that a reference to beauty will +serve to explain all questions about art. + +But what is this beauty which forms the content of art? How is it +defined? What is it? + +As is always the case, the more cloudy and confused the conception +conveyed by a word, with the more _aplomb_ and self-assurance do +people use that word, pretending that what is understood by it is so +simple and clear that it is not worth while even to discuss what it +actually means. + +This is how matters of orthodox religion are usually dealt with, +and this is how people now deal with the conception of beauty. It +is taken for granted that what is meant by the word beauty is known +and understood by everyone. And yet not only is this not known, but +after whole mountains of books have been written on the subject by +the most learned and profound thinkers during one hundred and fifty +years (ever since Baumgarten founded esthetics in the year 1750), +the question, What is beauty? remains to this day quite unsolved, +and in each new work on esthetics it is answered in a new way. One +of the last books I read on esthetics is a not ill-written booklet +by Julius Mithalter, called _Rätsel des Schönen_ (_The Enigma of +the Beautiful_). And that title precisely expresses the position +of the question, What is beauty? After thousands of learned men +have discussed it during one hundred and fifty years, the meaning +of the word beauty remains an enigma still. The Germans answer the +question in their manner, though in a hundred different ways; the +physiological estheticians, especially the Englishmen: Herbert +Spencer, Grant Allen, and his school, answer it each in his own way; +the French eclectics, and the followers of Guyau and Taine, also +each in his own way; and all these people know all the preceding +solutions given by Baumgarten, and Kant, and Schelling, and +Schiller, and Fichte, and Winckelmann, and Lessing, and Hegel, and +Schopenhauer, and Hartmann, and Schasler, and Cousin, and Lévêque and +others. + +What is this strange conception of “beauty,” which seems so simple +to those who talk without thinking, but in defining which all the +philosophers of various tendencies and different nationalities can +come to no agreement during a century and a half? What is this +conception of beauty, on which the dominant doctrine of art rests? + +In Russian, by the word _krasota_ (beauty) we mean only that which +pleases the sight. And though latterly people have begun to speak of +“an ugly deed,” or of “beautiful music,” it is not good Russian. + +A Russian of the common folk, not knowing foreign languages, will not +understand you if you tell him that a man who has given his last coat +to another, or done anything similar, has acted “beautifully,” that a +man who has cheated another has done an “ugly” action, or that a song +is “beautiful.” + +In Russian a deed may be kind and good, or unkind and bad. Music may +be pleasant and good, or unpleasant and bad; but there can be no such +thing as “beautiful” or “ugly” music. + +Beautiful may relate to a man, a horse, a house, a view, or a +movement. Of actions thoughts character or music, if they please us, +we may say that they are good, or, if they do not please us, that +they are bad. But beautiful can be used only concerning that which +pleases the sight. So that the word and conception “good” includes +the conception of “beautiful”; but the reverse is not true; the +conception “beauty” does not include the conception “good.” If we say +“good” of an article which we value for its appearance, we thereby +say that the article is beautiful; but if we say it is “beautiful,” +it does not at all mean that the article is a good one. + +Such is the meaning ascribed by the Russian language, and therefore +by the sense of the people, to the words and conceptions “good” and +“beautiful.” + +In all the European languages, that is, in the languages of those +nations among whom the doctrine has spread that beauty is the +essential thing in art, the words “_beau_,” “_schön_,” “beautiful,” +“_bello_,” etc., while keeping their meaning of beautiful in form, +have come also to express “goodness,” “kindness,” that is to say, +have come to act as substitutes for the word “good.” + +So that it has become quite natural in those languages to use such +expressions as “_belle âme_,” “_schöne Gedanken_,” or “beautiful +deed.” Those languages no longer have a suitable word wherewith +expressly to indicate beauty of form, and have to use a combination +of words such as “_beau par la forme_,” “_beautiful to look at_,” and +so forth, to convey that idea. + +Observation of the divergent meanings which the words “beauty” and +“beautiful” have in Russian on the one hand, and in those European +languages now permeated by this esthetic theory on the other hand, +shows us that the word “beauty” has among the latter acquired a +special meaning, namely, that of “good.” + +What is remarkable, moreover, is that since we Russians have begun +more and more to adopt the European view of art, the same evolution +has begun to show itself in our language also, and some people +speak and write quite confidently, and without causing surprise, +of beautiful music and ugly actions, and even of beautiful or ugly +thoughts; whereas forty years ago, when I was young, the expressions +“beautiful music” and “ugly actions” were not only unusual but +incomprehensible. Evidently this new meaning given to beauty by +European thought begins to be assimilated by Russian society. + +And what really is this meaning? What is this “beauty” as understood +by the European peoples? + +In order to answer this question, I must here quote at least a small +selection of those definitions of beauty most generally adopted in +existing esthetic systems. I particularly beg the reader not to be +overcome by dulness, but to read these extracts through, or still +better to read some one of the erudite esthetic authors. Not to +mention the voluminous German estheticians, a very good book for this +purpose would be either the German book by Kralik, the English work +by Knight, or the French one by Lévêque. It is necessary to read +at least one of the learned esthetic writers in order to form at +first-hand a conception of the variety of opinion and the frightful +obscurity which reigns in this region of speculation; not in this +important matter trusting to another’s report. + +This for instance is what the German esthetician Schasler says in the +preface to his famous, voluminous, and detailed work on esthetics:-- + +“In hardly any sphere of philosophic science can we find such +divergent methods of investigation and exposition, amounting even to +self-contradiction, as in the sphere of esthetics. On the one hand +we have elegant phraseology without any substance, characterised in +great part by most one-sided superficiality; and on the other hand, +accompanying undeniable profundity of investigation and richness +of subject-matter, we get a revolting awkwardness of philosophic +terminology clothing the simplest thoughts in an apparel of abstract +science as though to render them worthy to enter the consecrated +palace of the system; and finally, between these two methods of +investigation and exposition, there is a third, forming as it were +the transition from one to the other, an eclectic method,--now +flaunting an elegant phraseology and now a pedantic erudition.... +A style of exposition that falls into none of these three defects +but is truly concrete, and having important matter expresses it in +clear and popular philosophic language, can nowhere be found less +frequently than in the domain of esthetics.”[33] + +It is only necessary, as an example, to read Schasler’s own book to +convince oneself of the justice of this observation of his. + +On the same subject the French writer, Véron, in the preface to his +very good work on esthetics, says, “_Il n’y a pas de science, qui ait +été plus que l’esthétique livrée aux rêveries des métaphysiciens. +Depuis Platon jusqu’aux doctrines officielles de nos jours, on a fait +de l’art je ne sais quel amalgame de fantaisies quintessenciées, et +de mystères transcendant aux qui trouvent leur expression suprême +dans la conception absolue du Beau idéal, prototype immuable et divin +des choses réelles_” (_L’esthétique_, 1878, p. 5).[34] + +If the reader will only be at the pains to peruse the following +extracts defining beauty, taken from the chief writers on esthetics, +he may convince himself that this censure is thoroughly deserved. + +I shall not quote the definitions of beauty attributed to the +ancients,--Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and others, down to +Plotinus,--because, in reality, the ancients had not that conception +of beauty separated from goodness which forms the basis and aim of +esthetics in our time. By referring the judgments of the ancients on +beauty to our conception of it, as is usually done in esthetics, we +give the words of the ancients a meaning which is not theirs.[35] + + + + + CHAPTER III + + _Summary of various esthetic theories and definitions, from + Baumgarten to the present day._ + + +I begin with the founder of esthetics, Baumgarten (1714–1762). + +According to Baumgarten,[36] the object of logical knowledge is +Truth, the object of esthetic (_i. e._, sensuous) knowledge is +Beauty. Beauty is the Perfect (the Absolute), recognised through the +senses; Truth is the Perfect perceived through reason; Goodness is +the Perfect reached by moral will. + +Beauty is defined by Baumgarten as a correspondence, that is, an +order of the parts in their mutual relations to each other and in +their relation to the whole. The aim of beauty itself is to please +and excite a desire, “_Wohlgefallen und Erregung eines Verlangens_.” +(A position precisely the opposite to Kant’s definition of the nature +and sign of beauty.) + +With reference to the manifestations of beauty, Baumgarten considers +that the highest embodiment of beauty is visible to us in nature, and +he therefore thinks that the highest aim of art is to copy nature. +(This position also is directly contradicted by the conclusions of +the latest estheticians.) + +Passing over the unimportant followers of Baumgarten,--Maier, +Eschenburg, and Eberhard,--who only slightly modified the doctrine +of their teacher by dividing the pleasant from the beautiful, I +will quote the definitions given by writers who came immediately +after Baumgarten and defined beauty in quite another way. These +writers were Sulzer, Mendelssohn, and Moritz. They, in contradiction +to Baumgarten’s main position, recognise as the aim of art not +beauty, but goodness. Thus Sulzer (1720–1777) says, only that can +be considered beautiful which contains goodness. According to his +theory, the aim of the whole life of humanity is welfare in social +life. This is attained by the education of the moral feelings, to +which end art should be subservient. Beauty is that which evokes and +educates this feeling. + +Beauty is understood almost in the same way by Mendelssohn +(1729–1786). According to him, art is the development of the +beautiful, obscurely recognised by feeling, till it becomes the true +and good. The aim of art is moral perfection.[37] + +For the estheticians of this school the ideal of beauty is a +beautiful soul in a beautiful body. So that these estheticians +completely wipe out Baumgarten’s division of the Perfect (the +Absolute), into the three forms of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty; and +Beauty again merges into the Good and the True. + +But this conception is not only not maintained by the later +estheticians, but the esthetic doctrine of Winckelmann arises, again +in complete opposition. This divides the mission of art from the aim +of goodness in the sharpest and most positive manner, makes external +beauty the aim of art, and even limits it to visible beauty. + +According to the celebrated work of Winckelmann (1717–1767), the law +and aim of all art is beauty only, beauty quite separated from and +independent of goodness. There are three kinds of beauty:--(1) beauty +of form, (2) beauty of idea, expressing itself in the position of the +figure (in plastic art), (3) beauty of expression, attainable only +when the two first conditions are present. This beauty of expression +is the highest aim of art, and is attained in antique art; modern art +should therefore aim at imitating ancient art.[38] + +Art is similarly understood by Lessing, Herder, and afterwards by +Goethe and by all the distinguished estheticians of Germany till +Kant, from whose day, again, a different conception of art commences. + +Native esthetic theories arose during this period in England, France, +Italy, and Holland, and they, though not taken from the German, were +equally cloudy and contradictory. And all these writers, just like +the German estheticians, founded their theories on a conception of +the Beautiful; understanding beauty in the sense of a something +existing absolutely and more or less intermingled with Goodness, or +having one and the same root. In England almost simultaneously with +Baumgarten, even a little earlier, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Home, +Burke, Hogarth, and others, wrote on art. + +According to Shaftesbury (1670–1713), “That which is beautiful is +harmonious and proportionable, what is harmonious and proportionable +is true, and what is at once both beautiful and true is of +consequence agreeable and good.”[39] Beauty, he taught, is recognised +by the mind only. God is fundamental beauty; beauty and goodness +proceed from the same fount. + +So that, although Shaftesbury regards beauty as being something +separate from goodness, they again merge into something inseparable. + +According to Hutcheson (1694–1747--_Inquiry into the Original of our +Ideas of Beauty and Virtue_), the aim of art is beauty, the essence +of which consists in evoking in us the perception of uniformity and +variety. In the recognition of what is art we are guided by “an +internal sense.” This internal sense may be in contradiction to the +ethical one. So that according to Hutcheson beauty does not always +correspond with goodness, but separates from it and is sometimes +contrary to it.[40] + +According to Home, Lord Kames, (1696–1782), beauty is that which is +pleasant. Therefore beauty is defined by taste alone. The standard +of true taste is that the maximum of richness, fulness, strength, +and variety of impression, should be contained within the narrowest +limits. That is the ideal of a perfect work of art. + +According to Burke (1729–1797--_Philosophical Inquiry into the +Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful_), the sublime +and beautiful, which are the aim of art, have their origin in the +promptings of self-preservation and of society. These feelings, +examined at their source, are means for the maintenance of the race +through the individual. The first (self-preservation) is attained by +nourishment, defence, and war; the second (society) by intercourse +and propagation. Therefore self-defence and war, which is bound +up with it, is the source of the sublime; sociability and the +sex-instinct, which is bound up with it, is the source of beauty.[41] + +Such were the chief English definitions of art and beauty in the +eighteenth century. + +During the same period, the writers on art in France, were Père André +and Batteux, with Diderot, D’Alembert, and to some extent Voltaire, +following later. + +According to Père André (_Essai sur le Beau_, 1741), there are three +kinds of beauty--divine beauty, natural beauty, and artificial +beauty.[42] + +According to Batteux (1713–1780), art consists in imitating the +beauty of nature, its aim being enjoyment.[43] Such also is Diderot’s +definition of art. + +The French writers, like the English, hold that it is taste that +decides what is beautiful. And the laws of taste are not only not +laid down, but it is granted that they cannot be settled. The same +view was held by D’Alembert and Voltaire.[44] + +According to Pagano, the Italian esthetician of that period, art +consists in uniting the beauties dispersed in nature. The capacity to +perceive these beauties is taste, the capacity to bring them into one +whole is artistic genius. Beauty commingles with goodness, so that +beauty is goodness made visible, and goodness is inner beauty.[45] + +According to the opinion of other Italians: Muratori +(1672–1750),--_Riflessioni sopra il buon gusto intorno le science e +le arti_,--and especially Spaletti,[46]--_Saggio sopra la bellezza_ +(1765),--art amounts to an egotistical sensation, founded (as with +Burke) on the desire for self-preservation and society. + +Among Dutch writers, Hemsterhuis (1720–1790), who had an influence +on the German estheticians and on Goethe, is remarkable. According +to him, beauty is that which gives most pleasure, and that gives +most pleasure which gives us the greatest number of perceptions in +the shortest time. Enjoyment of the beautiful, because it gives the +greatest quantity of perceptions in the shortest time, is the highest +cognition to which man can attain.[47] + +Such were the esthetic theories outside Germany during the last +century. In Germany, after Wincklemann, there again arose a +completely new esthetic theory, that of Kant (1724–1804), which +more than all others clears up what this conception of beauty, and +consequently of art, really amounts to. + +The esthetic teaching of Kant is founded as follows:--Man has a +knowledge of nature outside him and of himself in nature. In nature +outside himself he seeks for truth; in himself he seeks for goodness. +The first is an affair of pure reason, the other of practical reason +(free-will). Besides these two means of perception, there is also +the judging capacity (_Urteilskraft_), which forms judgments without +reasoning and produces pleasure without desire (_Urtheil ohne Begriff +und Vergnügen ohne Begehren_). This capacity is the basis of esthetic +feeling. Beauty, according to Kant, in its subjective meaning is +that which in general and necessarily, without reasoning and without +practical advantage, pleases; and in its objective meaning it is the +form of an object suitable for its purpose in so far as that object +is perceived without any conception of its utility.[48] + +Beauty is defined in the same way by the followers of Kant, among +whom was Schiller (1759–1805). According to Schiller, who wrote much +on esthetics, the aim of art is, as with Kant, beauty, the source of +which is pleasure without practical advantage. So that art may be +called a game, not in the sense of an unimportant occupation, but in +the sense of a manifestation of the beauties of life itself without +other aim than that of beauty.[49] + +Besides Schiller, the most remarkable of Kant’s followers in the +sphere of esthetics was Wilhelm Humboldt, who, though he added +nothing to the definition of beauty, explained various forms of +it,--the drama, music, humour, etc.[50] + +After Kant, besides the second-rate philosophers, the writers on +esthetics were Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, and their followers. + +Fichte (1762–1814) says that perception of the beautiful proceeds +from this: the world--that is, nature--has two sides: it is the +sum of our limitations, and it is the sum of our free idealistic +activity. In the first aspect the world is limited, in the second +aspect it is free. In the first aspect every object is limited, +distorted, compressed, confined--and we see deformity; in the second +we perceive its inner completeness, vitality, regeneration--and +we see beauty. So that the deformity or beauty of an object, +according to Fichte, depends on the point of view of the observer. +Beauty therefore exists, not in the world but in the beautiful +soul (_schöner Geist_). Art is the manifestation of this beautiful +soul, and its aim is the education, not of the mind only--that is +the business of the _savant_; not of the heart only--that is the +affair of the moral preacher; but of the whole man. And so the +characteristic of beauty lies not in anything external, but in the +presence of a beautiful soul in the artist.[51] + +Following Fichte, and in the same direction, Friedrich Schlegel and +Adam Müller also defined beauty. According to Schlegel (1772–1829), +beauty in art is understood too incompletely, one-sidedly, and +disconnectedly. Beauty exists not only in art but also in nature and +in love; so that the truly beautiful is expressed by the union of +art, nature, and love. Therefore, as inseparably one with esthetic +art, Schlegel acknowledges moral and philosophic art.[52] + +According to Adam Müller (1779–1829), there are two kinds of beauty: +the one, general beauty, which attracts people as the sun attracts +the planet--this is found chiefly in antique art--and the other, +individual beauty, which results from the observer himself becoming a +sun attracting beauty,--this is the beauty of modern art. A world in +which all contradictions are harmonised is the highest beauty. Every +work of art is a reproduction of this universal harmony.[53] The +highest art is the art of life.[54] + +Next after Fichte and his followers came a contemporary of his, the +philosopher Schelling (1775–1845), who has had a great influence +on the esthetic conceptions of our times. According to Schelling’s +philosophy, art is the production or result of that conception of +things by which the subject becomes its own object, or the object +its own subject. Beauty is the perception of the infinite in the +finite. And the chief characteristic of works of art is unconscious +infinity. Art is the uniting of the subjective with the objective, +of nature with reason, of the unconscious with the conscious, and +therefore art is the highest means of knowledge. Beauty is the +contemplation of things in themselves as they exist in the prototype +(_in den Urbildern_). It is not the artist who by his knowledge of +skill produces the beautiful but the idea of beauty in him itself +produces it.[55] + +Of Schelling’s followers the most noticeable was Solger +(1780–1819--_Vorlesungen über Aesthetik_). According to him, the idea +of beauty is the fundamental idea of everything. In the world we see +only distortions of the fundamental idea, but art, by imagination, +may lift itself to the height of this idea. Art is therefore akin to +creation.[56] + +According to another follower of Schelling, Krause (1781–1832), true, +positive beauty is the manifestation of the Idea in an individual +form; art is the actualization of the beauty existing in the sphere +of man’s free spirit. The highest stage of art is the art of life, +which directs its activity towards the adornment of life so that it +may be a beautiful abode for a beautiful man.[57] + +After Schelling and his followers came the new esthetic doctrine of +Hegel, which is held to this day, consciously by many but by the +majority unconsciously. This teaching is not only no clearer or +better defined than the preceding ones, but is if possible even more +cloudy and mystical. + +According to Hegel (1770–1831), God manifests himself in nature and +in art in the form of beauty. God expresses himself in two ways: +in the object and in the subject--in nature and in spirit. Beauty +is the shining of the Idea through matter. Only the soul and what +pertains to it is truly beautiful, and therefore the beauty of nature +is only the reflection of the natural beauty of the spirit--the +beautiful has only a spiritual content. But the spiritual must appear +in sensuous form. The sensuous manifestation of spirit is only +appearance (_schein_), and this appearance is the only reality of the +beautiful. Art is thus the production of this appearance of the Idea, +and is a means, together with religion and philosophy, of bringing to +consciousness, and of expressing, the deepest problems of humanity +and the highest truths of the spirit. + +Truth and beauty according to Hegel are one and the same thing; the +difference being only that truth is the Idea itself as it exists in +itself and is thinkable. The Idea, manifested externally, becomes to +the apprehension not only true but beautiful. The beautiful is the +manifestation of the Idea.[58] + +Following Hegel came his many adherents: Weisse, Arnold Ruge, +Rosenkrantz, Theodor Vischer and others. + +According to Weisse (1801–1867), art is the introduction +(_Einbildung_) of the absolute spiritual reality of beauty into +external, dead, indifferent matter, the perception of which latter +apart from the beauty brought into it presents the negation of all +existence in itself (_Negation alles Fürsichseins_). + +In the idea of truth, Weisse explains, lies a contradiction between +the subjective and the objective sides of knowledge, in that an +individual _ego_ discerns the Universal. This contradiction can be +removed by a conception that should unite into one the universal and +the individual, which fall asunder in our conceptions of truth. Such +a conception would be reconciled (_aufgehoben_) truth. Beauty is such +a reconciled truth.[59] + +According to Ruge (1802–1880), a strict follower of Hegel, beauty is +the Idea expressing itself. The spirit, contemplating itself, either +finds itself expressed completely, and then that full expression +of itself is beauty; or incompletely, and then it feels the need +to alter this imperfect expression of itself, and becomes creative +art.[60] + +According to Vischer (1807–1887), beauty is the Idea in the form of +a finite phenomenon. The Idea itself is not indivisible, but forms a +system of ideas which may be represented by ascending and descending +lines. The higher the idea the more beauty it contains; but even the +lowest contains beauty, because it forms an essential link of the +system. The highest form of the Idea is personality, and therefore +the highest art is that which has for its subject-matter the highest +personality.[61] + +Such were the theories of the German estheticians in the Hegelian +direction, but they did not monopolise esthetic dissertations. In +Germany, side by side and simultaneously with the Hegelian theories, +there appeared theories of beauty not only independent of Hegel’s +position (that beauty is the manifestation of the Idea), but directly +contrary to this view, denying and ridiculing it. Such was the line +taken by Herbart and more particularly by Schopenhauer. + +According to Herbart (1776–1841), there is not and cannot be any +such thing as beauty existing in itself. What does exist is only +our opinion, and it is necessary to find the base of this opinion +(_Aesthetisches Elementarurtheil_). Such bases are connected with our +impressions. There are certain relations which we term beautiful; +and art consists in finding these relations, which are simultaneous +in painting, the plastic art, and architecture; successive and +simultaneous in music; and purely successive in poetry. In +contradiction to the former estheticians, Herbart holds that objects +are often beautiful which express nothing at all, as, for instance, +the rainbow, which is beautiful for its lines and colours, and not +for its mythological connection with Iris or Noah’s rainbow.[62] + +Another opponent of Hegel was Schopenhauer, who denied Hegel’s whole +system, his esthetics included. + +According to Schopenhauer (1788–1860), Will objectivizes itself in +the world on various planes; and although the higher the plane on +which it is objectivized the more beautiful it is, yet each plane has +its own beauty. Renunciation of one’s individuality and contemplation +of one of these planes of manifestation of Will gives us a perception +of beauty. All men, says Schopenhauer, possess the capacity to +objectivize the Idea on different planes. The genius of the artist +has this capacity in a higher degree, and therefore makes a higher +beauty manifest.[63] + +After these more eminent writers there followed, in Germany, less +original and less influential ones, such as Hartmann, Kirchmann, +Schnaase, and, to some extent, Helmholtz (as an esthetician), +Bergmann, Jungmann, and an innumerable host of others. + +According to Hartmann (1842), beauty lies, not in the external world, +nor in “the thing in itself,” neither does it reside in the soul of +man, but it lies in the “seeming” (_Schein_) produced by the artist. +The thing in itself is not beautiful, but it is transformed into +beauty by the artist.[64] + +According to Schnaase (1798–1875), there is no perfect beauty in the +world. In nature there is only an approach towards it. Art gives what +nature cannot give. In the energy of the free _ego_, conscious of +harmony not found in nature, beauty is disclosed.[65] + +Kirchmann (1802–1884) wrote on experimental esthetics. All aspects +of history in his system are joined by pure chance. Thus according +to him there are six realms of history:--the realm of Knowledge, +of Wealth, of Morality, of Faith, of Politics, and of Beauty; and +activity in the last-named realm is art.[66] + +According to Helmholtz (1821–1894), who wrote on beauty as it relates +to music, beauty in musical productions is attained only by following +unalterable laws. These laws are not known to the artist; so that +beauty is manifested by the artist unconsciously, and cannot be +subjected to analysis.[67] + +According to Bergmann (b. 1840) (_Ueber das Schöne_, 1887), to +define beauty objectively is impossible. Beauty is only perceived +subjectively, and therefore the problem of esthetics is to define +what pleases whom.[68] + +According to Jungmann (d. 1885), firstly, beauty is a suprasensible +quality of things; secondly, beauty produces in us pleasure by merely +being contemplated; and thirdly, beauty is the foundation of love.[69] + +The esthetic theories of the chief representatives of France, +England, and other nations, in recent times have been the following:-- + +In France during this period the prominent writers on esthetics were +Cousin, Jouffroy, Pictet, Ravaisson, Lévêque. + +Cousin (1792–1867) was an eclectic and a follower of the German +idealists. According to his theory, beauty always has a moral +foundation. He disputes the doctrine that art is imitation and that +the beautiful is what pleases. He affirms that beauty may be defined +objectively and that it essentially consists in variety in unity.[70] + +After Cousin came Jouffroy (1796–1842), who was a pupil of Cousin’s +and also a follower of the German estheticians. According to his +definition, beauty is the expression of the invisible by those +natural signs which manifest it. The visible world is the garment by +means of which we see beauty.[71] + +The Swiss writer Pictet repeated Hegel and Plato, supposing beauty +to exist in the direct and free manifestation of the divine Idea +revealing itself in sense forms.[72] + +Lévêque was a follower of Schelling and Hegel. He holds that beauty +is something invisible behind nature--a force or spirit revealing +itself in ordered energy.[73] + +Similar vague opinions about the nature of beauty were expressed by +the French metaphysician Ravaisson, who considered beauty to be the +ultimate aim and purpose of the world. “_La beauté la plus divine et +principalement la plus parfaite contient le secret du monde._”[74] +And again:--“_Le monde entier est l’œuvre d’une beauté absolue, qui +n’est la cause des choses que par l’amour qu’elle met en elles._”[75] + +I purposely quote these metaphysical expressions in the original, +because, however cloudy the Germans may be, the French, once they +absorb the theories of the Germans and take to imitating them, far +surpass them in uniting heterogeneous conceptions into one expression +and putting forward one meaning or another indiscriminately. For +instance, the French philosopher Lachelier, when discussing beauty, +says:--_Ne craignons pas de dire, qu’une vérité, qui ne serait pas +belle, ne serait qu’un jeu logique de notre esprit et que la seule +vérité solide et digne de ce nom c’est la beauté_.[76] + +Besides the esthetic idealists who wrote and still write under the +influence of German philosophy, the following recent writers have +also influenced the comprehension of art and beauty in France: Taine, +Guyau, Cherbuliez, Coster, and Véron. + +According to Taine (1828–1893), beauty is the manifestation of the +essential characteristic of any important idea more completely than +it is expressed in reality.[77] + +Guyau (1854–1888) taught that beauty is not something exterior to the +object itself,--is not, as it were, a parasitic growth on it,--but +is itself the actual blossoming forth of that on which it appears. +Art is the expression of reasonable and conscious life, evoking in us +both the deepest consciousness of existence and the highest feelings +and loftiest thoughts. Art lifts man from his personal life into +the universal life, not only by participation in the same ideas and +beliefs, but also by similarity in feeling.[78] + +According to Cherbuliez, art is an activity, (1) satisfying our +innate love of forms (_apparences_), (2) endowing these forms with +ideas, (3) affording pleasure alike to our senses, heart, and reason. +Beauty is not inherent in objects, but is an act of our souls. Beauty +is an illusion; there is no absolute beauty. But what we consider +characteristic and harmonious appears beautiful to us. + +Coster held that the ideas of the beautiful, the good, and the true, +are innate. These ideas illumine our minds and are identical with +God, who is Goodness, Truth, and Beauty. The idea of Beauty includes +unity of essence, variety of constitutive elements, and order, which +brings unity into the various manifestations of life.[79] + +For the sake of completeness, I will further cite some of the very +latest writings upon art. + +_La Psychologie du beau et de l’art, par Mario Pilo_ (1895), says +that beauty is a product of our physical feelings. The aim of art +is pleasure, but this pleasure (for some reason) he considers to be +necessarily highly moral. + +The _Essai sur l’art contemporain, par Fierens Gevaert_ (1897), says +that art rests on its connection with the past and on the religious +ideal of the present which the artist holds when giving to his work +the form of his individuality. + +Then again, Sar Peladan’s _L’art idéaliste et mystique_ (1894) says +that beauty is one of the manifestations of God. _Il n’y a pas +d’autre Réalité que Dieu, il n’y a pas d’autre Vérité que Dieu, il +n’y a pas d’autre Beauté, que Dieu_ (p. 33).[80] This book is very +fantastic and very illiterate, but is characteristic in the positions +it takes up, and noticeable on account of a certain success it is +having with the younger generation in France. + +All the esthetics diffused in France up to the present time are +similar in kind, but among them Véron’s _L’esthétique_ (1878) forms +an exception, being reasonable and clear. That work, though it does +not give an exact definition of art, at least rids esthetics of the +cloudy conception of an absolute beauty. + +According to Véron (1825–1889), art is the manifestation of emotion +transmitted externally by a combination of lines, forms, colours, or +by a succession of movements, sounds, or words subjected to certain +rhythms.[81] + +In England during this period, writers on esthetics define beauty +more and more frequently not by its own qualities but by taste, and +the discussion of beauty is superseded by a discussion of taste. + +After Reid (1704–1796), who acknowledged beauty as being entirely +dependent on the spectator, Alison, in his _Essay on the Nature and +Principles of Taste_ (1790), proved the same thing. From another side +this was also asserted by Erasmus Darwin (1731–1802), the grandfather +of the celebrated Charles Darwin. + +He says that we consider beautiful that which is connected in our +conception with what we love. Richard Knight’s work, _An Analytical +Inquiry into the Principles of Taste_, also tends in the same +direction. + +Most of the English theories of esthetics are on the same lines. +The prominent writers on esthetics in England during the nineteenth +century were Charles Darwin (to some extent), Herbert Spencer, Grant +Allen, Ker, and Knight. + +According to Charles Darwin (1809–1882--_Descent of Man_, 1871), +beauty is a feeling natural not only to man but also to animals, and +consequently to the ancestors of man. Birds adorn their nests and +esteem beauty in their mates. Beauty has an influence on marriages. +Beauty includes a variety of diverse conceptions. The origin of the +art of music is the call of the males to the females.[82] + +According to Herbert Spencer (b. 1820), the origin of art is +play, a thought previously expressed by Schiller. In the lower +animals all the energy of life is expended in life-maintenance and +race-maintenance; in man however there remains, after these needs are +satisfied, some superfluous strength. This excess is used in play, +which passes over into art. Play is an imitation of real activity, +so is art. The sources of esthetic pleasure are threefold:--(1) +That “which exercises the faculties affected in the most complete +way, with the fewest drawbacks from excess of exercise,” (2) “the +difference of a stimulus in large amount, which awakens a glow of +agreeable feeling,” (3) the partial revival of the same, with special +combinations.[83] + +In Todhunter’s _Theory of the Beautiful_ (1872), beauty is infinite +loveliness, which we apprehend both by reason and by the enthusiasm +of love. The recognition of beauty as being such, depends on +taste; there can be no criterion for it. The only approach to a +definition is found in culture. (What culture is, is not defined.) +Intrinsically, art--that which affects us through lines, colours, +sounds, or words--is not the product of blind forces but of +reasonable ones, working with mutual helpfulness towards a reasonable +aim. Beauty is the reconciliation of contradictions.[84] + +Grant Allen is a follower of Spencer, and in his _Physiological +Æsthetics_ (1877) he says that beauty has a physical origin. Esthetic +pleasures come from the contemplation of the beautiful, but the +conception of beauty is obtained by a physiological process. The +origin of art is play: when there is a superfluity of physical +strength man gives himself to play; when there is a superfluity +of receptive power man gives himself to art. The beautiful is +that which affords the maximum of stimulation with the minimum of +waste. Differences in the estimation of beauty proceed from taste. +Taste can be educated. We must have faith in the judgments “of the +finest-nurtured and most discriminative” men. These people form the +taste of the next generation.[85] + +According to Ker’s _Essay on the Philosophy of Art_ (1883), beauty +enables us to make part of the objective world intelligible to +ourselves without being troubled by reference to other parts of it, +as is inevitable in science. So that art destroys the opposition +between the one and the many, between the law and its manifestation, +between the subject and its object, by uniting them. Art is the +revelation and vindication of freedom, because it is free from the +darkness and incomprehensibility of finite things.[86] + +According to Knight’s _Philosophy of the Beautiful_, Part II (1893), +beauty is (as with Schelling) the union of object and subject, the +drawing forth from nature of that which is cognate to man, and the +recognition in oneself of what is common to all nature. + +The opinions on beauty and on art here mentioned are far from +exhausting what has been written on the subject. And every day fresh +writers on esthetics arise, in whose disquisitions appear the same +enchanted confusion and contradictoriness in defining beauty. Some +by inertia continue the mystical esthetics of Baumgarten and Hegel, +with sundry variations; others transfer the question to the region +of subjectivity, and seek for the foundation of the beautiful in +questions of taste; others--the estheticians of the very latest +formation--seek the origin of beauty in the laws of physiology; and +finally, others again investigate the question quite independently +of the conception of beauty. Thus, Sully in his _Sensation and +Intuition: Studies in Psychology and Æsthetics_ (1874) dismisses +the conception of beauty altogether; art, by his definition, being +the production of some permanent object or passing action fitted to +supply active enjoyment to the producer and a pleasurable impression +to a number of spectators or listeners, quite apart from any personal +advantage derived from it.[87] + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + _Definitions of art founded on beauty. Taste not definable. + A clear definition needed to enable us to recognise works of + art._ + + +To what do these definitions of beauty amount? Not reckoning the +thoroughly inaccurate definitions of beauty which fail to cover the +conception of art and suppose beauty to consist either in utility, +or in adjustment to a purpose, or in symmetry, or in order, or in +proportion, or in smoothness, or in harmony of the parts, or in unity +amid variety, or in various combinations of these,--not reckoning +these unsatisfactory attempts at objective definition, all the +esthetic definitions of beauty lead to two fundamental conceptions. +The first is that beauty is something having an independent existence +(existing in itself), that it is one of the manifestations of the +absolutely Perfect, of the Idea, of the Spirit, of Will, or of God; +the other is that beauty is a kind of pleasure received by us, not +having personal advantage for its object. + +The first of these definitions was accepted by Fichte, Schelling, +Hegel, Schopenhauer, and the philosophising Frenchmen: Cousin, +Jouffroy, Ravaisson, and others, not to enumerate the second-rate +esthetic philosophers. And this same objective-mystical definition of +beauty is held by a majority of the educated people of our day. It is +a conception very widely spread especially among the elder generation. + +The second view, that beauty is a certain kind of pleasure received +by us, not having personal advantage for its aim, finds favour +chiefly among the English esthetic writers, and is shared by the +other part of our society, principally by the younger generation. + +So there are (and it could not be otherwise) only two definitions +of beauty: the one objective, mystical, merging this conception +into that of the highest perfection, God--a fantastic definition, +founded on nothing; the other on the contrary a very simple, and +intelligible, subjective one, which considers beauty to be that +which pleases (I do not add to the word “pleases” the words “without +the aim of advantage,” because “pleases” naturally presupposes the +absence of the idea of profit). + +On the one hand beauty is viewed as something mystical and very +elevated, but unfortunately at the same time very indefinite, and +consequently embracing philosophy, religion, and life itself (as +in the theories of Schelling and Hegel and their German and French +followers); or on the other hand (as necessarily follows from the +definition of Kant and his adherents), beauty is simply a certain +kind of disinterested pleasure received by us. And this conception +of beauty, although it seems very clear, is unfortunately again +inexact; for it widens out on the other side, that is, it includes +the pleasure derived from drink, from food, from touching a delicate +skin, and so forth, as is acknowledged by Guyau, Kralik, and others. + +It is true that, following the development of the esthetic doctrines +on beauty, we may notice that though at first (in the times when +the foundations of the science of esthetics were being laid) the +metaphysical definition of beauty prevailed, yet the nearer we get +to our own times the more does an experimental definition (recently +assuming a physiological form) come to the front, so that at last +we even meet with estheticians such as Véron and Sully, who try to +escape entirely from the conception of beauty. But such estheticians +have very little success, and with the majority of the public as well +as of artists and the learned, a conception of beauty is firmly held +which agrees with the definitions contained in most of the esthetic +treatises, that is, which regards beauty either as something mystical +or metaphysical, or as a special kind of enjoyment. + +What then is this conception of beauty, so stubbornly held to by +people of our circle and day as furnishing a definition of art? + +In its subjective aspect, we call beauty that which supplies us with +a particular kind of pleasure. + +In its objective aspect, we call beauty something absolutely perfect, +and we acknowledge it to be so only because we receive from the +manifestation of this absolute perfection a certain kind of pleasure: +so that this objective definition is nothing but the subjective +conception differently expressed. In reality both conceptions of +beauty amount to one and the same thing, namely, the reception by us +of a certain kind of pleasure; that is to say, we call “beauty” that +which pleases us without evoking in us desire. + +Such being the position of affairs, it would seem only natural that +the science of art should decline to content itself with a definition +of art based on beauty (that is, on that which pleases), and should +seek a general definition applicable to all artistic productions, by +reference to which we might decide whether a certain article belonged +to the realm of art or not. But no such definition is supplied, as +the reader may see from those summaries of esthetic theories which +I have given, and as he may discover even more clearly from the +original esthetic works if he will be at the pains to read them. All +attempts to define absolute beauty in itself--whether as an imitation +of nature, or as suitability to its object, or as a correspondence +of parts, or as symmetry, or as harmony, or as unity in variety, and +so forth--either define nothing at all, or define only some traits +of some artistic productions and are far from including all that +everybody has always held and still holds to be art. + +There is no objective definition of beauty. The existing definitions +(both the metaphysical and the experimental) amount only to one and +the same subjective definition which is (strange as it seems to say +so), that art is that which makes beauty manifest, and beauty is that +which pleases (without exciting desire). Many estheticians have felt +the insufficiency and instability of such a definition and in order +to give it a firm basis have asked themselves why a thing pleases. +And they have converted the discussion on beauty into a question +of taste, as did Hutcheson, Voltaire, Diderot, and others. But all +attempts to define what taste is must lead to nothing, as the reader +may see both from the history of esthetics and experimentally. There +is and can be no explanation of why one thing pleases one man and +displeases another, or _vice versâ_. So that the whole existing +science of esthetics fails to do what we might expect from it, being +a mental activity calling itself a science, namely, it does not +define the qualities and laws of art, or of the beautiful (if that +be the content of art), or the nature of taste (if taste decides +the question of art and its merit), and then on the basis of such +definitions acknowledge as art those productions which correspond to +these laws and reject those which do not come under them. But this +science of esthetics consists in first acknowledging a certain set of +productions to be art (because they please us), and then framing such +a theory of art that all these productions which please a certain +circle of people should fit into it. There exists an art-canon +according to which certain productions favoured by our circle are +acknowledged as being art,--the works of Phidias, Sophocles, Homer, +Titian, Raphael, Bach, Beethoven, Dante, Shakespeare, Goethe, and +others,--and the esthetic laws must be such as to embrace all these +productions. In esthetic literature you will incessantly meet +with opinions on the merit and importance of art founded not on +any certain laws by which this or that is held to be good or bad +but merely on the consideration whether this art tallies with the +art-canon we have drawn up. + +The other day I was reading a far from ill-written book by Folgeldt. +Discussing the demand for morality in works of art, the author +plainly says that we must not demand morality in art. And in proof +of this he advances the fact that, if we admit such a demand, +Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_ and Goethe’s _Wilhelm Meister_ would +not fit into the definition of good art; but since both these books +are included in our canon of art, he concludes that the demand is +unjust. And therefore it is necessary to find a definition of art +which shall fit the works; and instead of a demand for morality, +Folgeldt postulates as the basis of art a demand for the important +(_Bedeutunsvolles_). + +All the existing esthetic standards are built on this plan. Instead +of giving a definition of true art and then deciding what is and +what is not good art by judging whether a work conforms or does +not conform to the definition, a certain class of works, which for +some reason pleases a certain circle of people, is accepted as +being art, and a definition of art is then devised to cover all +these productions. I recently came upon a remarkable instance of +this method in a very good German work, _The History of Art in the +Nineteenth Century_, by Muther. Describing the pre-Raphaelites, the +Decadents, and the Symbolists (who are already included in the canon +of art), he not only does not venture to blame their tendency, but +earnestly endeavours to widen his standard so that it may include +them all, since they appear to him to represent a legitimate reaction +from the excesses of realism. No matter what insanities appear in +art, when once they find acceptance among the upper classes of our +society a theory is quickly invented to explain and sanction them; +just as if there had never been periods in history when certain +special circles of people recognised and approved false, deformed, +and insensate art which subsequently left no trace and has been +utterly forgotten. And to what lengths the insanity and deformity +of art may go, especially when as in our days it knows that it is +considered infallible, may be seen by what is being done in the art +of our circle to-day. + +So that the theory of art founded on beauty, expounded by esthetics +and in dim outline professed by the public, is nothing but the +setting up as good of that which has pleased and pleases us, that is, +pleases a certain class of people. + +In order to define any human activity it is necessary to understand +its sense and importance. And in order to do this, it is primarily +necessary to examine that activity in itself, in its dependence on +its causes, and in connection with its effects, and not merely in +relation to the pleasure we can get from it. + +If we say that the aim of any activity is merely our pleasure and +define it solely by that pleasure, our definition will evidently be +a false one. But this is precisely what has occurred in the efforts +to define art. Now if we consider the food question, it will not +occur to anyone to affirm that the importance of food consists +in the pleasure we receive when eating it. Everyone understands +that the satisfaction of our taste cannot serve as a basis for our +definition of the merits of food, and that we have therefore no right +to presuppose that the dinners with cayenne pepper, Limburg cheese, +alcohol, and so on, to which we are accustomed and which please us, +form the very best human food. + +In the same way, beauty, or that which pleases us, can in no sense +serve as a basis for the definition of art; nor can a series of +objects which afford us pleasure serve as the model of what art +should be. + +To see the aim and purpose of art in the pleasure we get from it, is +like assuming (as is done by people of the lowest moral development, +for instance by savages) that the purpose and aim of food is the +pleasure derived when consuming it. + +Just as people who conceive the aim and purpose of food to be +pleasure cannot recognise the real meaning of eating, so people +who consider the aim of art to be pleasure cannot realise its true +meaning and purpose, because they attribute to an activity the +meaning of which lies in its connection with other phenomena of +life, the false and exceptional aim of pleasure. People come to +understand that the meaning of eating lies in the nourishment of +the body, only when they cease to consider that the object of that +activity is pleasure. And it is the same with regard to art. People +will come to understand the meaning of art only when they cease to +consider that the aim of that activity is beauty, that is to say, +pleasure. The acknowledgment of beauty (that is, of a certain kind +of pleasure received from art) as being the aim of art, not only +fails to assist us in finding a definition of what art is but, on the +contrary, by transferring the question into a region quite foreign +to art (into metaphysical, psychological, physiological, and even +historical discussions as to why such a production pleases one person +and such another displeases or pleases someone else), it renders +such definition impossible. And since discussions as to why one man +likes pears and another prefers meat do not help towards finding +a definition of what is essential in nourishment, so the solution +of questions of taste in art (to which the discussions on art +involuntarily come) not only does not help to make clear what this +particular human activity which we call art really consists in, but +renders such elucidation quite impossible until we rid ourselves of a +conception which justifies every kind of art at the cost of confusing +the whole matter. + +To the question, What is this art, to which is offered up the labour +of millions, the very lives of men, and even morality itself? we +have extracted replies from the existing esthetics which all amount +to this: that the aim of art is beauty, that beauty is recognised +by the enjoyment it gives, and that artistic enjoyment is a good +and important thing, because it _is_ enjoyment. In a word, that +enjoyment is good because it is enjoyment. Thus what is considered +the definition of art is no definition at all, but only a shuffle to +justify existing art. Therefore, however strange it may seem to say +so, in spite of the mountains of books written about art no exact +definition of art has been constructed. And the reason of this is +that the conception of art has been based on the conception of beauty. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + _Definitions of art not founded on beauty. Tolstoy’s + definition. The extent and necessity of art. How people in the + past distinguished good from bad in art._ + + +What is art if we put aside the conception of beauty, which +confuses the whole matter? The latest and most comprehensible +definitions of art, apart from the conception of beauty, are the +following:--(1) _a_, Art is an activity arising even in the animal +kingdom, and springing from sexual desire and the propensity +to play (Schiller, Darwin, Spencer), and _b_, accompanied by a +pleasurable excitement of the nervous system (Grant Allen). This is +the physiological-evolutionary definition. (2) Art is the external +manifestation, by means of lines, colours, movements, sounds, or +words, of emotions felt by man (Véron). This is the experimental +definition. According to the very latest definition (Sully), (3) Art +is “the production of some permanent object or passing action which +is fitted not only to supply an active enjoyment to the producer, +but to convey a pleasurable impression to a number of spectators or +listeners, quite apart from any personal advantage to be derived from +it.” + +Notwithstanding the superiority of these definitions to the +metaphysical definitions which depended on the conception of beauty, +they are yet far from exact. The first, the physiological-evolutionary +definition (1) _a_, is inexact, because instead of speaking about the +artistic activity itself, which is the real matter in hand, it treats +of the derivation of art. The modification of it, _b_, based on the +physiological effects on the human organism, is inexact because +within the limits of such definition many other human activities +can be included, as has occurred in the neo-esthetic theories which +reckon as art the preparation of handsome clothes, pleasant scents, +and even of victuals. + +The experimental definition, (2), which makes art consist in the +expression of emotions, is inexact because a man may express his +emotions by means of lines, colours, sounds, or words, and yet may +not act on others by such expression--and then the manifestation of +his emotions is not art. + +The third definition (that of Sully) is inexact because in the +production of objects or actions affording pleasure to the producer +and a pleasant emotion to the spectators or hearers apart from +personal advantage, may be included the showing of conjuring tricks +or gymnastic exercises, and other activities which are not art. And, +further, many things the production of which does not afford pleasure +to the producer and the sensation received from which is unpleasant: +such as gloomy, heart-rending scenes in a poetic description or a +play, may nevertheless be undoubted works of art. + +The inaccuracy of all these definitions arises from the fact that +in them all (as also in the metaphysical definitions) the object +considered is the pleasure art may give and not the purpose it may +serve in the life of man and of humanity. + +In order correctly to define art it is necessary first of all to +cease to consider it as a means to pleasure, and to consider it as +one of the conditions of human life. Viewing it in this way we cannot +fail to observe that art is one of the means of intercourse between +man and man. + +Every work of art causes the receiver to enter into a certain kind +of relationship both with him who produced or is producing the art, +and with all those who, simultaneously, previously, or subsequently, +receive the same artistic impression. + +Speech, transmitting the thoughts and experiences of men, serves as +a means of union among them, and art serves a similar purpose. The +peculiarity of this latter means of intercourse, distinguishing it +from intercourse by means of words, consists in this, that whereas +by words a man transmits his thoughts to another, by means of art he +transmits his feelings. + +The activity of art is based on the fact that a man receiving through +his sense of hearing or sight another man’s expression of feeling, is +capable of experiencing the emotion which moved the man who expressed +it. To take the simplest example: one man laughs and another, who +hears, becomes merry; or a man weeps and another, who hears, feels +sorrow. A man is excited or irritated, and another man, seeing him, +is brought to a similar state of mind. By his movements or by the +sounds of his voice a man expresses courage and determination or +sadness and calmness, and this state of mind passes on to others. A +man suffers, manifesting his sufferings by groans and spasms, and +this suffering transmits itself to other people; a man expresses his +feelings of admiration, devotion, fear, respect, or love to certain +objects, persons, or phenomena, and others are infected by the same +feelings of admiration, devotion, fear, respect, or love to the same +objects, persons, or phenomena. + +And it is on this capacity of man to receive another man’s expression +of feeling, and to experience those feelings himself, that the +activity of art is based. + +If a man infects another or others directly, immediately, by his +appearance or by the sounds he gives vent to at the very time he +experiences the feeling; if he causes another man to yawn when he +himself cannot help yawning, or to laugh or cry when he himself +is obliged to laugh or cry, or to suffer when he himself is +suffering--that does not amount to art. + +Art begins when one person, with the object of joining another or +others to himself in one and the same feeling, expresses that feeling +by certain external indications. To take the simplest example: a +boy having experienced, let us say, fear on encountering a wolf, +relates that encounter; and in order to evoke in others the feeling +he has experienced, describes himself, his condition before the +encounter, the surroundings, the wood, his own lightheartedness, +and then the wolf’s appearance, its movements, the distance between +himself and the wolf, and so forth. All this, if only the boy when +telling the story, again experiences the feelings he had lived +through, and infects the hearers and compels them to feel what he +had experienced--is art. Even if the boy had not seen a wolf but had +frequently been afraid of one, and if, wishing to evoke in others the +fear he had felt, he invented an encounter with a wolf and recounted +it so as to make his hearers share the feelings he experienced +when he feared the wolf, that also would be art. And just in the +same way it is art if a man, having experienced either the fear of +suffering or the attraction of enjoyment (whether in reality or in +imagination), expresses these feelings on canvas or in marble so that +others are infected by them. And it is also art if a man feels or +imagines to himself feelings of delight, gladness, sorrow, despair, +courage, or despondency and the transition from one to another of +these feelings, and expresses them by sounds so that the hearers are +infected by them and experience them as they were experienced by the +composer. + +The feelings with which the artist infects others may be most +various--very strong or very weak, very important or very +insignificant, very bad or very good: feelings of love of one’s +country, self-devotion and submission to fate or to God expressed +in a drama, raptures of lovers described in a novel, feelings of +voluptuousness expressed in a picture, courage expressed in a +triumphal march, merriment evoked by a dance, humour evoked by a +funny story, the feeling of quietness transmitted by an evening +landscape or by a lullaby, or the feeling of admiration evoked by a +beautiful arabesque--it is all art. + +If only the spectators or auditors are infected by the feelings which +the author has felt, it is art. + +_To evoke in oneself a feeling one has once experienced and, having +evoked it in oneself, then by means of movements, lines, colours, +sounds, or forms expressed in words, so to transmit that feeling that +others experience the same feeling--this is the activity of art._ + +_Art is a human activity consisting in this, that one man +consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others +feelings he has lived through, and that others are infected by these +feelings and also experience them._ + +Art is not as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some +mysterious Idea of beauty or God; it is not, as the esthetical +physiologists say, a game in which man lets off his excess of +stored-up energy; it is not the expression of man’s emotions by +external signs; it is not the production of pleasing objects; and, +above all, it is not pleasure; but it is a means of union among men, +joining them together in the same feelings and indispensable for the +life and progress towards well-being of individuals and of humanity. + +As, thanks to man’s capacity to express thoughts by words, every man +may know all that has been done for him in the realms of thought by +all humanity before his day, and can, in the present, thanks to this +capacity to understand the thoughts of others, become a sharer in +their activity and can also himself hand on to his contemporaries and +descendants the thoughts he has assimilated from others as well as +those which have arisen within himself; so, thanks to man’s capacity +to be infected with the feelings of others by means of art, all that +is being lived through by his contemporaries is accessible to him, +as well as the feelings experienced by men thousands of years ago, +and he has also the possibility of transmitting his own feelings to +others. + +If people lacked this capacity to receive the thoughts conceived +by the men who preceded them and to pass on to others their own +thoughts, men would be like wild beasts, or like Kasper Hauser.[88] + +And if men lacked this other capacity of being infected by art, +people might be almost more savage still, and above all more +separated from, and more hostile to, one another. + +And therefore the activity of art is a most important one, as +important as the activity of speech itself and as generally diffused. + +As speech does not act on us only in sermons, orations, or books, +but in all those remarks by which we interchange thoughts and +experiences with one another, so also art, in the wide sense of +the word, permeates our whole life, but it is only to some of its +manifestations that we apply the term in the limited sense of the +word. + +We are accustomed to understand art to be only what we hear and see +in theatres, concerts, and exhibitions; together with buildings, +statues, poems, novels.... But all this is but the smallest part of +the art by which we communicate with each other in life. All human +life is filled with works of art of every kind--from cradle-song, +jest, mimicry, the ornamentation of houses, dress, and utensils, to +church services, buildings, monuments, and triumphal processions. It +is all artistic activity. So that by art, in the limited sense of the +word, we do not mean all human activity transmitting feelings, but +only that part which we for some reason select from it and to which +we attach special importance. + +This special importance has always been given by all men to that +part of this activity which transmits feelings flowing from their +religious perception, and this small part they have specifically +called art, attaching to it the full meaning of the word. + +That was how men of old--Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle--looked on +art. Thus did the Hebrew prophets and the ancient Christians regard +art. Thus it was, and still is, understood by the Mohammedans, and +thus is it still understood by religious folk among our own peasantry. + +Some teachers of mankind--as Plato in his _Republic_, and people +such as the primitive Christians, the strict Mohammedans, and the +Buddhists--have gone so far as to repudiate all art. + +People viewing art in this way (in contradiction to the prevalent +view of to-day which regards any art as good if only it affords +pleasure) held and hold that art (as contrasted with speech, which +need not be listened to) is so highly dangerous in its power to +infect people against their wills, that mankind will lose far less by +banishing all art than by tolerating each and every art. + +Evidently such people were wrong in repudiating all art, for they +denied what cannot be denied--one of the indispensable means of +communication, without which mankind could not exist. But not less +wrong are the people of civilised European society of our class and +day, in favouring any art if it but serves beauty, that is, gives +people pleasure. + +Formerly, people feared lest among the works of art there might +chance to be some causing corruption, and they prohibited art +altogether. Now they only fear lest they should be deprived of any +enjoyment art can afford, and patronise any art. And I think the last +error is much grosser than the first, and that its consequences are +far more harmful. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + _How art for the sake of pleasure has come into esteem. + Religions indicate what is good and bad. Church Christianity. + The Renaissance. Scepticism of the upper classes. They + confound beauty with goodness._ + + +But how could it happen that that very art which in ancient times was +merely tolerated (if tolerated at all), should have come in our times +to be invariably considered a good thing if only it affords pleasure? + +It has resulted from the following causes. The estimation of the +value of art (that is, of the feelings it transmits) depends on men’s +perception of the meaning of life; depends on what they hold to be +the good and the evil of life. And what is good and what is evil is +defined by what are termed religions. + +Humanity unceasingly moves forward from a lower, more partial and +obscure, understanding of life to one more general and more lucid. +And in this as in every movement there are leaders--those who have +understood the meaning of life more clearly than others--and of +these advanced men there is always one who has in his words and +by his life expressed this meaning more clearly, lucidly, and +strongly than others. This man’s expression of the meaning of life, +together with those superstitions, traditions, and ceremonies which +usually form round the memory of such a man, is what is called a +religion. Religions are the exponents of the highest comprehension +of life accessible to the best and foremost men at a given time in +a given society; a comprehension towards which all the rest of that +society must inevitably and irresistibly advance. And therefore +religions alone have always served, and still serve, as bases for +the valuation of human sentiments. If feelings bring men nearer the +ideal their religion indicates, if they are in harmony with it and do +not contradict it, they are good; if they estrange men from it and +oppose it they are bad. + +If the religion places the meaning of life in worshipping one God +and fulfilling what is regarded as His will, as was the case among +the Jews, then the feelings flowing from love of that God and of +His law, successfully transmitted through the art of poetry by the +prophets, by the psalms, or by the epic of the book of Genesis, are +good, high art. All opposing that, as for instance the transmission +of feelings of devotion to strange gods, or of feelings incompatible +with the law of God, would be considered bad art. Or if, as was the +case among the Greeks, the religion places the meaning of life in +earthly happiness, in beauty and in strength, then art successfully +transmitting the joy and energy of life would be considered good +art, but art transmitting feelings of effeminacy or despondency +would be bad art. If the meaning of life is seen in the well-being +of one’s nation, or in honouring one’s ancestors and continuing +the mode of life led by them, as was the case among the Romans and +the Chinese respectively, then art transmitting feelings of joy at +the sacrifice of one’s personal well-being for the common weal, or +at the exaltation of one’s ancestors and the maintenance of their +traditions, would be considered good art; but art expressing feelings +contrary to these would be regarded as bad. If the meaning of life is +seen in freeing oneself from the yoke of animalism, as is the case +among the Buddhists, then art successfully transmitting feelings that +elevate the soul and humble the flesh will be good art, and all that +transmits feelings strengthening the bodily passions will be bad art. + +In every age and in every human society there exists a religious +sense, common to that whole society, of what is good and what is +bad, and it is this religious conception that decides the value of +the feelings transmitted by art. And therefore among all nations art +which transmitted feelings considered to be good by this general +religious sense was recognised as being good and was encouraged, but +art which transmitted feelings considered to be bad by this general +religious sense was recognised as being bad and was rejected. All the +rest of the immense field of art by means of which people communicate +one with another was not esteemed at all and was only noticed when it +ran counter to the religious conception of its age, and then merely +to be repudiated. Thus it was among all nations,--Greeks, Jews, +Indians, Egyptians, and Chinese,--and so it was when Christianity +appeared. + +The Christianity of the first centuries recognised as productions +of good art only legends, lives of saints, sermons, prayers and +hymn-singing, evoking love of Christ, emotion at his life, desire to +follow his example, renunciation of worldly life, humility, and the +love of others; all productions transmitting feelings of personal +enjoyment they considered to be bad and therefore rejected, for +instance, tolerating plastic representations only when they were +symbolical, they rejected all the pagan sculptures. + +This was so among the Christians of the first centuries, who accepted +Christ’s teaching if not quite in its true form at least not in the +perverted, paganised form in which it was accepted subsequently. + +But besides this Christianity, from the time of the wholesale +conversion of nations by order of the authorities, as in the days of +Constantine, Charlemagne, and Vladimir, there appeared another, a +Church-Christianity, which was nearer to paganism than to Christ’s +teaching. And this Church-Christianity, in accordance with its own +teaching, estimated quite otherwise the feelings of people and the +productions of art which transmitted those feelings. + +This Church-Christianity not only did not acknowledge the fundamental +and essential positions of true Christianity,--the immediate +relationship of each man to the Father, the consequent brotherhood +and equality of all men, and the substitution of humility and love +in place of every kind of violence,--but on the contrary having set +up a heavenly hierarchy similar to the pagan mythology and having +introduced the worship of Christ, of the Virgin, of angels, of +apostles, of saints, and of martyrs, and not only of these divinities +themselves but also of their images, it made blind faith in the +Church and its ordinances the essential point of its teaching. + +However foreign this teaching may have been to true Christianity, +however degraded not only in comparison with true Christianity but +even with the life-conception of Romans such as Julian and others, +it was for all that, to the barbarians who accepted it, a higher +doctrine than their former adoration of gods, heroes, and good and +bad spirits. And therefore this teaching was a religion to them, and +on the basis of that religion the art of the time was assessed. And +art transmitting pious adoration of the Virgin, Jesus, the saints, +and the angels, a blind faith in and submission to the Church, fear +of torments and hope of blessedness in a life beyond the grave, was +considered good; while all art opposed to this was held to be bad. + +The teaching on the basis of which this art arose was a perversion +of Christ’s teaching, but the art which sprang up on this perverted +teaching was nevertheless a true art, because it corresponded to the +religious view of life held by the people among whom it arose. + +The artists of the Middle Ages, vitalised by the same source of +feeling--religion--as the mass of the people, and transmitting in +architecture, sculpture, painting, music, poetry, or drama, the +feelings and states of mind they experienced, were true artists; and +their activity, founded on the highest conceptions accessible to +their age and common to the entire people, though for our times a +mean art, was nevertheless a true one, shared by the whole community. + +And this was the state of things until, in the upper, rich, +more educated classes of European society, doubt arose as to +the truth of that understanding of life which was expressed by +Church-Christianity. When, after the Crusades and the maximum +development of papal power and its abuses, people of the rich classes +became acquainted with the wisdom of the classics, and saw on the one +hand the reasonable lucidity of the teaching of the ancient sages and +on the other hand the incompatibility of the Church doctrine with +the teaching of Christ, they lost all possibility of continuing to +believe the Church teaching. + +If in externals they still kept to the forms of Church teaching, +they could no longer believe in it, and held to it only by inertia +and for the sake of influencing the masses, who continued to believe +blindly in Church doctrine, and whom the upper classes for their own +advantage considered it necessary to encourage in those beliefs. + +So that a time came when Church-Christianity ceased to be the +general religious doctrine of all Christian people: some--the +masses--continued blindly to believe in it, but the upper +classes--those in whose hands lay the power and wealth and therefore +the leisure to produce art and the means to stimulate it--ceased to +believe that teaching. + +In regard to religion the upper circles of the Middle Ages found +themselves in the position the educated Romans were in before +Christianity arose, that is, they no longer believed in the religion +of the masses, but had no beliefs to put in place of the worn-out +Church doctrine, which for them had lost its meaning. + +There was only this difference, that whereas for the Romans who lost +faith in their emperor-gods and household-gods it was impossible to +extract anything further from all the complex mythology they had +borrowed from all the conquered nations, and it was consequently +necessary to find a completely new conception of life, the people of +the Middle Ages when they doubted the truth of the Church teaching +had no need to seek a fresh one. That Christian teaching which they +professed in a perverted form as Church doctrine, had mapped out +the path of human progress so far ahead that they had only to rid +themselves of those perversions which hid the teaching announced +by Christ, and to adopt its real meaning--if not completely then +at least in some greater degree than that in which the Church had +held it. And this was partially done not only in the reformations +of Wyclif, Huss, Luther, and Calvin, but by all that current of +non-Church Christianity, represented in earlier times by the +Paulicians and the Bogomilites,[89] and afterwards by the Waldenses +and the other non-Church Christians who were called heretics. But +this could be, and was, done chiefly by poor people--who did not +rule. A few of the rich and strong, as Francis of Assisi and others, +accepted the Christian teaching in its full significance even though +it undermined their privileged positions. But most people of the +upper classes (though in the depth of their souls they had lost faith +in the Church teaching) could not or would not act thus, because +the essence of that Christian view of life which stood ready to be +adopted when once they rejected the Church faith, was a teaching +of the brotherhood (and therefore the equality) of man, and this +negatived those privileges on which they lived, in which they had +grown up and been educated, and to which they were accustomed. Not in +the depth of their hearts believing in the Church teaching,--which +had outlived its age and had no longer any true meaning for +them,--and not being strong enough to accept true Christianity, men +of these rich, governing classes--popes, kings, dukes, and all the +great ones of the earth--were left without any religion, with but the +external forms of one, which they supported as being profitable and +even necessary for themselves, since these forms supported a teaching +which justified the privileges they made use of. In reality these +people believed in nothing, just as the Romans of the first centuries +of our era believed in nothing. But at the same time these were the +people who had the power and the wealth, and these were the people +who rewarded art and directed it. + +And, let it be noticed, it was just among these people that there +grew up an art esteemed, not according to its success in expressing +men’s religious feelings but in proportion to its beauty,--in other +words, according to the enjoyment it gave. + +No longer able to believe in the Church religion, whose falsehood +they had detected, and incapable of accepting true Christian +teaching which denounced their whole manner of life, these rich and +powerful people, stranded without any religious conception of life, +involuntarily returned to that pagan view of things which places +life’s meaning in personal enjoyment. And then took place among the +upper classes what is called the Renaissance of science and art, +which was really not only a denial of every religion, but also an +assertion that religion is unnecessary. + +The Church doctrine is so coherent a system that it cannot be altered +or corrected without destroying it altogether. As soon as doubt arose +with regard to the infallibility of the Pope (and this doubt was then +in the minds of all educated people), doubt inevitably followed as to +the truth of tradition. But doubt as to the truth of tradition is +fatal not only to popery and Catholicism, but also to the whole +Church creed with all its dogmas: the divinity of Christ, the +resurrection, and the Trinity; and it destroys the authority of the +Scriptures, since they were considered to be inspired only because +the tradition of the Church decided it so. + +So that the majority of the highest classes of that age, even the +popes and the ecclesiastics, really believed in nothing at all. In +the Church doctrine these people did not believe, for they saw its +insolvency; but neither could they follow Francis of Assisi, Peter +of Chelczic,[90] and most of the heretics, in acknowledging the +moral, social teaching of Christ, for that teaching undermined their +social position. So these people remained without any religious view +of life. And having none they could have no standard wherewith to +estimate what was good and what was bad art, but that of personal +enjoyment. And having acknowledged their criterion of what was good +to be pleasure, that is beauty, these people of the upper classes +of European society went back in their comprehension of art to the +gross conception of the primitive Greeks, which Plato had already +condemned. And conformably to this understanding of life a theory of +art was formulated. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + _An esthetic theory framed to suit the view of life of the + ruling classes._ + + +From the time that people of the upper classes lost faith in +Church-Christianity, beauty (that is to say, the pleasure received +from art) became their standard of good and bad art. And in +accordance with that view, an esthetic theory naturally sprang up +among those upper classes, justifying such a conception--a theory +according to which the aim of art is to exhibit beauty. The partisans +of this esthetic theory in confirmation of its truth affirmed that +it was no invention of their own, but that it existed in the nature +of things and was recognised even by the ancient Greeks. But this +assertion was quite arbitrary and had no foundation other than +the fact that among the ancient Greeks, in consequence of the low +level of their moral ideal (as compared with the Christian), their +conception of the good, τὸ ἀγαθόν, was not yet sharply divided from +their conception of the beautiful, τὸ καλόν. + +That highest perfection of goodness (not only not identical with +beauty but for the most part contrasting with it) which was discerned +by the Jews even in the times of Isaiah and fully expressed by +Christianity, was quite unknown to the Greeks. They supposed that the +beautiful must necessarily also be the good. It is true that their +foremost thinkers--Socrates, Plato, Aristotle--felt that goodness may +happen not to coincide with beauty. Socrates expressly subordinated +beauty to goodness; Plato, to unite the two conceptions, spoke of +spiritual beauty; while Aristotle demanded from art that it should +have a moral influence on people (κάθαρσις). But notwithstanding all +this, they could not quite dismiss the notion that beauty and goodness +coincide. + +Consequently, in the language of that period, a compound word +(καλοκἀγαθία, beauty-goodness) came into use to express that notion. + +Evidently the Greek sages began to draw near to that perception +of goodness which is expressed in Buddhism and in Christianity, +but got entangled in defining the relation between goodness and +beauty. Plato’s reasoning about beauty and goodness is full of +contradictions. And it was just this confusion of ideas that those +Europeans of a later age, who had lost all faith, tried to elevate +into a law. They tried to prove that this union of beauty and +goodness is inherent in the very essence of things; that beauty and +goodness must coincide; and that the word and conception καλοκἀγαθία +(which had a meaning for Greeks but has none at all for Christians) +represents the highest ideal of humanity. On this misunderstanding +the new science of esthetics was built up: and to justify its +existence the teachings of the ancients on art were twisted so that +it should appear that this invented science of esthetics had existed +among the Greeks. + +In reality the reasoning of the ancients on art was quite unlike +ours. As Benard, in his book on the esthetics of Aristotle, quite +justly remarks: _Pour qui veut y regarder de près, la théorie du +beau et celle de l’art sont tout à fait séparées dans Aristote, +comme elles le sont dans Platon et chez tous leurs successeurs_ +(_L’esthétique d’Aristote et de ses successeurs_, Paris, 1889, +p. 28).[91] And, indeed, the reasoning of the ancients on art +not only does not confirm our science of esthetics, but rather +contradicts its doctrine of beauty. But nevertheless all the esthetic +guides, from Schasler to Knight, declare that the science of the +beautiful--esthetic science--was begun by the ancients, by Socrates, +Plato, Aristotle; and was continued, they say, to some extent by the +Epicureans and Stoics, by Seneca and Plutarch, down to Plotinus. +But it is supposed that this science, by some unfortunate accident, +suddenly vanished in the fourth century and stayed away for about +1500 years, and only after these 1500 years had passed did it revive +in Germany, A. D. 1750, in Baumgarten’s doctrine. + +After Plotinus, says Schasler, fifteen centuries passed away during +which there was not the slightest scientific interest shewn for the +world of beauty and art. These one and a half thousand years, says +he, have been lost to esthetics and have contributed nothing towards +the erection of the learned edifice of this science.[92] + +In reality nothing of the kind happened. The science of esthetics, +the science of the beautiful, neither did nor could vanish, because +it never existed. Simply the Greeks (just like everybody else, always +and everywhere) considered art (like everything else) good only when +it served goodness (as they understood goodness), and bad when it +was in opposition to that goodness. And the Greeks themselves were +so little developed morally that goodness and beauty seemed to them +to coincide. On that obsolete Greek view of life was erected the +science of esthetics, invented by men of the eighteenth century, and +especially shaped and mounted in Baumgarten’s theory. The Greeks (as +anyone may see who will read Benard’s admirable book on Aristotle and +his successors, and Walter’s work on Plato) never had a science of +esthetics. + +Esthetic theories arose about one hundred and fifty years ago among +the wealthy classes of the Christian European world, and arose +simultaneously among different nations,--German, Italian, Dutch, +French, and English. The founder and organiser of it, who gave it a +scientific and theoretic form, was Baumgarten. + +With a characteristically German external exactitude, pedantry, and +symmetry, he devised and expounded this extraordinary theory. And +notwithstanding its obvious lack of substance, no one else’s theory +so pleased the cultured crowd or was accepted so readily and with +such an absence of criticism. It so suited the people of the upper +classes that to this day, notwithstanding its entirely fantastic +character and the arbitrary nature of its assertions, it is repeated +by learned and unlearned as though it were something indubitable and +self-evident. + +_Pro captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli_,[93] and so, or even +more so, theories _habent sua fata_ according to the condition +of error in which that society lives among whom and for whom the +theories are invented. If a theory justifies the false position in +which a certain part of a society is living, then however unfounded +or even obviously false the theory may be, it is accepted and becomes +an article of faith to that section of society. Such, for instance, +was the celebrated and unfounded theory expounded by Malthus, of the +tendency of the population of the world to increase in geometrical +progression but of the means of subsistence to increase only in +arithmetical progression, and of the consequent over-population of +the world; such also was the theory (an outgrowth of the Malthusian) +of selection and struggle for existence as the basis of human +progress. Such again is Marx’s theory, which regards the gradual +destruction of small private production by large capitalistic +production, now going on around us, as an inevitable decree of fate. +However unfounded such theories are, however contrary to all that is +known and confessed by humanity, and however obviously immoral they +may be, they are credulously accepted, pass uncriticised, and are +preached, perhaps for centuries, until the conditions are destroyed +which they served to justify, or until their absurdity has become +too evident. To this class belongs this astonishing theory of the +Baumgartenian Trinity: Goodness, Beauty, and Truth, according to +which it appears that the very best that can be done by the art of +nations after 1900 years of Christian teaching is to choose as the +ideal of their life the ideal that was held by a small, semi-savage, +slave-holding people who lived 2000 years ago, who imitated the nude +human body extremely well and erected buildings pleasant to look +at. All these incompatibilities pass completely unnoticed. Learned +people write long, cloudy treatises on beauty as a member of the +esthetic trinity of Beauty, Truth, and Goodness; _das Schöne_, _das +Wahre_, _das Gute_; _le Beau_, _le Vrai_, _le Bon_, are repeated +with capital letters by philosophers, estheticians, and artists, by +private individuals, by novelists and by _feuilletonistes_; and they +all think when pronouncing these sacrosanct words that they speak +of something quite definite and solid--something on which they can +base their opinions. In reality these words not only have no definite +meaning, but they hinder us in attaching any definite meaning to +existing art; they are wanted only for the purpose of justifying the +false importance we attribute to an art that transmits every kind of +feeling if only those feelings afford us pleasure.[94] + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + _Who have adopted this esthetic theory? Real art needful for + all men. Our art too expensive, too unintelligible, and too + harmful, for the masses. The theory of “the elect” in art._ + + +But if art is a human activity having for its purpose the +transmission to others of the highest and best feelings to which +men have risen, how could it be that humanity for a certain rather +considerable period of its existence (from the time people ceased +to believe in Church doctrine down to the present day) should exist +without this important activity, and instead of it should put up with +an insignificant artistic activity only affording pleasure? + +To answer this question it is necessary first of all to correct the +current error people make in attributing to our art the significance +of true, universal art. We are so accustomed not only naïvely to +consider the Circassian family the best stock of people, but also the +Anglo-Saxon race the best race if we are Englishmen or Americans, or +the Teutonic if we are Germans, or the Gallo-Latin if we are French, +or the Slavonic if we are Russians, that when speaking of our own +art we feel fully convinced not only that our art is true art, but +even that it is the best and only true art. But in reality our art +is not only not the only art (as the Bible was once held to be the +only book),--it is not even the art of the whole of Christendom, only +of a small section of our part of humanity. It was correct to speak +of a national Jewish, Greek, or Egyptian art, and one may speak of a +now-existing Chinese, Japanese, or Indian art, shared in by a whole +people. Such art common to a whole nation existed in Russia till +Peter the First’s time, and existed in the rest of Europe until the +thirteenth or fourteenth century; but since the upper classes of +European society, having lost faith in the Church teaching, did not +accept real Christianity but remained without any faith, one can +no longer speak of an art of the Christian nations in the sense of +the whole of art. Since the upper classes of the Christian nations +lost faith in Church-Christianity the art of those upper classes +has separated itself from the art of the rest of the people and +there have been two arts--the art of the people, and genteel art. +And therefore the answer to the question how it could happen that +humanity lived for a certain period without real art, replacing it by +art which served enjoyment only, is that not the whole of humanity, +nor even any considerable portion of it, lived without real art, but +only the highest classes of European Christian society, and even they +only for a comparatively short time--from the commencement of the +Renaissance down to our own day. + +The consequence of this absence of true art showed itself inevitably +in the corruption of that class which nourished itself on the +false art. All the confused unintelligible theories of art, all +the false and contradictory judgments on art, and particularly the +self-confident stagnation of our art in its false channels--all +arise, from the assertion, which has come into common use and is +accepted as an unquestioned truth but is yet amazingly and palpably +false, the assertion namely that the art of our upper classes[95] is +the whole of art: the true, the only, the universal art. And although +this assertion (which is precisely similar to the assertion made by +religious people of the various Churches, who consider that theirs is +the only true religion) is quite arbitrary and obviously unjust, yet +it is calmly repeated by all the people of our circle with full faith +in its infallibility. + +The art we have is the whole of art, the real, the only art, and yet +two-thirds of the human race (all the peoples of Asia and Africa) +live and die knowing nothing of this sole and supreme art. And +even in our Christian society hardly one per cent. of the people +make use of this art which we speak of as being the _whole_ of +art; the remaining ninety-nine per cent. live and die, generation +after generation, crushed by toil and never tasting this art, which +moreover is of such a nature that if they could get it they would +not understand anything of it. We, according to the current esthetic +theory, acknowledge art either as one of the highest manifestations +of the Idea, God, Beauty, or as the highest spiritual enjoyment; +furthermore we hold that all people have equal rights, if not to +material at any rate to spiritual well-being; and yet ninety-nine +per cent. of our European population live and die, generation after +generation, crushed by toil, much of which toil is necessary for the +production of our art which they never use, and we in face of this, +calmly assert that the art which we produce is the real, true, only +art--all of art! + +To the remark that if our art is the true art everyone should have +the benefit of it, the usual reply is that if everybody at present +does not make use of existing art, the fault lies not in the art +but in the false organisation of society; that one can imagine to +oneself in the future a state of things in which physical labour +will be partly superseded by machinery, partly lightened by its just +distribution, and that labour for the production of art will be taken +in turns: that there is no need for some people always to sit below +the stage moving the decorations, winding up the machinery, working +at the piano or French horn, and setting type and printing books, but +that the people who do all this work might be engaged only a few +hours per day and in their leisure time might enjoy all the blessings +of art. + +That is what the defenders of our exclusive art say. But I think +they do not themselves believe it. They cannot help knowing that +fine art can arise only on the slavery of the masses of the people, +and can continue only as long as that slavery lasts, and they +cannot help knowing that only under conditions of intense hardship +for the workers can specialists--writers, musicians, dancers, and +actors--arrive at that fine degree of perfection to which they do +attain, or produce their refined works of art, and that only under +the same conditions can there be a fine public to appreciate such +productions. Free the slaves of capital, and it will be impossible to +produce such refined art. + +But even were we to admit the inadmissible, and say that means may +be found by which art (that art which is considered to be art among +us) may be made accessible to the whole people, another consideration +presents itself showing that fashionable art cannot be the whole of +art, namely the fact that it is completely unintelligible to the +people. Formerly men wrote poems in Latin, but now their artistic +productions are as unintelligible to the common folk as if they were +written in Sanskrit. The usual reply to this is, that if the people +do not now understand this art of ours it only proves that they are +undeveloped, and that this has been so at each fresh step forward +made by art. It has never been understood at first, but afterwards +people have become accustomed to it. + +It will be the same with our present art; it will be understood when +everybody is as well educated as are we--the people of the upper +classes--who produce it, say the defenders of our art. But this +assertion is evidently even more untrue than the former, for we +know that the majority of the productions of the art of the upper +classes, such as various odes, poems, dramas, cantatas, pastorals, +pictures, and so forth, which delighted people of the upper classes +when they were produced, never were afterwards either understood +or valued by the great masses of mankind, but have remained, what +they were at first, a mere pastime for the rich people of their +time, for whom alone they ever were of any importance. It is also +often urged in proof of the assertion that the people will some day +understand our art, that some productions of so-called classical +poetry, music, or painting which formerly did not please the masses, +do--now that they have been offered to them from all sides--begin +to please these same masses; but this only shows that the crowd, +especially the half-spoilt town crowd, can easily (its taste having +been perverted) be accustomed to any sort of art. Moreover this art +is not produced by these masses, nor even chosen by them, but is +energetically thrust upon them in those public places in which art is +accessible to the people. For the great majority of working people +our art, besides being inaccessible on account of its costliness, is +strange in its very nature, transmitting as it does the feelings of +people far removed from those conditions of laborious life which are +natural to the great body of humanity. That which is enjoyment to +a man of the rich classes is incomprehensible, as a pleasure, to a +working man, and evokes in him either no feeling at all or a feeling +quite contrary to that which it evokes in an idle and satiated man. +Such feelings as form the chief subjects of present-day art--say, +for instance, honour,[96] patriotism, and amorousness--evoke in a +working man only bewilderment and contempt, or indignation. So that +even if a possibility were given to the labouring classes to see, to +read, and to hear, in their leisure time, all that forms the flower +of contemporary art (as is done to some extent in towns, by means +of picture-galleries, popular concerts, and libraries), the working +man (to the extent to which he is a labourer and has not begun to +pass into the ranks of those perverted by idleness) would be able +to make nothing of our fine art, and if he did understand it, what +he understood would not elevate his soul, but would certainly in +most cases pervert it. To thoughtful and sincere people there can +therefore be no doubt that the art of our upper classes never can +be the art of the whole people. But if art is an important matter, +a spiritual blessing essential for all men (like religion, as the +devotees of art are found of saying), then it should be accessible +to everyone. And if, as in our day, it is not accessible to all +men, then one of two things: either art is not the vital matter it +is represented to be, or that art which we call art is not the real +thing. + +The dilemma is inevitable, and therefore clever and immoral people +avoid it by denying one side of it, namely, denying that the common +people have a right to art. These people simply and boldly speak out +and say (what goes to the heart of the matter) that the participators +in and utilisers of what in their esteem is highly beautiful +art, that is, art furnishing the greatest enjoyment, can only be +_schöne Geister_, the elect, as the romanticists called them, the +_Uebermenschen_, as they are called by the followers of Nietzsche; +the vulgar herd which remains, incapable of experiencing these +pleasures, must serve the exalted pleasures of this superior breed of +people. The people who express these views at least do not pretend, +and do not try to combine the incombinable, but frankly admit what +is the case, that our art is an art of the upper classes only. So in +reality art has been, and is, understood by everyone engaged on it in +our society. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + _The perversion of our art. It has lost its natural + subject-matter. Has no flow of fresh feeling. Transmits + chiefly three base emotions._ + + +The unbelief of the upper classes of the European world had this +effect, that instead of an artistic activity aiming at transmitting +the highest feelings to which humanity has attained,--those flowing +from religious perception,--we have an activity which aims at +affording the greatest enjoyment to a certain class of society. And +of all the immense domain of art that part has been fenced off, and +is alone called art, which affords enjoyment to the people of this +particular circle. + +Apart from the moral effects on European society of such a selection, +out of the whole sphere of art, of what did not deserve such a +valuation, and the acknowledgment of it as important, this perversion +of art has weakened art itself and well-nigh destroyed it. The first +great result was that art was deprived of the infinite, varied, and +profound religious subject-matter proper to it. The second result +was that, having only a small circle of people in view, it lost its +beauty of form and became affected and obscure; and the third and +chief result was that it ceased to be natural or even sincere, and +became thoroughly artificial and brain-spun. + +The first result--the impoverishment of subject-matter--followed +because only that is a true work of art which transmits fresh +feelings not before experienced by man. As thought-product is only +then real thought-product when it transmits new conceptions and +thoughts and does not merely repeat what was known before, so also +an art-product is only then a genuine art-product when it brings a +new feeling (however insignificant) into the current of human life. +This explains why children and youths are so strongly impressed by +those works of art which first transmit to them feelings they had not +before experienced. + +The same powerful impression is made on people by feelings which +are quite new and have never before been expressed by man. And it +is the source from which such feelings flow that the art of the +upper classes has deprived itself of by estimating feelings, not in +conformity with religious perception but according to the degree of +enjoyment they afford. There is nothing older and more hackneyed +than enjoyment, and there is nothing fresher than the feelings +springing from the religious consciousness of each age. It could not +be otherwise: man’s enjoyment has limits established by his nature, +but the movement forward of humanity, which expresses itself in +religious consciousness, has no limits. At every forward step taken +by humanity--and such steps are taken in consequence of the greater +and greater elucidation of religious perception--men experience new +and fresh feelings. And therefore only on the basis of religious +perception (which shows the highest level of life-comprehension +reached by the men of a certain period) can fresh emotion, never +before felt by man, arise. From the religious perception of the +ancient Greeks flowed the really new, important, and endlessly +varied feelings expressed by Homer and the tragic writers. It was +the same among the Jews, who attained the religious conception of a +single God,--from that perception flowed all those new and important +emotions expressed by the prophets. It was the same for the poets +of the Middle Ages, who, if they believed in a heavenly hierarchy, +believed also in the Catholic commune; and it is the same for a +man of to-day who has grasped the religious conception of true +Christianity--the brotherhood of man. + +The variety of fresh feelings flowing from religious perception +is endless, and they are all new, for religious perception is +nothing else than the first indication of that which is coming +into existence, namely, a new relation of man to the world around +him. But the feelings flowing from the desire for enjoyment are on +the contrary not only limited, but were long ago experienced and +expressed. And therefore the lack of belief of the upper classes of +Europe has left them with an art fed on the poorest subject-matter. + +The impoverishment of the subject-matter of upper-class art was +further increased by the fact that, ceasing to be religious, it +ceased also to be popular, and this again diminished the range of +feelings which it transmitted. For the range of feelings experienced +by the powerful and the rich, who have no experience of labour +for the support of life, is far poorer, more limited, and more +insignificant, than the range of feelings natural to working people. + +People of our circle, estheticians, usually think and say just +the contrary of this. I remember how Goncharev the author, a very +clever and educated man but a thorough townsman and an esthetician, +said to me that after Turgenev’s _Sportsman’s Notebook_ there was +nothing left to write about in peasant life. It was all used up. +The life of working people seemed to him so simple that Turgenev’s +peasant stories had used up all there was to describe. The life of +our wealthy people, with their love affairs and dissatisfaction with +themselves, seemed to him full of inexhaustible subject-matter. One +hero kissed his lady on the palm of her hand, another on her elbow, +and a third somewhere else. One man is discontented through idleness, +and another because people don’t love him. And Goncharev thought that +in this sphere there is no end of variety. And this opinion--that +the life of working people is poor in subject-matter, but that our +life, the life of the idle, is full of interest--is shared by very +many people in our society. The life of a labouring man, with its +endlessly varied forms of labour and the dangers connected with +labour on sea and underground; his migrations, his intercourse with +his employers, overseers, and companions, and with men of other +religions and other nationalities: his struggles with nature and +with wild beasts, his association with domestic animals, his work in +the forest, on the steppe, in the field, the garden, the orchard: +his intercourse with wife and children, not only as with people +near and dear to him but as with co-workers and helpers in labour, +replacing him in time of need: his concern in all economic questions, +not as matters of display or discussion but as problems of life for +himself and his family: his pride in self-suppression and service of +others, his pleasures of refreshment; and the permeation of all these +interests by a religious re-action towards the facts: all this to us, +who have not these interests and possess no religious perception, +seems monotonous in comparison with those small enjoyments and +insignificant cares of our life,--a life, not of labour nor of +production, but of consumption and destruction of that which others +have produced for us. We think the feelings experienced by people of +our day and our class are very important and varied; but in reality +almost all the feelings of people of our class amount to but three +very insignificant and simple feelings--the feeling of pride, the +feeling of sexual desire, and the feeling of weariness of life. +These three feelings, with their off-shoots, form almost the only +subject-matter of the art of the rich classes. + +At first, at the very beginning of the separation of the exclusive +art of the upper classes from universal art, its chief subject-matter +was the feeling of pride. It was so at the time of the Renaissance +and after it, when the chief subject of works of art was the +laudation of the strong--popes, kings, and dukes. Odes and madrigals +were written in their honour, they were extolled in cantatas and +hymns, and their portraits were painted, and their statues carved, in +various adulatory ways. + +Next, the element of sexual desire began more and more to enter into +art, and (with very few exceptions, and in novels and dramas almost +without exception) it has now become an essential feature of every +art product of the wealthy classes. + +The third feeling transmitted by the art of the rich--that of +discontent with life--appeared yet later in modern art. This feeling, +which at the commencement of the present century was expressed only +by exceptional men: by Byron, by Leopardi, and afterwards by Heine, +has latterly become fashionable and is expressed by most ordinary and +empty people. Most justly does the French critic Doumic characterise +the works of the new writers: ... _c’est la lassitude de vivre, +le mépris de l’époque présente, le regret d’un autre temps aperçu +à travers l’illusion de l’art, le gout du paradoxe, le besoin de +se singulariser, une aspiration de raffinés vers la simplicité, +l’adoration enfantine du merveilleux, la séduction maladive de la +rêverie, l’ébranlement des nerfs,--surtout l’appel exaspéré de +la sensualité_ (_Les Jeunes_, René Doumic).[97] And, as a matter +of fact, of these three feelings it is sensuality, the lowest +(accessible not only to all men but even to all animals), which forms +the chief subject-matter of works of art of recent times. + +From Boccaccio to Marcel Prévost, all novels, poems, and verses +invariably transmit the feeling of sexual love in its different +forms. Adultery is not only the favourite, but almost the only theme +of all the novels. A performance is not a performance unless, under +some pretext, women appear with naked busts and limbs. Songs and +romances--all are expressions of lust idealised in various degrees. + +A majority of the pictures by French artists represent female +nakedness in various forms. In recent French literature there is +hardly a page or a poem in which nakedness is not described, and in +which, relevantly or irrelevantly, their favourite thought and word +_nu_ is not repeated a couple of times. There is a certain writer, +Remy de Gourmont, who gets printed and is considered talented. To +obtain an idea of the new writers, I read his novel, _Les Chevaux +de Diomède_. It is a consecutive and detailed account of the sexual +connections some gentleman had with various women. Every page +contains lust-kindling descriptions. It is the same in Pierre Louÿs’ +book, _Aphrodite_, which met with success; it is the same in a +book I lately chanced upon, Huysmans’ _Certains_, and with but few +exceptions it is the same in all French novels. They are all the +productions of people suffering from erotic mania. And these people +are evidently convinced that as their whole life, in consequence +of their diseased condition, is concentrated on amplifying various +sexual abominations, therefore the life of all the world is similarly +concentrated. And these people, suffering from erotic mania, are +imitated throughout the whole artistic world of Europe and America. + +Thus, in consequence of the lack of belief and the exceptional manner +of life of the wealthy classes, the art of these classes became +impoverished in its subject-matter and has sunk to the transmission +of the feelings of pride, discontent with life, and above all of +sexual desire. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + _Loss of comprehensibility. Decadent art. Recent French art. + Have we a right to say it is bad? The highest art has always + been comprehensible to normal people. What fails to infect + normal people is not art._ + + +In consequence of their unbelief, the art of the upper classes became +poor in subject-matter. But besides that, becoming continually more +and more exclusive it became at the same time continually more and +more involved affected and obscure. + +When a universal artist (such as were some of the Greek artists +or the Jewish prophets) composed his work he naturally strove to +say what he had to say in such a way that his production should be +intelligible to all men. But when an artist composed for a small +circle of people placed in exceptional conditions, or even for a +single individual and his courtiers--for popes, cardinals, kings, +dukes, queens, or for a king’s mistress--he naturally only aimed +at influencing these people, who were well known to him and lived +in exceptional conditions familiar to him. And this was an easier +task, and the artist was involuntarily drawn to express himself +by allusions comprehensible only to the initiated and obscure to +everyone else. In the first place, more could be said in this way; +and secondly, there is (for the initiated) even a certain charm in +the cloudiness of such a manner of expression. This method, which +showed itself both in euphuism and in mythological and historical +allusions, came more and more into use, until it apparently at last +reached its utmost limits in the so-called art of the Decadents. +It has come, finally, to this: that not only are haziness, +mysteriousness, obscurity, and exclusiveness (shutting out the +masses) elevated to the rank of a merit and a condition of poetic +art, but even incorrectness, indefiniteness, and lack of eloquence, +are held in esteem. + +Théophile Gautier, in his preface to the celebrated _Fleurs du +Mal_, says that Baudelaire as far as possible banished from poetry +eloquence, passion, and truth too strictly copied (“_l’éloquence, la +passion, et la vérité calquée trop exactement_”). + +And Baudelaire not only did this, but maintained this thesis in his +verses, and yet more strikingly in the prose of his _Petits Poèmes +en Prose_, the meanings of which have to be guessed like a rebus and +remain for the most part undiscovered. + +The poet Verlaine (who followed next after Baudelaire, and was also +esteemed great) even wrote an _Art poétique_, in which he advises +this style of composition:-- + + _De la musique avant toute chose, + Et pour cela préfère l’Impair + Plus vague et plus soluble dans l’air, + Sans rien en lui qui pèse ou qui pose._ + + _Il faut aussi que tu n’ailles point + Choisir tes mots sans quelque méprise: + Rien de plus cher que la chanson grise + Où l’Indécis au Précis se joint._ + + * * * * * + +And again:-- + + _De la musique encore et toujours! + Que ton vers soit la chose envolée + Qu’on sent qui fuit d’une âme en allée + Vers d’autres cieux à d’autres amours._ + + _Que ton vers soit la bonne aventure + Éparse au vent crispé du matin, + Qui va fleurant la menthe et le thym ... + Et tout le reste est littérature._[98] + +After these two comes Mallarmé, considered the most important of the +young poets, and he plainly says that the charm of poetry lies in our +having to guess its meaning--that in poetry there should always be a +puzzle:-- + +_Je pense qu’il faut qu’il n’y ait qu’allusion_, says he. _La +contemplation des objets, l’image s’envolant des rêveries suscitées +par eux, sont le chant: les Parnassiens, eux, prennent la chose +entièrement et la montrent; par là ils manquent de mystère; ils +retirent aux esprits cette joie délicieuse de croire qu’ils créent._ +Nommer un objet, c’est supprimer les trois quarts de la jouissance du +poème, qui est faite du bonheur de deviner peu à peu: le suggérer, +voilà le rêve. _C’est le parfait usage de ce mystère qui constitue le +symbole: évoquer petit à petit un objet pour montrer un état d’âme, +ou, inversement, choisir un objet et en dégager un état d’âme, par +une série de déchiffrements._ + +... _Si un être d’une intelligence moyenne, et d’une preparation +littéraire insuffisante, ouvre par hasard un livre ainsi fait et +prétend en jouir, il y a malentendu, il faut remettre les choses à +leur place._ Il doit y avoir toujours énigme en poésie, _et c’est +le but de la littérature, il n’y en a pas d’autre,--d’évoquer les +objets_.--_Enquête sur l’évolution littéraire_, Jules Huret, pp. 60, +61.[99] + +Thus is obscurity elevated into a dogma among the new poets. As the +French critic Doumic (who has not yet accepted the dogma) quite +correctly says:-- + +_Il serait temps aussi d’en finir avec cette fameuse “théorie de +l’obscurité” que la nouvelle école à élevée, en effet à la hauteur +d’un dogme._--_Les Jeunes, études et portraits_, René Doumic.[100] + +But it is not only French writers who think thus. The poets of +all other countries think and act in the same way: German, and +Scandinavian, and Italian, and Russian, and English. So also do +the artists of the new period in all branches of art: in painting, +in sculpture, and in music. Relying on Nietzsche and Wagner, the +artists of the new age conclude that it is unnecessary for them to +be intelligible to the vulgar crowd; it is enough for them to evoke +poetic emotion in ‘the finest nurtured,’ to borrow a phrase from an +English esthetician. + +In order that what I am saying may not seem to be mere assertion, I +will quote at least a few examples from the French poets who have led +this movement. The name of these poets is legion. I have taken French +writers because they, more decidedly than any others, indicate the +new direction of art and are imitated by most European writers. + +Besides those whose names are already considered famous, such as +Baudelaire and Verlaine, here are the names of a few of them: Jean +Moréas, Charles Morice, Henri de Régnier, Charles Vignier, Adrien +Remacle, René Ghil, Maurice Maeterlinck, G. Albert Aurier, Rémy de +Gourmont, Saint-Pol-Roux-le-Magnifique, Georges Rodenbach, le comte +Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac. These are Symbolists and Decadents. +Next we have the “Magi”: Joséphin Péladan, Paul Adam, Jules Bois, M. +Papus, and others. + +Besides these there are yet one hundred and forty-one others whom +Doumic mentions in the book referred to above. + +Here are some examples from the work of those of them who are +considered to be the best, beginning with that most celebrated man, +acknowledged to be a great artist worthy of a monument--Baudelaire. +This is a poem from his celebrated _Fleurs du mal_:-- + + + No. XXIV + + _Je t’adore à l’égal de la voûte nocturne, + O vase de tristesse, ô grande taciturne, + Et t’aime d’autant plus, belle, que tu me fuis, + Et que tu me parais, ornement de mes nuits, + Plus ironiquement accumuler les lieues + Qui séparent mes bras des immensités bleues._ + + _Je m’avance à l’attaque, et je grimpe aux assauts, + Comme après un cadavre un chœur de vermisseaux, + Et je chéris, ô bête implacable et cruelle, + Jusqu’à cette froideur par où tu m’es plus belle!_[101] + +And this is another by the same writer:-- + + + No. XXXVI + + _DUELLUM_ + + _Deux guerriers ont couru l’un sur l’autre; leurs armes + Ont éclaboussé l’air de lueurs et de sang. + Ces jeux, ces cliquetis du fer sont les vacarmes + D’une jeunesse en proie à l’amour vagissant._ + + * * * * * + + _Les glaives sont brisés! comme notre jeunesse, + Ma chère! Mais les dents, les ongles acérés, + Vengent bientôt l’épée et la dague traîtresse. + O fureur des cœurs mûrs par l’amour ulcérés!_ + + * * * * * + + _Dans le ravin hanté des chats-pards et des onces + Nos héros, s’étreignant méchamment, ont roulé, + Et leur peau fleurira l’aridité des ronces. + Ce gouffre, c’est l’enfer, de nos amis peuplé! + Roulons-y sans remords, amazone inhumaine, + Afin d’éterniser l’ardeur de notre haine!_[102] + +To be exact, I should mention that the collection contains verses +less comprehensible than these, but not one poem which is plain +and can be understood without a certain effort--an effort seldom +rewarded, for the feelings which the poet transmits are evil and very +low ones. And these feelings are always, and purposely, expressed +by him with eccentricity and lack of clearness. This premeditated +obscurity is especially noticeable in his prose, where the author +could speak clearly if he wanted to. + +Take, for instance, the first piece from his _Petits poèmes en +prose_:-- + + + _L’ÉTRANGER_ + +_Qui aimes-tu le mieux, homme énigmatique, dis? ton père, ta mère, ta +sœur, ou ton frère?_ + +_Je n’ai ni père, ni mère, ni sœur, ni frère._ + +_Tes amis?_ + +_Vous vous servez là d’une parole dont le sens m’est resté jusqu’à ce +jour inconnu._ + +_Ta patrie?_ + +_J’ignore sous quelle latitude elle est située._ + +_La beauté?_ + +_Je l’aimerais volontiers, déesse et immortelle._ + +_L’or?_ + +_Je le hais, comme vous haïssez Dieu._ + +_Et qu’aimes-tu done, extraordinaire étranger?_ + +_J’aime les nuages ... les nuages qui passent ... là bas, ... les +merveilleux nuages!_[103] + +The piece called _La Soupe et les nuages_ is probably intended to +express the unintelligibility of the poet even to her whom he loves. +This is the piece in question:-- + +_Ma petite folle bien-aimée me donnait à dîner, et par la fenêtre +ouverte de la salle à manger je contemplais les mouvantes +architectures que Dieu fait avec les vapeurs, les merveilleuses +constructions de l’impalpable. Et je me disais, à travers ma +contemplation: “Toutes ces fantasmagories sont presque aussi belles +que les yeux de ma belle bien-aimée, la petite folle monstrueuse aux +yeux verts.”_ + +_Et tout-à-coup je reçus un violent coup de poing dans le dos, et +j’entendis une voix rauque et charmante, une voix hystérique et comme +enrouée par l’eau-de-vie, la voix de ma chère petite bien-aimée, qui +me disait, “Allez-vous bientôt manger votre soupe, s.... b.... de +marchand de nuages?”_[104] + +However artificial these two pieces may be, it is still possible with +some effort to guess at what the author meant them to express, but +some of the pieces are absolutely incomprehensible--at least to me. +_Le Galant Tireur_ is a piece I was quite unable to understand. + + + _LE GALANT TIREUR_ + +_Comme la voiture traversait le bois, il la fit arrêter dans le +voisinage d’un tir, disant qu’il lui serait agréable de tirer +quelques balles pour_ tuer _le Temps. Tuer ce monstre-là, n’est-ce +pas l’occupation la plus ordinaire et la plus légitime de chacun?--Et +il offrit galamment la main à sa chère, délicieuse et exécrable +femme, à cette mystérieuse femme à laquelle il doit tant de plaisirs, +tant de douleurs, et peut-être aussi une grande partie de son génie._ + +_Plusieurs balles frappèrent loin du but proposé; l’une d’elles +s’enfonça même dans le plafond; et comme la charmante créature riait +follement, se moquant de la maladresse de son époux, celui-ci se +tourna brusquement vers elle, et lui dit: “Observez cette poupée, +là-bas, à droite, qui porte le nez en l’air et qui a la mine si +hautaine. Eh bien! cher ange_, je me figure que c’est vous.” _Et +il ferma les yeux et il lâcha la détente. La poupée fut nettement +décapitée._ + +_Alors s’inclinant vers sa chère, sa délicieuse, son exécrable femme, +son inévitable et impitoyable Muse, et lui baisant respectueusement +la main, il ajouta: “Ah! mon cher ange, combien je vous remercie de +mon adresse!”_[105] + +The productions of another celebrity, Verlaine, are not less +affected and unintelligible. This, for instance, is the first poem in +the section called _Ariettes oubliées_: + + “_Le vent dans la plaine_ + _Suspend son haleine._”--FAVART. + + _C’est l’extase langoureuse, + C’est la fatigue amoureuse, + C’est tous les frissons des bois + Parmi l’étreinte des brises, + C’est, vers les ramures grises, + Le chœur des petites voix._ + + _O le frêle et frais murmure! + Cela gazouille et susurre, + Cela ressemble au cri doux + Que l’herbe agitée expire ... + Tu dirais, sous l’eau qui vire, + Le roulis sourd des cailloux._ + + _Cette âme qui se lamente + En cette plainte dormante, + C’est la nôtre, n’est-ce pas? + La mienne, dis, et la tienne, + Dont s’exhale l’humble antienne + Par ce tiède soir, tout bas?_[106] + +What “_chœur des petites voix_,” and what “_cri doux que l’herbe +agitée expire_,” and what it all means, remains altogether +unintelligible to me. + +And here is another Ariette:-- + + + VIII. + + _Dans l’interminable + Ennui de la plaine, + La neige incertaine + Luit comme du sable._ + + _Le ciel est de cuivre, + Sans lueur aucune. + On croirait voir vivre + Et mourir la lune._ + + _Comme des nuées + Flottent gris les chênes + Des forêts prochaines + Parmi les buées._ + + _Le ciel est de cuivre, + Sans lueur aucune. + On croirait voir vivre + Et mourir la lune._ + + _Corneille poussive + Et vous, les loups maigres, + Par ces bises aigres, + Quoi done vous arrive?_ + + _Dans l’interminable + Ennui de la plaine, + La neige incertaine + Luit comme du sable._[107] + +How does the moon seem to live and die in a copper heaven? And +how can snow shine like sand? The whole thing is not merely +unintelligible, but under pretence of conveying an impression it +passes off a string of incorrect comparisons and words. + +Besides these artificial and obscure poems there are others which +are intelligible, but make up for it by being altogether bad both +in form and in content. Such are all the poems under the heading +_La Sagesse_. The chief place in these verses is occupied by a very +poor expression of the most commonplace Roman Catholic and patriotic +sentiments. For instance, one meets with verses such as this:-- + + _Je ne veux plus penser qu’ à ma mère Marie, + Siège de la sagesse et source de pardons, + Mère de France aussi DE QUI NOUS ATTENDONS + INÉBRANLABLEMENT L’HONNEUR DE LA PATRIE._[108] + +Before citing examples from other poets, I must pause to note the +amazing celebrity of these two versifiers, Baudelaire and Verlaine, +who are now accepted as being great poets. How the French, who had +Chénier, Musset, Lamartine, and above all Hugo,--and among whom quite +recently flourished the so-called Parnassians: Leconte de Lisle, +Sully-Prudhomme, etc.--could attribute such importance to these two +versifiers who were far from skilful in form and most contemptible +and commonplace in subject-matter, is to me incomprehensible. The +life-conception of one of them, Baudelaire, consisted in elevating +gross egotism into a theory and replacing morality by a cloudy +conception of beauty--especially artificial beauty. Baudelaire had +a preference, which he expressed, for a woman’s face painted rather +than in its natural colour, and for metal trees and a theatrical +imitation of water rather than real trees and real water. + +The life-conception of the other, Verlaine, consisted in weak +profligacy, in confession of moral impotence, and, as an antidote +to that impotence, in the grossest Roman Catholic idolatry. Both +moreover were quite lacking in naïveté, sincerity, and simplicity, +and both overflowed with artificiality, forced originality, and +self-assurance. So that in their least bad productions one sees more +of M. Baudelaire or M. Verlaine than of what they were describing. +But these two indifferent versifiers form a school, and lead hundreds +of followers after them. + +There is only one explanation of this fact: it is that the art of the +society in which these versifiers lived is not a serious, important +matter of life, but a mere amusement. And all amusements grow +wearisome by repetition. And in order to make wearisome amusement +again tolerable it is necessary to find some means to freshen it up. +When, at cards, ombre grows stale, whist is introduced; when whist +grows stale, écarté is substituted; when écarté grows stale, some +other novelty is invented, and so on. The substance of the matter +remains the same, only its form is changed. It is the same with this +kind of art. The subject-matter of the art of the upper classes +growing continually more and more limited--it has come at last to +this, that to the artists of these exclusive classes it seems as if +everything has already been said and that to find anything new to say +is impossible. And therefore to freshen up this art they look out for +fresh forms. + +Baudelaire and Verlaine invent such a new form, furbish it up +moreover with hitherto unused pornographic details, and--the critics +and the public of the upper classes hail them as great writers. + +This is the only explanation of the success not of Baudelaire and +Verlaine only, but of all the Decadents. + +For instance, there are poems by Mallarmé and Maeterlinck which have +no meaning, and yet, for all that or perhaps on that very account, +are printed by tens of thousands, not only in various publications +but even in collections of the best works of the younger poets. + +This, for example, is a sonnet by Mallarmé:-- + + _A la nue accablante tu + Basse de basalte et de laves + A même les échos esclaves + Par une trompe sans vertu._ + + _Quel sépulcral naufrage (tu + Le sais, écume, mais y baves) + Suprême une entre les épaves + Abolit le mât dévêtu._ + + _Ou cela que furibond faute + De quelque perdition haute + Tout l’abîme vain éployé_ + + _Dans le si blanc cheveu qui traîne + Avarement aura noyé + Le flanc enfant d’une sirène._[109] + + (“Pan,” 1895, No. 1.) + +This poem is not exceptional in its incomprehensibility. I have +read several other poems by Mallarmé, and they also had no meaning +whatever. I give a sample of his prose in Appendix II. There is a +whole volume of this prose, called _Divagations_. It is impossible to +understand any of it. And that is evidently what the author intended. + +And here is a song by Maeterlinck, another celebrated author of +to-day:-- + + _Quand il est sorti, + (J’entendis la porte) + Quand il est sorti + Elle avait souri ..._ + + _Mais quand il rentra + (J’entendis la lampe) + Mais quand il rentra + Une autre était là ..._ + + _Et j’ai vu la mort, + (J’entendis son âme) + Et j’ai vu la mort + Qui l’attend encore ..._ + + _On est venu dire, + (Mon enfant, j’ai peur) + On est venu dire + Qu’il allait partir ..._ + + _Ma lampe allumée, + (Mon enfant, j’ai peur) + Ma lampe allumée + Me suis approchée ..._ + + _A la première porte, + (Mon enfant, j’ai peur) + A la première porte, + La flamme a tremblé ..._ + + _A la seconde porte, + (Mon enfant, j’ai peur) + A la seconde porte, + La flamme a parlé ..._ + + _A la troisième porte, + (Mon enfant, j’ai peur) + A la troisième porte, + La lumière est morte ..._ + + _Et s’il revenait un jour, + Que faut-il lui dire? + Dites-lui qu’on l’attendit + Jusqu’à s’en mourir ..._ + + _Et s’il m’interroge encore + Sans me reconnaître? + Parlez-lui comme une sœur. + Il souffre peut-être ..._ + + _Et s’il demande où vous êtes + Que faut-il répondre? + Donnez-lui mon anneau d’or + Sans rien lui répondre ..._ + + _Et s’il veut savoir pourquoi + La salle est déserte? + Montrez-lui la lampe éteinte + Et la porte ouverte ..._ + + _Et s’il m’interroge alors + Sur la dernière heure? + Dites lui que j’ai souri + De peur qu’il ne pleure ..._[110] + + (“Pan,” 1895, No. 2.) + +Who went out? Who came in? Who is speaking? Who died? + +I beg the reader to take the trouble to read through the samples I +cite in Appendix III of the celebrated and esteemed young poets: +Régnier, Griffin, Verhaeren, Moréas, and Montesquiou. It is important +to do so in order to form a clear conception of the present position +of art, and not to suppose as many do that Decadentism is an +accidental and transitory phenomenon. To avoid the reproach of having +selected the worst verses, I have copied out of each volume the poem +which happened to stand on page 28. + +All the other productions of these poets are equally unintelligible, +or can only be understood with great difficulty and then not fully. +All the productions of those hundreds of poets, of whom I have +named a few, are the same in kind. And among the Germans, Swedes, +Norwegians, Italians, and us Russians, similar verses are printed. +And such productions are printed and made up into book-form, if not +by the million then by the hundred-thousand (some of these separate +works sell in tens of thousands). For type-setting, paging, printing +and binding these books, millions and millions of working days are +spent--not less, I think, than went to build the Great Pyramid. Nor +is this all. The same is going on in all the other arts: millions +and millions of working days are being spent on the production of +equally incomprehensible works in painting, in music, and in drama. + +Painting not only does not lag behind poetry in this matter, but +rather outstrips it. Here is an extract from the diary of an amateur +of art,[111] written when visiting the Paris exhibitions in 1894:-- + +“I was to-day at three exhibitions: the Symbolists’, the +Impressionists’, and the Neo-Impressionists’. I looked at the +pictures conscientiously and carefully, but again felt the same +stupefaction and ultimate indignation. The first exhibition, that of +Camille Pissarro, was comparatively the most comprehensible, though +the pictures were out of drawing, had no content, and the colourings +were most improbable. The drawing was so indefinite that you were +sometimes unable to make out which way an arm or a head was turned. +The subject was generally, ‘_effets_’--_Effet de brouillard_, _Effet +du soir_, _Soleil couchant_. There were some pictures with figures, +but without subjects. + +“In the colouring, bright blue and bright green predominated. And +each picture had its special colour with which the whole picture +was, as it were, splashed. For instance in ‘A Girl guarding Geese’ +the special colour is _vert de gris_, and dots of it were splashed +about everywhere: on the face, the hair, the hands, and the clothes. +In the same gallery--‘Durand-Ruel’--were other pictures: by Puvis de +Chavannes, Manet, Monet, Renoir, Sisley, who are all Impressionists. +One of them, whose name I could not make out,--it was something +like Redon,--had painted a blue face in profile. On the whole face +there is only this blue tone, with white-of-lead. Pissarro has a +water-colour all done in dots. In the foreground is a cow entirely +painted with various-coloured dots. The general colour cannot be +distinguished, however much one stands back from, or draws near +to, the picture. From there I went to see the Symbolists. I looked +at them long without asking anyone for an explanation, trying to +guess the meaning; but it is beyond human comprehension. One of the +first things to catch my eye was a wooden _haut-relief_, wretchedly +executed, representing a woman (naked) who with both hands is +squeezing from her two breasts streams of blood. The blood flows +down, becoming lilac in colour. Her hair first descends and then +rises again and turns into trees. The figure is all coloured yellow, +and the hair is brown. + +“Next--a picture: a yellow sea on which swims something which is +neither a ship nor a heart; on the horizon is a profile with a halo +and yellow hair, which changes into the sea, in which it is lost. +Some of the painters lay on their colours so thickly that the effect +is something between painting and sculpture. A third exhibit was +even less comprehensible: a man’s profile; before him a flame and +black stripes--leeches, as I was afterwards told. At last I asked a +gentleman who was there what it meant, and he explained to me that +the _haut-relief_ was a symbol, and represented ‘_La Terre_.’ The +heart swimming in a yellow sea was ‘_Illusion perdue_,’ and the +gentleman with the leeches was ‘_Le Mal_.’ There were also some +Impressionist pictures: elementary profiles, holding some sort of +flowers in their hands; in monotone, out of drawing, and either quite +blurred or else marked out with wide black outlines.” + +This was in 1894; the same tendency is now even more strongly +defined, and we have Böcklin, Stuck, Klinger, Sasha Schneider, and +others. + +The same thing is taking place in the drama. The play-writers give us +an architect who, for some reason, has not fulfilled his former high +intentions, and consequently climbs on to the roof of a house he has +erected and tumbles down head foremost;[112] or an incomprehensible +old woman (who exterminates rats), and who, for an unintelligible +reason, takes a poetic child to the sea and there drowns him;[113] or +some blind men, who, sitting on the seashore, for some reason always +repeat one and the same thing;[114] or a bell of some kind, which +flies into a lake and there rings.[115] + +And the same is happening in music--in that art which more than any +other one would have thought should be intelligible to everybody. + +An acquaintance of yours, a musician of repute, sits down to the +piano and plays you what he says is a new composition of his own or +of one of the new composers. You hear the strange, loud sounds, and +admire the gymnastic exercises performed by his fingers, and you see +that the performer wishes to convey to you that the sounds he is +producing express various poetic strivings of the soul. You see his +intention, but no feeling whatever except weariness is transmitted +to you. The execution lasts long, at least it seems very long to you +because you do not receive any clear impression, and involuntarily +you remember the words of Alphonse Karr, “_Plus ça va vite, plus ça +dure longtemps._”[116] And it occurs to you that perhaps it is all +a mystification; perhaps the performer is trying you--just throwing +his hands and fingers wildly about the key-board in the hope that you +will fall into the trap and praise him, and then he will laugh and +confess that he only wanted to see if he could hoax you. But when at +last the piece does finish, and the perspiring and agitated musician +rises from the piano obviously anticipating praise, you see that it +was all done in earnest. + +The same thing takes place at all the concerts with pieces by Liszt, +Wagner, Berlioz, Brahms, and (newest of all) Richard Strauss, and the +numberless other composers of the new school, who unceasingly produce +opera after opera, symphony after symphony, piece after piece. + +The same is occurring in a domain in which it seemed hard to be +unintelligible--in the sphere of novels and short stories. + +Read _Là-Bas_ by Huysmans, or some of Kipling’s short stories, or +_L’annonciateur_ by Villiers de l’Isle Adam in his _Contes Cruels_, +etc., and you will find them not only “_abscons_” (to use a word +adopted by the new writers) but absolutely unintelligible both in +form and in substance. Such, again, is the work by E. Morel, _Terre +Promise_, now appearing in the _Revue Blanche_, and such are most of +the new novels. The style is very high-flown, the feelings seem to be +most elevated, but you can’t make out what is happening, to whom it +is happening, and where it is happening. And such is the bulk of the +young art of our time. + +People who grew up in the first half of this century, admiring +Goethe, Schiller, Musset, Hugo, Dickens, Beethoven, Chopin, Raphael, +da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Delaroche, being unable to make head or +tail of this new art, simply attribute its productions to tasteless +insanity, and wish to ignore them. But such an attitude towards +this new art is quite unjustifiable because, in the first place, +this art is spreading more and more, and has already conquered for +itself a firm position in society similar to that occupied by the +Romanticists in the third decade of this century; and secondly and +chiefly because, if it is permissible to judge in this way of the +productions of the latest form of art, called by us Decadent art, +merely because we do not understand it, then remember, there are +an enormous number of people--all the labourers and many of the +non-labouring folk--who, in just the same way, do not comprehend +those productions of art which we consider admirable: the verses of +our favourite artists--Goethe, Schiller, and Hugo; the novels of +Dickens, the music of Beethoven and Chopin, the pictures of Raphael, +Michael Angelo, da Vinci, and so forth. + +If I have a right to think that great masses of people do not +understand and do not like what I consider undoubtedly good because +they are not sufficiently developed, then I have no right to deny +that perhaps the reason why I cannot understand and cannot like the +new productions of art is merely that I am still insufficiently +developed to understand them. If I have a right to say that I, and +the majority of people who are in sympathy with me, do not understand +the productions of the new art simply because there is nothing in +it to understand and because it is bad art, then with just the same +right the still larger majority, the whole labouring mass, who do not +understand what I consider admirable art, can say that what I reckon +as good art is bad art and there is nothing in it to understand. + +I once saw the injustice of such condemnation of the new art with +especial clearness, when in my presence a certain poet, who writes +incomprehensible verses, ridiculed incomprehensible music with gay +self-assurance; and shortly afterwards a certain musician, who +composes incomprehensible symphonies, laughed at incomprehensible +poetry with equal self-confidence. I have no right and no authority +to condemn the new art on the ground that I (a man educated in the +first half of the century) do not understand it; I can only say +that it is incomprehensible to me. The only advantage the art I +acknowledge has over the Decadent art lies in the fact that the art +I recognise is comprehensible to a somewhat larger number of people +than present-day art. + +The fact that I am accustomed to a certain exclusive art and can +understand it, but am unable to understand another still more +exclusive art, does not give me a right to conclude that my art +is the real, true art, and that the other one, which I do not +understand, is an unreal, a bad art. I can only conclude that art, +becoming ever more and more exclusive, has become more and more +incomprehensible to an ever-increasing number of people, and that, +in this its progress towards greater and greater incomprehensibility +(on one level of which I am standing, with the art familiar to me), +it has reached a point where it is understood by a very small number +of the elect, and the number of these chosen people is becoming ever +smaller and smaller. + +As soon as ever the art of the upper classes separated itself from +universal art, a conviction arose that art may be art and yet be +incomprehensible to the masses. And as soon as this position was +admitted it had inevitably to be admitted also that art may be +intelligible only to the very smallest number of the elect, and +eventually to two, or to one, of our nearest friends, or to oneself +alone. Which is practically what is being said by modern artists:--“I +create and understand myself, and if anyone does not understand me so +much the worse for him.” + +The assertion that art may be good art, and at the same time +incomprehensible to a great number of people, is extremely unjust +and its consequences are ruinous to art itself; but at the same time +it is so common, and has so eaten into our conceptions, that it is +impossible sufficiently to elucidate the whole absurdity of it. + +Nothing is more common than to hear it said of reputed works of art, +that they are very good but very difficult to understand. We are +quite used to such assertions, and yet to say that a work of art is +good, but incomprehensible to the majority of men, is the same as +saying of some kind of food that it is very good but that most people +can’t eat it. The majority of men may not like rotten cheese or +putrefying grouse, dishes esteemed by people with perverted tastes; +but bread and fruit are only good when they are such as please the +majority of men. And it is the same with art. Perverted art may not +please the majority of men, but good art always pleases everyone. + +It is said that the very best works of art are such that they cannot +be understood by the masses, but are accessible only to the elect who +are prepared to understand these great works. But if the majority +of men do not understand, the knowledge necessary to enable them to +understand should be taught and explained to them. But it turns out +that there is no such knowledge, that the works cannot be explained, +and that those who say the majority do not understand good works +of art, still do not explain those works, but only tell us that in +order to understand them one must read, and see, and hear, these same +works over and over again. But this is not to explain, it is only +to habituate! And people may habituate themselves to anything, even +to the very worst things. As people may habituate themselves to bad +food, to spirits, tobacco, and opium, just in the same way they may +habituate themselves to bad art--and that is exactly what is being +done. + +Moreover it cannot be said that the majority of people lack the +taste to esteem the highest works of art. The majority always +have understood, and still understand, what we also recognise as +being the very best art: the epic of Genesis, the Gospel parables, +folk-legends, fairy-tales, and folk-songs, are understood by all. +How can it be that the majority has suddenly lost its capacity to +understand what is high in our art? + +Of a speech it may be said that it is admirable, but incomprehensible +to those who do not know the language in which it is delivered. +A speech delivered in Chinese may be excellent, and may yet +remain incomprehensible to me if I do not know Chinese; but what +distinguishes a work of art from all other mental activity is +just the fact that its language is understood by all, and that +it infects all without distinction. The tears and laughter of a +Chinaman infect me just as the laughter and tears of a Russian; and +it is the same with painting and music, and also poetry, when it is +translated into a language I understand. The songs of a Kirghiz or +of a Japanese touch me, though in a lesser degree than they touch a +Kirghiz or a Japanese. I am also touched by Japanese painting, Indian +architecture, and Arabian stories. If I am but little touched by a +Japanese song and a Chinese novel, it is not that I do not understand +these productions, but that I know and am accustomed to higher works +of art. It is not because their art is above me. Great works of art +are only great because they are accessible and comprehensible to +everyone. The story of Joseph, translated into the Chinese language, +touches a Chinese. The story of Sakya Muni (Buddha) touches us. +And there are, and must be, buildings, pictures, statues, and +music, of similar power. So that if art fails to move men it cannot +be said that this is due to the spectators’ or hearers’ lack of +understanding; but the conclusion to be drawn may be, and should be, +that such art is either bad or is not art at all. + +Art is differentiated from activity of the understanding, which +demands preparation and a certain sequence of knowledge (so that +one cannot learn trigonometry before knowing geometry), by the fact +that it acts on people independently of their state of development +and education, that the charm of a picture, of sounds, or of forms, +infects any man, whatever his plane of development. + +The business of art lies just in this: to make that understood and +felt which in the form of an argument might be incomprehensible and +inaccessible. Usually it seems to the recipient of a truly artistic +impression that he knew the thing before, but had been unable to +express it. + +And such has always been the nature of good, supreme art; the +_Iliad_, the _Odyssey_; the stories of Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph; the +Hebrew prophets, the psalms, the Gospel parables; the story of Sakya +Muni, and the hymns of the Vedas: all transmit very exalted feelings, +and are nevertheless quite comprehensible now to us, educated or +uneducated, as they were comprehensible to the men of those times +long ago, who were even less educated than our labourers. People +talk about incomprehensibility; but if art is the transmission of +feelings flowing from man’s religious perception, how can a feeling +be incomprehensible which is founded on religion, that is, on man’s +relation to God? Such art should be, and has actually always been, +comprehensible to everybody, because every man’s relation to God +is one and the same. This is why the churches and the images in +them were always comprehensible to everyone. The hindrance to an +understanding of the best and highest feelings (as is said in the +Gospel) does not at all lie in deficiency of development or learning, +but on the contrary in false development and false learning. A good +and lofty work of art may be incomprehensible, but not to simple, +unperverted peasant labourers (all that is highest is understood by +them)--it may be and often is unintelligible to erudite, perverted +people destitute of religion. And this continually occurs in our +society, in which the highest feelings are simply not understood. +For instance, I know people who consider themselves most refined +and who say that they do not understand the poetry of love to one’s +neighbour, of self-sacrifice, or of chastity. + +So that good, great, universal, religious art may be incomprehensible +to a small circle of spoilt people, but certainly not to any large +number of plain men. + +Art cannot be incomprehensible to the great masses only because it is +very good,--as artists of our day are fond of telling us. Rather we +are bound to conclude that this art is unintelligible to the great +masses only because it is very bad art, or even is not art at all. So +that the favourite argument (naïvely accepted by the cultured crowd), +that in order to feel art one has first to understand it (which +really only means habituate oneself to it), is the truest indication +that what we are asked to understand by such a method is either very +bad, exclusive art, or is not art at all. + +People say that works of art do not please the people because they +are incapable of understanding them. But if the aim of works of art +is to infect people with the emotion the artist has experienced, how +can one talk about not understanding? + +A man of the people reads a book, sees a picture, hears a play or +a symphony, and is touched by no feeling. He is told that this is +because he cannot understand. People promise to let a man see a +certain show; he enters and sees nothing. He is told that this is +because his sight is not prepared for this show. But the man knows +for certain that he sees quite well, and if he does not see what +people promised to show him he only concludes (as is quite just) that +those who undertook to show him the spectacle have not fulfilled +their engagement. And it is perfectly just for a man who does feel +the influence of some works of art, to come to this conclusion +concerning artists who do not, by their works, evoke feeling in him. +To say that the reason a man is not touched by my art is because he +is still too stupid, besides being very self-conceited and also rude, +is to reverse the rôles, and for the sick to send the hale to bed. + +Voltaire said that “_Tous les genres sont bons, hors le genre +ennuyeux_”;[117] but with even more right one may say of art that +_Tous les genres sons bons, hors celui qu’on ne comprend pas_, or +_qui ne produit pas son effet_,[118] for of what value is an article +which fails to effect what was intended? + +Mark this above all: if only it be admitted that art may be +unintelligible to anyone of sound mind and yet still be art, there is +no reason why any circle of perverted people should not compose works +tickling their own perverted feelings, and comprehensible to no one +but themselves, and call it “art,” as is actually being done by the +so-called Decadents. + +The direction art has taken may be compared to placing on a large +circle other circles, smaller and smaller, until a cone is formed, +the apex of which is no longer a circle at all. That is what has +happened to the art of our times. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + _Counterfeits of art produced by: Borrowing; Imitating; + Striking; Interesting. Qualifications needful for production + of real works of art, and those sufficient for production of + counterfeits._ + + +Becoming ever poorer and poorer in subject-matter and more and more +unintelligible in form, the art of the upper classes in its latest +productions has even lost all the characteristics of art and has +been replaced by imitations of art. Not only has upper-class art +in consequence of its separation from universal art become poor +in subject-matter and bad in form, that is, ever more and more +unintelligible,--it has in course of time ceased even to be art at +all and has been replaced by counterfeits. + +This has resulted from the following causes. Universal art arises +only when some one of the people having experienced a strong emotion +feels the necessity of transmitting it to others. The art of the rich +classes on the other hand arises not from the artist’s inner impulse, +but chiefly because people of the upper classes demand amusement and +pay well for it. They demand from art the transmission of feelings +that please them, and this demand artists try to meet. But it is a +very difficult task, for people of the wealthy classes spending their +lives in idleness and luxury desire to be continually diverted by +art; and art, even the lowest, cannot be produced at will, but has to +generate spontaneously in the artist’s inner self. And therefore, to +satisfy the demands of people of the upper classes, artists have had +to devise methods of producing imitations of art. And such methods +have been devised. + +These methods are those of (1) borrowing, (2) imitating, (3) striking +(producing effects), and (4) interesting. + +The first method consists in borrowing whole subjects, or merely +separate features, from former works recognised by everyone as being +poetic, and in so re-shaping them with sundry additions that they +should have an appearance of novelty. + +Such works, evoking in people of a certain class memories of artistic +feelings formerly experienced, produce an impression similar to art, +and provided only that they conform to other needful conditions +they pass for art among those who seek for pleasure from art. +Subjects borrowed from previous works of art are usually called +poetic subjects. Objects and people thus borrowed are called poetic +objects and people. Thus in our circle all sorts of legends, sagas, +and ancient traditions, are considered poetic subjects. Among +poetic people and objects we reckon maidens, warriors, shepherds, +hermits, angels, devils of all sorts, moonlight, thunder, mountains, +the sea, precipices, flowers, long hair, lions, lambs, doves, and +nightingales. In general all those objects are considered poetic +which have most frequently been used by former artists in their +productions. + +Some forty years ago a stupid but highly cultured--_ayant beaucoup +d’acquis_--lady (since deceased) asked me to listen to a novel +written by herself. It began with a heroine who in a poetic white +dress, and with poetically flowing hair, was reading poetry near some +water in a poetic wood. The scene was in Russia, but suddenly from +behind the bushes the hero appears, wearing a hat with a feather +_à la Guillaume Tell_ (the book specially mentioned this) and +accompanied by two poetical white dogs. The authoress deemed all this +highly poetic, and it might have passed muster if only it had not +been necessary for the hero to speak. But as soon as the gentleman in +the hat _à la Guillaume Tell_ began to converse with the maiden in +the white dress, it became obvious that the authoress had nothing to +say, but had merely been moved by poetic memories of other works, +and imagined that by ringing the changes on those memories she could +produce an artistic impression. But an artistic impression, that is +to say, infection, is only received when an author has in the manner +peculiar to himself experienced the feeling which he transmits, and +not when he passes on another man’s feeling previously transmitted +to him. Such poetry from poetry cannot infect people, it can only +simulate a work of art, and even that only to people of perverted +esthetic taste. The lady in question being very stupid and devoid of +talent, it was at once apparent how the case stood; but when such +borrowing is resorted to by people who are erudite and talented and +have cultivated the technique of their art, we get those borrowings +from the Greek, the antique, the Christian or mythological world, +which have become so numerous, and which particularly in our day +continue to increase and multiply, and are accepted by the public as +works of art if only the borrowings are well mounted by means of the +technique of the particular art to which they belong. + +As a characteristic example of such counterfeits of art in the realm +of poetry, take Rostand’s _Princesse Lointaine_, in which there is +not a spark of art, but which seems very poetic to many people, and +probably also to its author. + +The second method of imparting a semblance of art is that which +I have called imitating. The essence of this method consists in +supplying details accompanying the thing described or depicted. In +literary art this method consists in describing in the minutest +details the external appearance, the faces, the clothes, the +gestures, the tones, and the habitations, of the characters +represented, with all the occurrences met with in life. For instance +in novels and stories, when one of the characters speaks we are told +in what voice he spoke and what he was doing at the time. And the +things said are not given so that they should have as much sense +as possible, but as they are in life, disconnectedly, and with +interruptions and omissions. In dramatic art, besides such imitation +of real speech, this method consists in having all the accessories +and all the people just like those in real life. In painting +this method assimilates painting to photography and destroys the +difference between them. And strange to say this method is used also +in music: music tries to imitate, not only by its rhythm but also by +its very sounds, the sounds which in real life accompany the thing it +wishes to represent. + +The third method is by action, often purely physical, on the outer +senses. Work of this kind is said to be “striking,” “effective.” In +all arts these effects consist chiefly in contrasts; in bringing +together the terrible and the tender, the beautiful and the hideous, +the loud and the soft, darkness and light, the most ordinary and the +most extraordinary. In verbal art, besides effects of contrast there +are also effects consisting in the description of things that have +never before been described. These are usually pornographic details +evoking sexual desire, or details of suffering and death evoking +feelings of horror, such, for instance, as when describing a murder, +to give a detailed medical account of the lacerated tissues, of the +swellings, of the smell, quantity, and appearance of the blood. It +is the same in painting: besides all kinds of other contrasts, one +is coming into vogue which consists in giving careful finish to one +object and being careless about all the rest. The chief and usual +effects in painting are effects of light and the presentation of the +horrible. In the drama the most common effects, besides contrasts, +are tempests, thunder, moonlight, scenes at sea or by the seashore, +changes of costume, exposure of the female body, madness, murders, +and death generally: the dying person exhibiting in detail all the +phases of agony. In music the most usual effects are a _crescendo_, +passing from the softest and simplest sounds to the loudest and +most complex crash of the full orchestra; a repetition of the same +sounds _arpeggio_ in all the octaves and on various instruments; or +for the harmony, tone, and rhythm, to be not at all those naturally +flowing from the course of the musical thought but such as strike +one by their unexpectedness. Besides these, the commonest effects in +music are produced in a purely physical manner by strength of sound, +especially in an orchestra. + +Such are some of the most usual effects in the various arts, but +there yet remains one common to them all, namely, to convey by +means of one art what it would be natural to convey by another: for +instance, to make music describe (as is done by the programme music +of Wagner and his followers), or to make painting, the drama, or +poetry, induce a frame of mind (as is aimed at by all the Decadent +art). + +The fourth method is that of interesting (that is, absorbing the +mind) in connection with works of art. The interest may lie in +an intricate plot--a method till quite recently much employed in +English novels and French plays, but now going out of fashion and +being replaced by realism, that is, by detailed description of some +historic period or some branch of contemporary life. For example, +in a novel interest may consist in a description of Egyptian or +Roman life, the life of miners, or that of the clerks in a large +shop. The reader becomes interested, and mistakes this interest for +an artistic impression. The interest may also depend on the very +method of expression; a kind of interest that has now come much into +use. Both verse and prose, as well as pictures, plays, and music, +are constructed so that they must be guessed like riddles, and this +process of guessing, again, affords pleasure and gives a semblance of +the feeling received from art. + +It is very often said that a work of art is very good because it +is poetic, or realistic, or striking, or interesting; whereas not +only can neither the first, nor the second, nor the third, nor the +fourth, of these attributes supply a standard of excellence in art, +but they have not even anything in common with art. + +Poetic--means borrowed. All borrowing merely recalls to the reader, +spectator, or listener, some dim recollection of artistic impressions +received from previous works of art, and does not infect with feeling +experienced by the artist himself. A work founded on something +borrowed, like Goethe’s _Faust_ for instance, may be very well +executed and be full of mind and every beauty, but because it lacks +the chief characteristic of a work of art--completeness, oneness, +the inseparable unity of form and content expressing the feeling +the artist has experienced--it cannot produce a really artistic +impression. In availing himself of this method the artist only +transmits the feeling received by him from a previous work of art; +therefore every borrowing, whether it be of whole subjects or of +various scenes, situations, or descriptions, is but a reflection of +art, a simulation of it, but not art itself. And therefore, to say +that a certain production is good because it is poetic,--that is, +resembles a work of art,--is like saying of a coin that it is good +because it resembles real money. + +Equally little can imitation, realism, serve, as many people suppose, +as a measure of the quality of art. Imitation cannot be such a +measure, for the chief characteristic of art is the infection of +others with the feelings the artist has experienced, and infection +with a feeling is not only not identical with description of the +accessories of what is transmitted, but is usually hindered by +superfluous details. The attention of the receiver of the artistic +impression is diverted by all these well-observed details, and they +hinder the transmission of feeling even when it exists. + +To value a work of art by the degree of its realism, by the accuracy +of the details reproduced, is as strange as to judge of the nutritive +quality of food by its external appearance. When we appraise a work +according to its realism, we only show that we are talking, not of a +work of art but of its counterfeit. + +Neither does the third method of imitating art--by the use of what is +striking or effective--coincide with real art any better than the two +former methods, for in effectiveness (the effects of novelty, of the +unexpected, of contrasts, of the horrible) there is no transmission +of feeling but only an action on the nerves. If an artist were to +paint a bloody wound admirably, the sight of the wound would strike +me, but it would not be art. One prolonged note on a powerful organ +will produce a striking impression, will often even cause tears, +but there is no music in it, because no feeling is transmitted. +Yet such physiological effects are constantly mistaken for art by +people of our circle, and this not only in music but also in poetry, +painting, and the drama. It is said that art has become refined. On +the contrary, thanks to the pursuit of effects, it has become very +coarse. A new piece is brought out and accepted all over Europe, +such, for instance, as _Hanneles Himmelfahrt_,[119] in which play the +author wishes to transmit to the spectators pity for a persecuted +girl. To evoke this feeling in the audience by means of art, the +author should either make one of the characters express this pity +in such a way as to infect everyone, or should describe the girl’s +feelings correctly. But he cannot or will not do this and chooses +another way, more complicated in stage management but easier for the +author. He makes the girl die on the stage; and still further to +increase the physiological effect on the spectators, he extinguishes +the lights in the theatre, leaving the audience in the dark, and to +the sound of dismal music shows how the girl is pursued and beaten +by her drunken father. The girl shrinks--screams--groans--and falls. +Angels appear and carry her away. And the audience, experiencing +some excitement while this is going on, are fully convinced that +this is true esthetic feeling. But there is nothing esthetic in such +excitement, for there is no infection of man by man, but only a +mingled feeling of pity for another and of self-congratulation that +it is not I who am suffering: it is like what we feel at the sight of +an execution, or what the Romans felt in their circuses. + +The substitution of effect for esthetic feeling is particularly +noticeable in musical art--that art which by its nature has an +immediate physiological action on the nerves. Instead of transmitting +by means of a melody the feelings he has experienced, a composer +of the new school accumulates and complicates sounds, and by now +strengthening now weakening them, he produces on the audience a +physiological effect of a kind that can be measured by an apparatus +invented for that purpose.[120] And the public mistake this +physiological effect for the effect of art. + +As to the fourth method--that of interesting--it also is frequently +confounded with art. One often hears it said, not only of a poem, +a novel, or a picture, but even of a musical work, that it is +interesting. What does this mean? To speak of an interesting work of +art means either that we receive from a work of art information new +to us, or that the work is not fully intelligible and that little by +little, and with effort, we arrive at its meaning and experience a +certain pleasure in this process of guessing it. In neither case has +the interest anything in common with artistic impression. Art aims +at infecting people with feeling experienced by the artist. But the +mental effort necessary to enable the spectator, listener, or reader, +to assimilate the new information contained in the work, or to guess +the puzzles propounded hinders this infection by distracting him. And +therefore the interest of a work not only has nothing to do with its +excellence as a work of art, but rather hinders than assists artistic +impression. + +We may, in a work of art, meet with what is poetic, and realistic, +and striking, and interesting, but these things cannot replace the +essential of art--feeling experienced by the artist. Latterly, in +upper-class art most of the objects given out as being works or +art are of the kind which only resemble art and are devoid of its +essential quality--feeling experienced by the artist. And for the +diversion of the rich such objects are continually being produced in +enormous quantities by the artisans of art. + +Many conditions must be fulfilled to enable a man to produce a real +work of art. It is necessary that he should stand on the level of +the highest life-conception of his time, that he should experience +feeling and have the desire and capacity to transmit it, and that +he should moreover have a talent for some one of the forms of +art. It is very seldom that all these conditions necessary to the +production of true art are combined. But in order--aided by the +customary methods of borrowing, imitating, introducing effects, +and interesting--unceasingly to produce the counterfeits of art +which pass for art in our society and are well paid for, it is only +necessary to have a talent for some branch of art; and this is very +often to be met with. By talent I mean ability: in literary art +the ability to express one’s thoughts and impressions easily, and +to notice and remember characteristic details; in graphic arts to +distinguish and remember lines, forms, and colours; in music to +distinguish the intervals and to remember and transmit the sequence +of sounds. And a man in our time if only he possesses such a talent +and selects some speciality, may after learning the methods of +counterfeiting used in his branch of art,--if he has patience and if +his esthetic feeling (which would render such productions revolting +to him) be atrophied--unceasingly to the end of his life turn out +works which will pass for art in our society. + +To produce such counterfeits, definite rules or recipes exist in each +branch of art. So the talented man, having assimilated them, may +produce such works _à froid_, cold-drawn, without feeling. + +In order to write poems, a man of literary talent needs only +these qualifications: to acquire the knack, conformably with the +requirements of rhyme and rhythm, of using, instead of the one +really suitable word, ten others meaning approximately the same; +to learn how to take any phrase which to be clear has but one +natural order of words, and despite all possible dislocations still +to retain some sense in it; and lastly, to be able, guided by the +words required for the rhymes, to devise some semblance of thoughts, +feelings, or descriptions, to suit these words. Having acquired these +qualifications, he may unceasingly produce poems--short or long, +religious, amatory, or patriotic, according to the demand. + +If a man of literary talent wishes to write a story or novel, he +need only form his style--that is, learn how to describe all that he +sees--and accustom himself to remember or note down details. When he +has accustomed himself to this, he can, according to his inclination +or the demand, unceasingly produce novels or stories--historical, +naturalistic, social, erotic, psychological, or even religious, for +which latter kind a demand and fashion begins to show itself. He can +take subjects from books or from the events of life, and can copy the +characters of the people in his book from his acquaintances. + +And such novels and stories, if only they are decked out with +well-observed and carefully noted details, preferably erotic ones, +will be considered works of art, even though they may not contain a +spark of feeling experienced. + +To produce art in dramatic form, a talented man, in addition to +all that is required for novels and stories, must also learn to +furnish his characters with as many smart and witty sentences as +possible, must know how to utilise theatrical effects, and how to +entwine the action of his characters so that there should be no +long conversations, but as much bustle and movement on the stage as +possible. If the writer is able to do this, he may produce dramatic +works one after another without stopping, selecting his subjects from +the reports of the law courts, or from the latest society topic, such +as hypnotism, heredity, etc., or from deep antiquity, or even from +the realms of fancy. + +In the sphere of painting and sculpture it is still easier for the +talented man to produce imitations of art. He need only learn to +draw, paint, and model--especially naked bodies. Thus equipped he +can continue to paint pictures, or model statues, one after another, +choosing subjects according to his bent: mythological, or religious, +or fantastic, or symbolic; or he may depict what is written about in +the papers: a coronation, a strike, the Turko-Grecian war, famine +scenes; or, commonest of all, he may just copy anything he thinks +beautiful--from naked women to copper basins. + +For the production of musical art the talented man needs still less +of what constitutes the essence of art, that is, feeling wherewith +to infect others; but on the other hand he requires more physical, +gymnastic labour than for any other art, unless it be dancing. To +produce works of musical art he must first learn to move his fingers +on some instrument as rapidly as those who have reached the highest +perfection; next he must know how in former times polyphonic music +was written, must study what are called counterpoint and fugue; +and, furthermore, he must learn orchestration, that is, how to +utilise the effects of the instruments. But once he has learned all +this, the composer may unceasingly produce one work after another: +whether programme-music, opera, or song (devising sounds more or less +corresponding to the words), or chamber music, that is, he may take +another man’s themes and work them up into definite forms by means of +counterpoint and fugue; or, what is commonest of all, he may compose +fantastic music, that is, he may take a conjunction of sounds which +happens to come to hand, and pile every sort of complication and +ornamentation on to this chance combination. + +Thus in all realms of art counterfeits of art are manufactured to a +ready-made, prearranged recipe, and these counterfeits the public of +our upper classes accept for real art. + +And this substitution of counterfeits for real works of art was the +third and most important consequence of the separation of the art of +the upper classes from universal art. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + _Causes of production of counterfeits. Professionalism. + Criticism. Schools of art._ + + +In our society three conditions co-operate to cause the production +of objects of counterfeit art. They are (1) the considerable +remuneration of artists for their productions and the professionalism +which this has produced among artists, (2) art criticism, and (3) +schools of art. + +While art was as yet undivided, and only religious art was valued +and rewarded while indiscriminate art was left unrewarded, there +were no counterfeits of art or, if any existed, being exposed to the +criticism of the whole people they quickly disappeared. But as soon +as that division occurred, and the upper classes acclaimed every kind +of art as good if only it afforded them pleasure, and began to reward +such art more highly than any other social activity, a large number +of people immediately devoted themselves to this activity and art +assumed quite a different character and became a profession. + +And as soon as this occurred the chief and most precious quality of +art--its sincerity--was at once greatly weakened and eventually quite +destroyed. + +The professional artist lives by his art and has continually to +invent subjects for his works, and does invent them. And it is +obvious how great a difference must exist between works of art +produced on the one hand by men such as the Jewish prophets, the +authors of the Psalms, Francis of Assisi, the authors of the _Iliad_ +and _Odyssey_, of folk-stories, legends, and folk-songs, many of whom +not only received no remuneration for their work but did not even +attach their names to it, and, on the other hand, works produced +by court poets, dramatists, and musicians, receiving honours and +remuneration; and later on by professional artists who lived by the +trade, receiving remuneration from newspaper editors, publishers, +impresarios, and in general from the agents who come between the +artists and the town public--the consumers of art. + +Professionalism is the first condition of the diffusion of false, +counterfeit art. + +The second condition is the growth in recent times of art criticism, +that is, the valuation of art not by everybody, and above all not by +plain men, but by erudite, that is, by perverted and at the same time +self-confident individuals. + +A friend of mine, speaking of the relation of critics to artists, +half-jokingly defined it thus: “Critics are the stupid who discuss +the wise.” However partial, inexact, and rude this definition may be, +it is yet partly true, and is incomparably juster than the definition +which considers critics to be men who can explain works of art. + +“Critics explain!” What do they explain? + +The artist, if a real artist, has by his work transmitted to others +the feeling he experienced. What is there, then, to explain? + +If a work is a good work of art, then the feeling expressed by the +artist--be it moral or immoral--transmits itself to other people. +If transmitted to others, then they feel it and all interpretations +are superfluous. If the work does not infect people, no explanation +can make it contagious. An artist’s work cannot be interpreted. +Had it been possible to explain in words what he wished to convey, +the artist would have expressed himself in words. He expressed it +by his art, only because the feeling he experienced could not be +otherwise transmitted. The interpretation of works of art by words +only indicates that the interpreter is himself incapable of feeling +the infection of art. And this is actually the case for, however +strange it may seem to say so, critics have always been people less +susceptible than other men to the contagion of art. For the most part +they are able writers, educated and clever, but with their capacity +for being infected by art quite perverted or atrophied. And therefore +their writings have always largely contributed, and still contribute, +to the perversion of the taste of that public which reads them and +trusts them. + +Art criticism did not exist--could not and cannot exist--in societies +where art is undivided, and where, consequently, it is appraised by +the religious conception of life common to the whole people. Art +criticism grew, and could grow, only on the art of the upper classes +who did not acknowledge the religious perception of their time. + +Universal art has a definite and indubitable internal +criterion--religious perception; upper-class art lacks this, and +therefore the appreciators of that art are obliged to cling to +some external criterion. And they find it in “the judgments of the +finest-nurtured,” as an English esthetician has phrased it, that +is, in the authority of the people who are considered educated; nor +in this alone, but also in a tradition of such authorities. This +tradition is extremely misleading, both because the opinions of “the +finest-nurtured” are often mistaken, and also because judgments +which were valid once cease to be so with the lapse of time. But the +critics, having no basis for their judgments, never cease to repeat +their traditions. The classical tragedians were once considered +good, and therefore criticism considers them to be so still. Dante +was esteemed a great poet, Raphael a great painter, Bach a great +musician--and the critics, lacking a standard by which to separate +good art from bad, not only consider these artists great, but regard +all their productions as admirable and worthy of imitation. Nothing +has contributed, and still contributes, so much to the perversion +of art as these authorities set up by criticism. A man produces a +work of art, expressing in his own peculiar manner, like every true +artist, a feeling he has experienced. Most people are infected by +the artist’s feeling, and his work becomes known. Then criticism, +discussing the artist, says that the work is not bad, but all the +same the artist is not a Dante, nor a Shakespeare, nor a Goethe, nor +a Raphael, nor what Beethoven was in his last period. And the young +artist sets to work to copy those held up for his imitation, and he +produces not only feeble works but false works, counterfeits of art. + +Thus, for instance, our Púshkin writes his short poems, _Evgéni +Onégin_, _The Gipsies_, and his stories--works all varying in +quality, but all true art. But then, under the influence of false +criticism extolling Shakespeare, he writes _Borís Godunóv_, a cold, +brain-spun work, and this production is lauded by the critics, set up +as a model, and imitations of it appear: _Mínin_ by Ostróvski, and +_Tsar Borís_ by Alexéy Tolstóy, and such imitations of imitations as +crowd all literatures with insignificant productions. The chief harm +done by the critics is this, that themselves lacking the capacity to +be infected by art (and that is the characteristic of all critics, +for did they not lack this they could not attempt the impossible--the +interpretation of works of art), they pay most attention to, and +eulogise, brain-spun invented works, and set these up as models +worthy of imitation. That is the reason they so confidently extol, in +literature, the Greek tragedians, Dante, Tasso, Milton, Shakespeare, +Goethe (almost all he wrote), and, among recent writers, Zola and +Ibsen; in music, Beethoven’s last period, and Wagner. To justify +their praise of these brain-spun invented works, they devise entire +theories (of which the famous theory of beauty is one); and not only +dull but also talented people compose works in strict deference to +these theories; and often even real artists, doing violence to their +genius, submit to them. + +Every false work extolled by the critics serves as a door through +which the hypocrites of art at once crowd in. + +It is solely due to the critics, who in our times still praise rude, +savage, and, for us, often meaningless works of the ancient Greeks: +Sophocles, Euripides, Æschylus, and especially Aristophanes; or, +of modern writers, Dante, Tasso, Milton, Shakespeare; in painting, +all of Raphael, all of Michael Angelo, including his absurd “Last +Judgment”; in music, the whole of Bach, and the whole of Beethoven, +including his last period,--thanks only to them, have the Ibsens, +Maeterlincks, Verlaines, Mallarmés, Puvis de Chavannes, Klingers, +Böcklins, Stucks, Schneiders; in music, the Wagners, Liszts, +Berliozes, Brahmses, and Richard Strausses, etc., and all that +immense mass of good-for-nothing imitators of these imitators, become +possible in our day. + +As a good illustration of the harmful influence of criticism, take +its relation to Beethoven. Among his innumerable hasty productions +written to order, there are, notwithstanding their artificiality of +form, works of true art. But he grows deaf, cannot hear, and begins +to write invented, unfinished works, which are consequently often +meaningless and musically unintelligible. I know that musicians +can imagine sounds vividly enough, and can almost hear what they +read, but imaginary sounds can never be the same as real ones, and +every composer must hear his production in order to perfect it. +Beethoven however could not hear, could not perfect his work, and +consequently published productions which are artistic ravings. But +criticism, having once acknowledged him to be a great composer, +seizes on just these abnormal works with special gusto and searches +for extraordinary beauties in them. And, to justify its praises +(perverting the very meaning of musical art), it attributed to music +the property of describing what it cannot describe. And imitators +appear--an innumerable host of imitators of these abnormal attempts +at artistic productions which Beethoven wrote when he was deaf. + +Then Wagner appears, who at first in critical articles praises just +Beethoven’s last period, connecting this music with Schopenhauer’s +mystical theory that music is the expression of Will--not of +separate manifestations of will objectivised on various planes, but +of its very essence--which is in itself as absurd as this music +of Beethoven. And afterwards he composes music of his own on this +theory, in conjunction with another still more erroneous system of +the union of all the arts. After Wagner yet new imitators appear, +diverging yet further from art: Brahms, Richard Strauss, and others. + +Such are the results of criticism. But the third condition of the +perversion of art, namely, art schools, is almost more harmful still. + +As soon as art became, not art for the whole people but for a rich +class, it became a profession; as soon as it became a profession, +methods were devised to teach it; people who chose this profession +of art began to learn these methods, and thus professional schools +sprang up: classes of rhetoric or literature in the public schools, +academies for painting, conservatoires for music, schools for +dramatic art. + +In these schools art is taught! But art is the transmission to others +of a special feeling experienced by the artist. How can this be +taught in schools? + +No school can evoke feeling in a man, and still less can it teach him +how to manifest it in the one particular manner natural to him alone. +But the essence of art lies in these things. + +The one thing these schools can teach is how to transmit feelings +experienced by other artists in the way those other artists +transmitted them. And this is just what the professional schools do +teach; and such instruction not only does not assist the spread +of true art but, on the contrary, by diffusing counterfeits of art +does more than anything else to deprive people of the capacity to +understand true art. + +In literary art people are taught how, without having anything they +wish to say, to write a many-paged composition on a theme about which +they have never thought and, moreover, to write it so that it should +resemble the work of an author admitted to be celebrated. This is +taught in schools. + +In painting the chief training consists in learning to draw and paint +from copies and models, the naked body chiefly (the very thing that +is never seen, and which a man occupied with real art hardly ever has +to depict), and to draw and paint as former masters drew and painted. +The composition of pictures is taught by giving out themes similar to +those which have been treated by former acknowledged celebrities. + +So also in dramatic schools--the pupils are taught to recite +monologues just as tragedians, held to be celebrated, declaimed them. + +It is the same in music. The whole theory of music is nothing but +a disconnected repetition of those methods which the acknowledged +masters of composition made use of. + +I have elsewhere quoted the profound remark of the Russian artist +Bryulov on art, but I cannot here refrain from repeating it, because +nothing better illustrates what can and what can not be taught in the +schools. Once when correcting a pupil’s study, Bryulóv just touched +it in a few places, and the poor dead study immediately became +animated. “Why, you only touched it a _wee bit_, and it is quite +another thing!” said one of the pupils. “Art begins where the _wee +bit_ begins,” replied Bryulóv, indicating by these words just what is +most characteristic of art. The remark is true of all the arts, but +its justice is particularly noticeable in the performance of music. +That musical execution should be artistic, should be art, that is, +should carry infection, three chief conditions must be observed. +There are many others needed for musical perfection: the transition +from one sound to another must be interrupted or continuous; the +sound must increase or diminish steadily; it must be blended with one +and not with another sound; the sound must have this or that timbre, +and much besides,--but take the three chief conditions: the pitch, +the time, and the strength of the sound. Musical execution is only +then art, only then infects, when the sound is neither higher nor +lower than it should be, that is, when exactly the infinitely small +centre of the required note is taken; when that note is continued +exactly as long as is needed; and when the strength of the sound +is neither more nor less than is required. The slightest deviation +of pitch in either direction, the slightest increase or decrease +in time, or the slightest strengthening or weakening of the sound +beyond what is needed, destroys the perfection and consequently the +infectiousness of the work. So that the feeling of infection by +the art of music, which seems so simple and so easily obtained, is +a thing we receive only when the performer finds those infinitely +minute degrees which are necessary to perfection in music. It is +the same in all arts: a wee bit lighter, a wee bit darker, a wee +bit higher, lower, to the right or the left--in painting; a wee bit +weaker or stronger in intonation, a wee bit sooner or later--in +dramatic art; a wee bit omitted, over-emphasised, or exaggerated--in +poetry, and there is no contagion. Infection is only obtained when +an artist finds those infinitely minute degrees of which a work of +art consists, and only to the extent to which he finds them. And it +is quite impossible to teach people by external means to find these +minute degrees: they can only be found when a man yields to his +feeling. No instruction can make a dancer catch just the tact of the +music, or a singer or a fiddler take exactly the infinitely minute +centre of his note, or a sketcher draw of all possible lines the +only right one, or a poet find the only meet arrangement of the only +suitable words. All this is found only by feeling. And therefore +schools may teach what is necessary in order to produce something +resembling art, but not art itself. + +The teaching of the schools stops where the _wee bit_ begins-- +consequently where art begins. + +Accustoming people to something resembling art, disaccustoms them to +the comprehension of real art. And that is how it comes about that +none are more dull to art than those who have passed through the +professional schools and been most successful in them. Professional +schools produce an hypocrisy of art precisely akin to that hypocrisy +of religion which is produced by theological colleges for training +priests, pastors, and religious teachers generally. As it is +impossible in a school to train a man so as to make a religious +teacher of him, so it is impossible to teach a man how to become an +artist. + +Art schools are thus doubly destructive of art: first, in that they +destroy the capacity to produce real art in those who have the +misfortune to enter them and go through a seven or eight years’ +course; and secondly, in that they generate enormous quantities of +that counterfeit art which perverts the taste of the masses and +overflows our world. In order that born artists may know the methods +of the various arts elaborated by former artists, there should +exist in all elementary schools such classes for drawing and music +(singing) that, after passing through them, every talented scholar +may, by using existing models accessible to all, be able to perfect +himself in his art independently. + +These three conditions--the professionalisation of artists, art +criticism, and art schools--have had this effect: that most people in +our times are quite unable even to understand what art is, and accept +as art the grossest counterfeits of it. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + _Wagner’s “Nibelungen Ring” a type of counterfeit art. Its + success, and the reasons thereof._ + + +To what an extent people of our circle and time have lost the +capacity to receive real art, and have become accustomed to accept +as art things that have nothing in common with it, is best seen from +the works of Richard Wagner, which have latterly come to be more and +more esteemed not only by the Germans but also by the French and the +English as the very highest art revealing new horizons to us. + +The peculiarity of Wagner’s music, as is known, consists in this, +that he considered that music should serve poetry, expressing all the +shades of a poetical work. + +The union of the drama with music, devised in the fifteenth century +in Italy for the revival of what they imagined to have been the +ancient Greek music-drama, is an artificial form which had, and +has, success only among the upper classes, and among them only +when gifted composers such as Mozart, Weber, Rossini, and others, +drawing inspiration from a dramatic subject, yielded freely to the +inspiration and subordinated the text to the music, so that in their +operas the important thing to the audience is merely the music on a +certain text, and not the text at all, which latter even when it was +utterly absurd, as for instance in the _Magic Flute_, still does not +prevent the music from producing an artistic impression. + +Wagner wishes to correct the opera by letting music submit to the +demands of poetry and unite with it. But each art has its own +definite realm, which is not identical with the realm of other +arts but merely comes in contact with them; and therefore if the +manifestations, I will not say of several but even of two arts--the +dramatic and the musical--be united in one complete production, +then the demands of the one art will make it impossible to fulfil +the demands of the other, as has always occurred in the ordinary +operas, where the dramatic art has submitted to, or rather yielded +place to, the musical. Wagner wishes that musical art should submit +to dramatic art and that both should appear in full strength. But +this is impossible, for every work of art, if it be a true one, is +an expression of the intimate feelings of the artist, which are +quite peculiar to him and not like anything else. Such is a musical +production and such is a dramatic work, if they be true art. And +therefore, in order that a production in the one branch of art should +coincide with a production in the other branch, it is necessary that +the impossible should happen: that two works from different realms of +art should be absolutely exceptional, unlike anything that existed +before, and yet should coincide and be exactly alike. + +And this cannot be, just as there cannot be two men, or even two +leaves on a tree, exactly alike. Still less can two works from +different realms of art, the musical and the literary, be absolutely +alike. If they coincide, then either one is a work of art and the +other a counterfeit, or both are counterfeits. Two live leaves cannot +be exactly alike but two artificial leaves may be. And so it is with +works of art. They can only coincide completely when neither the one +nor the other is art, but both are only cunningly devised semblances +of it. + +If poetry and music may be joined, as occurs in hymns, songs, and +_romances_--(though even in these the music does not follow the +changes of each verse of the text as Wagner wants to, but the song +and the music merely produce a coincident effect on the mind)--this +occurs only because lyrical poetry and music have, to some extent, +one and the same aim: to produce a mental condition, and the +conditions produced by lyrical poetry and by music can, more or +less, coincide. But even in these conjunctions the centre of gravity +always lies in one of the two productions, so that it is one of +them that produces the artistic impression while the other remains +unregarded. And still less is it possible for such union to exist +between epic or dramatic poetry and music. + +Moreover, one of the chief conditions of artistic creation is the +complete freedom of the artist from every kind of preconceived +demand. And the necessity of adjusting his musical work to a work +from another realm of art is a preconceived demand of such a kind as +to destroy all possibility of creative power; and therefore adjusted +works of this kind are and must be, as has always happened, not works +of art but only imitations of art, like the music of a melodrama, +titles of pictures, illustrations to books, and librettos to operas. + +And such Wagner’s productions are. A confirmation of this is +to be seen in the fact that Wagner’s new music lacks the chief +characteristic of every true work of art, namely, such entirety and +completeness that the smallest alteration in its form would disturb +the meaning of the whole work. In a true work of art--poem, drama, +picture, song, or symphony--it is impossible to extract one line, one +scene, one figure, or one bar from its place and put it in another, +without infringing the significance of the whole work, just as it is +impossible without infringing the life of an organic being to extract +an organ from one place and insert it somewhere else. But in the +music of Wagner’s last period, with the exception of certain parts +of little importance which have an independent musical meaning, it +is possible to make all kinds of transpositions, putting what was in +front behind and _vice versâ_, without altering the musical sense. +And the reason why these transpositions do not alter the sense of +Wagner’s music is because the sense lies in the words and not in the +music. + +The musical score of Wagner’s later operas is like what would result +should one of those versifiers--of whom there are now many, with +tongues so broken that they can, on any theme to any rhymes in any +rhythm, write verses which sound as if they had a meaning--conceive +the idea of illustrating by his verses some symphony or sonata of +Beethoven, or some _ballade_ of Chopin, in the following manner. To +the first bars of one character, he writes verses corresponding in +his opinion to those first bars. Next come some bars of a different +character, and he also writes verses corresponding in his opinion +to them, but with no internal connection with the first verses, +and moreover without rhymes and without rhythm. Such a production, +without the music, would be exactly parallel in poetry to what +Wagner’s operas are in music, if heard without the words. + +But Wagner is not only a musician, he is also a poet, or both +together; and therefore, to judge of Wagner one must know his poetry +also--that same poetry which the music has to subserve. The chief +poetical production of Wagner is the _Nibelungen Ring_. This work +has attained such enormous importance in our time and has such +influence on all that now professes to be art, that it is necessary +for everyone to-day to have some idea of it. I have carefully read +through the four booklets which contain this work, and have drawn up +a brief summary of it, which I give in Appendix III. I would strongly +advise the reader (if he has not perused the poem itself, which would +be the best thing to do) at least to read my account of it, so as +to have an idea of this extraordinary work. It is a model work of +counterfeit art so gross as to be even ridiculous. + +But we are told that it is impossible to judge of Wagner’s works +without seeing them on the stage. The Second Day of this drama, which +as I was told is the best part of the whole work, was given in Moscow +last winter and I went to see the performance. + +When I arrived the enormous theatre was already filled from top to +bottom. There were Grand-Dukes, and the flower of the aristocracy, of +the merchant class, of the learned, and of the middle-class official +public. Most of them held the libretto, fathoming its meaning. +Musicians--some of them elderly, grey-haired men--followed the music, +score in hand. Evidently the performance of this work was an event of +importance. + +I was rather late, but I was told that the short prelude with +which the act begins was of slight importance and that it did not +matter having missed it. When I arrived, an actor sat on the stage +amid decorations intended to represent a cave and before something +which was meant to represent a smith’s forge. He was dressed in +trico tights, with a cloak of skins, wore a wig and an artificial +beard, and with white, weak, genteel hands (his easy movements and +especially the shape of his stomach and his lack of muscle revealed +the actor) beat an impossible sword with an unnatural hammer in a way +in which no one ever uses a hammer; and at the same time, opening +his mouth in a strange way, he sang something incomprehensible. The +music of various instruments accompanied the strange sounds which +he emitted. From the libretto one was able to gather that the actor +had to represent a powerful dwarf who lived in the cave, and who was +forging a sword for Siegfried, whom he had reared. One could tell he +was a dwarf by the fact that the actor walked all the time bending +the knees of his trico-covered legs. This dwarf, still opening his +mouth in the same strange way, long continued to sing or shout. +The music meanwhile runs over something strange, like beginnings +which are not continued and do not get finished. From the libretto +one could learn that the dwarf is telling himself about a ring a +giant had obtained and which the dwarf wishes to procure through +Siegfried’s aid, while Siegfried wants a good sword, on the forging +of which the dwarf is occupied. After this conversation or singing +to himself has gone on rather a long time, other sounds are heard +in the orchestra, also like something beginning and not finishing, +and another actor appears with a horn slung over his shoulder and +accompanied by a man running on all fours dressed up as a bear, whom +he sets at the smith-dwarf. The latter runs away without unbending +the knees of his trico-covered legs. This actor with the horn +represented the hero, Siegfried. The sounds which were emitted in the +orchestra on the entrance of this actor were intended to represent +Siegfried’s character and are called Siegfried’s _leit-motiv_. And +these sounds are repeated each time Siegfried appears. There is one +fixed combination of sounds, or _leit-motiv_, for each character, +and this _leit-motiv_ is repeated every time the person whom it +represents appears; and when anyone is mentioned the _motiv_ is heard +which relates to that person. Moreover each article also has its own +_leit-motiv_ or chord. There is a _motiv_ of the ring, a _motiv_ of +the helmet, a _motiv_ of the apple, a _motiv_ of fire, spear, sword, +water, etc.; and as soon as the ring, helmet, or apple is mentioned, +the _motiv_ or chord of the ring, helmet, or apple, is heard. The +actor with the horn opens his mouth as unnaturally as the dwarf, +and long continues in a chanting voice to shout some words, and in +a similar chant Mime (that is the dwarf’s name) makes some reply to +him. The meaning of this conversation can only be discovered from +the libretto; and it is that Siegfried was brought up by the dwarf +and therefore, for some reason, hates him and always wishes to kill +him. The dwarf has forged a sword for Siegfried, but Siegfried is +dissatisfied with it. From a ten-page conversation (by the libretto), +lasting half-an-hour and conducted with the same strange openings +of the mouth and chantings, it appears that Siegfried’s mother gave +birth to him in the wood, and that concerning his father all that is +known is that he had a sword which was broken, the pieces of which +are in Mime’s possession, and that Siegfried does not know fear, and +wishes to go out of the wood. Mime however does not want to let him +go. During the conversation the music never omits, at the mention of +father, sword, etc., to sound the _motiv_ of these people and things. +After these conversations fresh sounds are heard--those of the god +Wotan--and a wanderer appears. This wanderer is the god Wotan. Also +dressed up in a wig, and also in tights, this god Wotan, standing in +a stupid pose with a spear, thinks proper to recount what Mime must +have known before, but what it is necessary to tell the audience. He +does not tell it simply, but in the form of riddles which he orders +himself to guess, shaking his head (one does not know why) that he +will guess right. Moreover, whenever the wanderer strikes his spear +on the ground, fire comes out of the ground, and in the orchestra the +sounds of spear and of fire are heard. The orchestra accompanies the +conversation, and the _motivs_ of the people and things spoken of +are always artfully intermingled. Besides this the music expresses +feelings in the most naïve manner: the terrible by sounds in the +bass, the frivolous by rapid touches in the treble, and so forth. + +The riddles have no meaning except to tell the audience what the +_nibelungs_ are, what the giants are, what the gods are, and +what has happened before. This conversation also is chanted with +strangely opened mouths and continues for eight libretto pages, and +a correspondingly long time on the stage. After this the wanderer +departs and Siegfried returns and talks with Mime for thirteen pages +more. There is not a single melody the whole of this time, but +merely intertwinings of the _leit-motivs_ of the people and things +mentioned. The conversation shows that Mime wishes to teach Siegfried +fear and that Siegfried does not know what fear is. Having finished +this conversation, Siegfried seizes one of the pieces of what is +meant to represent the broken sword, saws it up, puts it on what is +meant to represent the forge, melts it, and then forges it and sings: +“Heiho! heiho! heiho! Ho! ho! Aha! oho! aha! Heiaho! heiaho! heiaho! +Ho! ho! Hahei! hoho! hahei!” and Act I finishes. + +Upon the question I had come to the theatre to decide, my mind was +fully made up, as surely as on the question of the merits of my +lady acquaintance’s novel when she read me the scene between the +loose-haired maiden in the white dress and the hero with two white +dogs and a hat with a feather _à la Guillaume Tell_. + +From an author who could compose such spurious scenes, outraging all +esthetic feeling, as those which I had witnessed, there was nothing +to be hoped; it may safely be decided that all that such an author +can write will be bad, because he evidently does not know what a true +work of art is. I wished to leave, but the friends I was with asked +me to remain, declaring that one could not form an opinion by that +one act, and that the second would be better. So I stopped for the +second act. + +Act II, night. Afterwards dawn. In general the whole piece is crammed +with lights, clouds, moonlight, darkness, magic fires, thunder, etc. + +The scene represents a wood, and in the wood there is a cave. At the +entrance to the cave sits a fourth actor in tights, representing +another dwarf. Dawn appears. Enter the god Wotan, again with a spear +and again in the guise of a wanderer. Again his sounds, together with +fresh sounds of the deepest bass that can be produced. These latter +indicate that the dragon is speaking. Wotan awakens the dragon. The +same bass sounds are repeated, growing yet deeper and deeper. First +the dragon says, “I want to sleep,” but afterwards he crawls out of +the cave. The dragon is represented by two men: it is dressed in a +green scaly skin, and waves a tail at one end while at the other it +opens a kind of crocodile’s jaw that is fastened on and from which +flames appear. The dragon (who is meant to be dreadful, and may +appear so to five-year-old children) utters some words in a terribly +bass voice. This is all so stupid, so like what is done in the booth +at a fair, that it is surprising that people over seven years of age +can witness it seriously; yet thousands of quasi-cultured people sit +and attentively hear and see it, and are delighted. + +Siegfried with his horn reappears, as does Mime also. In the +orchestra the sounds denoting them are emitted, and they talk about +whether Siegfried does or does not know fear. Mime goes away, and a +scene commences which is intended to be most poetic. Siegfried, in +his tights, lies down in a would-be beautiful pose and alternately +keeps silent and talks to himself. He ponders, listens to the singing +of birds, and desires to imitate them. For this purpose he cuts a +reed with his sword and makes a pipe. The dawn grows brighter and +brighter; the birds sing. Siegfried tries to imitate the birds. In +the orchestra is heard the imitation of birds, alternating with +sounds corresponding to the words he speaks. But Siegfried does not +succeed with his pipe-playing, so he plays on his horn instead. This +scene is unendurable. Of music, that is, of art serving as a means to +transmit a state of mind experienced by the author, there is not even +a suggestion. There is something that is absolutely unintelligible +musically. In a musical sense a hope continually arises, followed by +disappointment, as if a musical thought were commenced only to be +broken off. If there are something like musical beginnings, these +beginnings are so short, so encumbered with complications of harmony +and orchestration and with effects of contrast, are so obscure and +unfinished, and what is happening on the stage meanwhile is so +abominably false, that it is difficult even to perceive these musical +snatches, let alone to be infected by them. Above all, from the very +beginning to the very end and in each note, the author’s purpose is +so audible and visible that one sees and hears neither Siegfried nor +the birds, but only a limited self-opinionated German of bad taste +and bad style, who has a most false conception of poetry, and in the +rudest and most primitive manner wishes to transmit to me these false +and mistaken conceptions of his. + +Everyone knows the feeling of distrust and resistance always evoked +by an author’s evident predetermination. A narrator need only to say +in advance, “Prepare to cry,” or “to laugh,” and you are sure neither +to cry nor to laugh. But when you see that an author prescribes +emotion at what is not touching but only laughable or disgusting, and +when you see moreover that the author is fully assured that he has +captivated you, a painfully tormenting feeling results similar to +what one would feel if an old, deformed woman put on a ball-dress and +smilingly coquetted before you, confident of your approbation. This +impression was strengthened by the fact that around me I saw a crowd +of three thousand people, who not only patiently witnessed all this +absurd nonsense but even considered it their duty to be delighted +with it. + +I somehow managed to sit out the next scene also, in which the +monster appears to the accompaniment of his bass notes intermingled +with the _motiv_ of Siegfried; but after the fight with the monster, +and all the roars, fires, and sword-wavings, I could stand no more of +it, and escaped from the theatre with a feeling of repulsion which +even now I cannot forget. + +Listening to this opera, I involuntarily thought of a respected, +wise, educated, country labourer--one, for instance, of those wise +and truly religious men whom I know among the peasants,--and I +pictured to myself the terrible perplexity such a man would be in +were he to witness what I was seeing that evening. + +What would he think if he knew of all the labour spent on such +a performance, and saw that audience, those great ones of the +earth,--old, bald-headed, grey-bearded men, whom he had been +accustomed to respect--sit silent and attentive, listening to and +looking at all these stupidities for five hours on end? Not to speak +of an adult labourer, one can hardly imagine even a child of over +seven occupying himself with such a stupid, incoherent fairy tale. + +And yet an enormous audience, the cream of the cultured upper +classes, sits out five hours of this insane performance, and goes +away imagining that by paying tribute to this nonsense it has +acquired a fresh right to esteem itself advanced and enlightened. + +I speak of the Moscow public. But what is the Moscow public? It is +but a hundredth part of that public which while considering itself +most highly enlightened, esteems it a merit so to have lost the +capacity of being infected by art that not only can it witness this +stupid sham without being revolted, but can even take delight in it. + +In Bayreuth, where these performances were first given, people who +considered themselves finely cultured assembled from the ends of the +earth, spent, say, £100 each to see this performance, and for four +days running went to see and hear this nonsensical rubbish, sitting +it out for six hours each day. + +But why did people go, and why do they still go to these +performances, and why do they admire them? The question naturally +presents itself: How is the success of Wagner’s works to be explained? + +That success I explain to myself in this way: thanks to his +exceptional position in having at his disposal the resources of a +king, Wagner was able to command all the methods for counterfeiting +art which have been developed by long usage, and employing these +methods with great ability he produced a model work of counterfeit +art. The reason why I have selected his work for my illustration is, +that in no other counterfeit of art known to me are all the methods +by which art is counterfeited--viz., borrowings, imitations, dramatic +effects, and interest--so ably and powerfully united. + +From the subject borrowed from antiquity, to the clouds and the +risings of the sun and moon, Wagner in this work has made use of all +that is considered poetic. We have here the sleeping beauty, and +nymphs, and subterranean fires, and dwarfs, and battles, and swords, +and love, and incest, and a monster, and singing-birds: the whole +arsenal of the poetic is brought into action. + +Moreover everything is imitative: the decorations are imitated and +the costumes are imitated. All is just as, according to the data +supplied by archæology, they would have been in antiquity. The very +sounds are imitative, for Wagner, who was not destitute of musical +talent, invented just such sounds as imitate the strokes of a hammer, +the hissing of molten iron, the singing of birds, etc. + +Furthermore, in this work everything is in the highest degree +striking in its effects and in its peculiarities: its monsters, its +magic fires, and its scenes under water; the darkness in which the +audience sit, the invisibility of the orchestra, and the hitherto +unemployed combinations of harmony. + +And besides, it is all interesting. The interest lies not only +in the question who will kill whom, and who will marry whom, and +who is whose son, and what will happen next?--the interest lies +also in the relation of the music to the text. The rolling waves +of the Rhine--now how is that to be expressed in music? An evil +dwarf appears--how is the music to express an evil dwarf?--and how +is it to express the sensuality of this dwarf? How will bravery, +fire, or apples, be expressed in music? How are the _leit-motivs_ +of the people speaking to be interwoven with the _leit-motivs_ of +the people and objects about whom they speak? And the music has a +further interest. It diverges from all formerly accepted laws, and +most unexpected and totally new modulations crop up (as is not only +possible but even easy in music having no inner law of its being); +the dissonances are new, and are allowed in a new way--and this, too, +is interesting. + +And it is this poeticality, imitativeness, effectfulness, and +interestingness which, thanks to the peculiarities of Wagner’s talent +and to the advantageous position in which he was placed, are in +these productions carried to the highest pitch of perfection, which +so act on the spectator, hypnotising him as one would be hypnotised +who should listen for several consecutive hours to maniacal ravings +pronounced with great oratorical power. + +People say, “You cannot judge without having seen Wagner performed at +Bayreuth: in the dark, where the orchestra is out of sight concealed +under the stage, and where the performance is brought to the highest +perfection.” And this just proves that we have here no question of +art, but one of hypnotism. It is just what the spiritualists say. To +convince you of the reality of their apparitions they usually say, +“You cannot judge; you must try it, be present at several séances,” +that is, come and sit silent in the dark for hours together in the +same room with semi-sane people and repeat this some ten times over, +and you shall see all that we see. + +Yes, naturally! Only place yourself in such conditions, and you +may see what you will. But this can be still more quickly attained +by getting drunk or smoking opium. It is the same when listening +to an opera of Wagner’s. Sit in the dark for four days in company +with people who are not quite normal, and through the auditory +nerves subject your brain to the strongest action of the sounds +best adapted to excite it, and you will no doubt be reduced to an +abnormal condition and be enchanted by absurdities. But to attain +this end you do not even need four days; the five hours during which +one “day” is enacted, as in Moscow, are quite enough. Nor are five +hours needed; even one hour is enough for people who have no clear +conception of what art should be, and who have concluded in advance +that what they are going to see is excellent, and that indifference +or dissatisfaction with this work will serve as a proof of their +inferiority and lack of culture. + +I observed the audience present at this representation. The people +who led the whole audience and gave the tone to it were those who had +previously been hypnotized and who again succumbed to the hypnotic +influence to which they were accustomed. These hypnotized people, +being in an abnormal condition, were perfectly enraptured. Moreover +all the art critics, who lack the capacity to be infected by art and +therefore always especially prize works like Wagner’s opera where +it is all an affair of the intellect, also with much profundity +expressed their approval of a work affording such ample material for +ratiocination. And following these two groups went that large city +crowd (indifferent to art, with their capacity to be infected by it +perverted and partly atrophied), headed by the princes, millionaires, +and art patrons, who, like sorry harriers, keep close to those who +most loudly and decidedly express their opinion. + +“Oh yes, certainly! What poetry! Marvellous! Especially the birds!” +“Yes, yes! I am quite vanquished!” exclaim these people, repeating +in various tones what they have just heard from men whose opinion +appears to them authoritative. + +If some people do feel insulted by the absurdity and spuriousness of +the whole thing, they are timidly silent, as sober men are timid and +silent when surrounded by tipsy people. + +And thus, thanks to the masterly skill with which it counterfeits +art while having nothing in common with it, a meaningless, coarse, +spurious production finds acceptance all over the world, costs +millions of roubles to produce, and assists more and more to pervert +the taste of people of the upper classes and their conception of art. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + _Truths fatal to preconceived views are not readily + recognised. Proportion of works of art to counterfeits. + Perversion of taste and incapacity to recognise art. Examples._ + + +I know that most men--not only those considered clever, but even +those who are very clever, and capable of understanding most +difficult scientific, mathematical, or philosophic problems--can +very seldom discern even the simplest and most obvious truth if it +be such as to oblige them to admit the falsity of conclusions they +have formed, perhaps with much difficulty--conclusions of which +they are proud, which they have taught to others, and on which they +have built their lives. And therefore I have little hope that what +I adduce as to the perversion of art and taste in our society will +be accepted or even seriously considered. Nevertheless, I must state +fully the inevitable conclusion to which my investigation into the +question of art has brought me. This investigation has brought me +to the conviction that almost all that our society considers to +be art, good art, and the whole of art, far from being real and +good art and the whole of art, is not even art at all, but only a +counterfeit of it. This position, I know, will seem very strange and +paradoxical; but if we once acknowledge art to be human activity by +means of which some people transmit their feelings to others (and +not a service of Beauty, or a manifestation of the Idea, and so +forth), we shall inevitably have to admit this further conclusion +also. If it is true that art is an activity by means of which one +man having experienced a feeling intentionally transmits it to +others, then we have inevitably to admit further that of all that +among us is termed art (the art of the upper classes)--of all those +novels, stories, dramas, comedies, pictures, sculptures, symphonies, +operas, operettas, ballets, etc., which profess to be works of art, +scarcely one in a hundred thousand proceeds from an emotion felt by +its author, all the rest being but manufactured counterfeits of art, +in which borrowing, imitation, effects, and interest, replace the +contagion of feeling. That the proportion of real productions of art +is to the counterfeits as one to some hundreds of thousands or even +more, may be seen by the following calculation. I have read somewhere +that the artist painters in Paris alone number 30,000; there will +probably be as many in England, as many in Germany, and as many in +Russia, Italy, and the smaller states combined. So that in all there +will be in Europe, say, 120,000 painters; and there are probably +as many musicians and as many literary artists. If these 360,000 +individuals produce three works a year each (and many of them produce +ten or more), then each year yields over a million so-called works +of art. How many then must have been produced in the last ten years, +and how many in the whole time since upper-class art broke off from +the art of the whole people? Evidently millions. Yet who of all the +connoisseurs of art has received impressions from all these pseudo +works of art? Not to mention all the labouring classes who have no +conception of these productions, even people of the upper classes +cannot know one in a thousand of them all, and cannot remember those +they have known. These works all appear under the guise of art, +produce no impression on anyone (except when they serve as pastimes +for the idle crowd of rich people), and vanish utterly. + +In reply to this it is usually said that without this enormous number +of unsuccessful attempts we should not have the real works of art. +But such reasoning is as though a baker, in reply to a reproach that +his bread was bad, were to say that if it were not for the hundreds +of spoiled loaves there would not be any well-baked ones. It is true +that where there is gold there is also much sand; but that cannot +serve as a reason for talking a lot of nonsense in order to say +something wise. + +We are surrounded by productions considered artistic. Thousands of +verses, thousands of poems, thousands of novels, thousands of dramas, +thousands of pictures, thousands of musical pieces, follow one after +another. All the verses describe love, or nature, or the author’s +state of mind, and in all of them rhyme and rhythm are observed. All +the dramas and comedies are splendidly mounted and are performed by +admirably trained actors. All the novels are divided into chapters; +all of them describe love, contain effective situations, and +correctly describe the details of life. All the symphonies contain +_allegro_, _andante_, _scherzo_, and _finale_; all consist of +modulations and chords, and are played by highly-trained musicians. +All the pictures, in gold frames, saliently depict faces and sundry +accessories. But among these productions in the various branches +of art there is in each branch one among hundreds of thousands not +only somewhat better than the rest, but differing from them as a +diamond differs from paste. The one is priceless, the others not +only have no value but are worse than valueless for they deceive and +pervert taste. And yet externally they are, to a man of perverted or +atrophied artistic perception, precisely alike. + +In our society the difficulty of recognising real works of art is +further increased by the fact that the external quality of the work +in false productions is not only no worse, but often better, than +real ones; the counterfeit is often more effective than the real, +and its subject more interesting. How is one to discriminate? How +is one to find a production in no way distinguished in externals +from hundreds of thousands of others intentionally made precisely to +imitate it? + +For a country peasant of unperverted taste this is as easy as it is +for an animal of unspoilt scent to follow the trace he needs among +a thousand others in wood or forest. The animal unerringly finds +what he needs. So also the man, if only his natural qualities have +not been perverted, will without fail select from among thousands of +objects the real work of art he requires--that infecting him with the +feeling experienced by the artist. But it is not so with those whose +taste has been perverted by their education and life. The receptive +feeling of these people is atrophied, and in valuing artistic +productions they must be guided by discussion and study, which +discussion and study completely confuse them. So that most people in +our society are quite unable to distinguish a work of art from the +grossest counterfeit. People sit for whole hours in concert-rooms +and theatres listening to the new composers, consider it a duty +to read the novels of the famous modern novelists and to look at +pictures representing either something incomprehensible or just the +very things they see much better in real life; and, above all, they +consider it incumbent on them to be enraptured by all this, imagining +it all to be art, while at the same time they will pass real works +of art by not only without attention, but even with contempt, merely +because in their circle these works are not included in the list of +works of art. + +A few days ago I was returning home from a walk feeling depressed, +as sometimes happens. On nearing the house I heard the loud singing +of a large choir of peasant women. They were welcoming my daughter, +celebrating her return home after her marriage. In this singing, with +its cries and clanging of scythes, such a definite feeling of joy +cheerfulness and energy was expressed, that without noticing how it +infected me I continued on my way towards the house in a better mood +and reached home smiling and quite in good spirits. That same evening +a visitor, an admirable musician famed for his execution of classical +music and particularly of Beethoven, played us Beethoven’s sonata, +Opus 101. For the benefit of those who might otherwise attribute my +judgment of that sonata of Beethoven to non-comprehension of it, I +should mention that whatever other people understand of that sonata +and of other productions of Beethoven’s later period, I, being +very susceptible to music, understand equally. For a long time I +used to attune myself to delight in those shapeless improvisations +which form the subject-matter of the works of Beethoven’s later +period, but I had only to consider the question of art seriously, +and to compare the impression I received from Beethoven’s later +works with those pleasant, clear, and strong, musical impressions +which are transmitted, for instance, by the melodies of Bach (his +arias), Haydn, Mozart, Chopin (when his melodies are not overloaded +with complications and ornamentation), and of Beethoven himself in +his earlier period, and above all, with the impressions produced +by folk-songs,--Italian, Norwegian, or Russian,--by the Hungarian +_csárdäs_, and other such simple, clear, and powerful music, and the +obscure, almost unhealthy, excitement from Beethoven’s later pieces +which I had artificially evoked in myself, was immediately destroyed. + +On the completion of the performance (though it was noticeable that +everyone had become dull) those present, in the accepted manner, +warmly praised Beethoven’s profound production and did not forget +to add that formerly they had not been able to understand that last +period of his, but that they now saw he was really then at his very +best. And when I ventured to compare the impression made on me by the +singing of the peasant women--an impression which had been shared by +all who heard it--with the effect of this sonata, the admirers of +Beethoven only smiled contemptuously, not considering it necessary to +reply to such strange remarks. + +But for all that the song of the peasant women was real art +transmitting a definite and strong feeling, while the 101st sonata +of Beethoven was only an unsuccessful attempt at art, containing no +definite feeling and therefore not infectious. + +For my work on art I have this winter read diligently, though with +great effort, the celebrated novels and stories, praised by all +Europe, written by Zola, Bourget, Huysmans, and Kipling. At the same +time I chanced on a story in a child’s magazine, by a quite unknown +writer, which told of the Easter preparations in a poor widow’s +family. The story tells how the mother managed with difficulty to +obtain some wheat-flour, which she poured on the table ready to +knead. She then went out to procure some yeast, telling the children +not to leave the hut and to take care of the flour. When the mother +had gone, some other children ran shouting near the window, calling +those in the hut to come to play. The children forgot their mother’s +warning, ran into the street, and were soon engrossed in the game. +The mother, on her return with the yeast, finds a hen on the table +throwing the last of the flour to her chickens, who were busily +picking it out of the dust of the earthen floor. The mother, in +despair, scolds the children, who cry bitterly. And the mother begins +to feel pity for them--but the white flour has all gone. So to mend +matters she decides to make the Easter cake with sifted rye-flour, +brushing it over with white of egg and surrounding it with eggs. +“Rye-bread which we bake is as good as a cake,” says the mother, +using a rhyming proverb to console the children for not having an +Easter cake made with white flour. And the children, quickly passing +from despair to rapture, repeat the proverb and await the Easter cake +more merrily even than before. + + [Illustration: “THE DAY OF JUDGMENT” + _A painting by V. M. Vasnetsóv in Kief Cathedral + An example of a sort of picture Tolstoy disliked_] + +Well! the reading of the novels and stories by Zola, Bourget, +Huysmans, Kipling, and others, handling the most harrowing +subjects, did not touch me for one moment, and I was provoked with +the authors all the while as one is provoked with a man who considers +you so naïve that he does not even conceal the trick by which he +intends to take you in. From the first lines you see the intention +with which the book is written, the details all become superfluous, +and one feels dull. Above all, one knows that the author had no other +feeling all the time than a desire to write a story or a novel, and +so one receives no artistic impression. On the other hand I could +not tear myself away from the unknown author’s tale of the children +and the chickens, because I was at once infected by the feeling +the author had evidently experienced, re-evoked in himself, and +transmitted. + +Vasnetsóv is one of our Russian painters. He has painted +ecclesiastical pictures in Kief Cathedral, and everyone praises +him as the founder of some new, elevated kind of Christian art. He +worked at those pictures for ten years, was paid tens of thousands +of roubles for them, and they are all simply bad imitations of +imitations of imitations, destitute of any spark of feeling. And this +same Vasnetsóv drew a picture for Turgénev’s story “The Quail” (in +which it is told how a son pitied a quail that he had seen his father +kill) showing the boy asleep with pouting upper lip, and above him, +as a dream, the quail. And this picture is a true work of art. + +In the English Academy of 1897 two pictures were exhibited together; +one of which, by J. C. Dollman, was the temptation of St. Anthony. +The Saint is on his knees praying. Behind him stands a naked woman +and animals of some kind. It is apparent that the naked woman pleased +the artist very much, but that Anthony did not concern him at all; +and that so far from the temptation being terrible to him (the +artist) it is highly agreeable. And therefore if there be any art in +this picture, it is very nasty and false. Next in the same book of +academy pictures comes a picture by Langley, showing a stray beggar +boy, who has evidently been called in by a woman who has taken pity +on him. The boy, pitifully drawing his bare feet under the bench, +is eating; the woman is looking on, probably considering whether he +will not want some more; and a girl of about seven, leaning on her +arm, is carefully and seriously looking on, not taking her eyes from +the hungry boy and evidently understanding for the first time what +poverty is, and what inequality among people is, and asking herself +why she has everything provided for her while this boy goes barefoot +and hungry? She feels sorry and yet pleased. And she loves both the +boy and goodness.... And one feels that the artist loved this girl, +and that she too loves. And this picture, by an artist who, I think, +is not very widely known, is an admirable and true work of art. + +I remember seeing a performance of _Hamlet_ by Rossi. Both the +tragedy itself and the performer who took the chief part are +considered by our critics to represent the climax of supreme dramatic +art. And yet, both from the subject-matter of the drama and from the +performance, I experienced all the time that peculiar suffering which +is caused by false imitations of works of art. And I lately read of a +theatrical performance among a savage tribe--the Voguls. A spectator +describes the play. A big Vogul and a little one, both dressed in +reindeer skins, represent a reindeer-doe and its young. A third +Vogul, with a bow, represents a huntsman on snow-shoes, and a fourth +imitates with his voice a bird that warns the reindeer of their +danger. The play is that the huntsman follows the track that the doe +with its young one has travelled. The deer run off the scene and +again reappear. (Such performances take place in a small tent-house.) +The huntsman gains more and more on the pursued. The little deer +is tired and presses against its mother. The doe stops to draw +breath. The hunter comes up with them and draws his bow. But just +then the bird sounds its note, warning the deer of their danger. They +escape. Again there is a chase and again the hunter gains on them, +catches them, and lets fly his arrow. The arrow strikes the young +deer. Unable to run, the little one presses against its mother. The +mother licks its wound. The hunter draws another arrow. The audience, +as the eye-witness describes them, are paralysed with suspense; deep +groans and even weeping are heard among them. And from the mere +description I felt that this was a true work of art. + + [Illustration: + A sketch illustrating Turgenev’s story, + “THE QUAIL” + _By V. M. Vasnetsóv_] + +What I am saying will be considered irrational paradox at which +one can only be amazed; but for all that I must say what I think, +namely, that people of our circle, of whom some compose verses, +stories, novels, operas, symphonies, and sonatas, paint all kinds +of pictures and make statues, while others hear and look at these +things, and again others appraise and criticise them all: discuss, +condemn, triumph, and generation after generation raise monuments +to one another--that all these people, with very few exceptions, +artists, and public, and critics, have never (except in childhood and +earliest youth, before hearing any discussions on art) experienced +that simple feeling familiar to the plainest man and even to a child, +that sense of infection with another’s feeling--compelling us to +rejoice in another’s gladness, to sorrow at another’s grief, and to +mingle souls with another--which is the very essence of art. And +therefore these people not only cannot distinguish true works of art +from counterfeits, but continually mistake for real art the worst and +most artificial, while they do not even perceive works of real art, +because the counterfeits are always more ornate, while true art is +modest. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + The quality of art, considered apart from its + subject-matter--_The sign of art: infectiousness. + Incomprehensible to those whose taste is perverted. Conditions + of infection: Individuality; Clearness; Sincerity._ + + +Art, in our society, has become so perverted that not only has bad +art come to be considered good, but even the very perception of what +art really is has been lost. In order to be able to speak about +the art of our society it is, therefore, first of all necessary to +distinguish art from counterfeit art. + +There is one indubitable sign distinguishing real art from its +counterfeit--namely, the infectiousness of art. If a man, without +exercising effort, and without altering his standpoint, on reading, +hearing, or seeing another man’s work experiences a mental condition +which unites him with that man and with other people who are also +affected by that work, then the object evoking that condition is a +work of art. And however poetic, realistic, striking, or interesting, +a work may be, it is not a work of art if it does not evoke that +feeling (quite distinct from all other feelings) of joy and of +spiritual union with another (the author) and with others (those who +are also infected by it). + +It is true that this indication is an _internal_ one, and that there +are people who have forgotten what the action of real art is, who +expect something else from art (in our society the great majority are +in this state), and that therefore such people may mistake for this +esthetic feeling the feeling of diversion and a certain excitement +which they receive from counterfeits of art. But though it is +impossible to undeceive these people, just as it may be impossible +to convince a man suffering from colour-blindness that green is not +red, yet, for all that, this indication remains perfectly definite to +those whose feeling for art is neither perverted nor atrophied, +and it clearly distinguishes the feeling produced by art from all +other feelings. + + [Illustration: “CHARITY” + _By Walter Langley, British Academy, 1897_] + +The chief peculiarity of this feeling is that the recipient of a true +artistic impression is so united to the artist that he feels as if +the work were his own and not someone else’s--as if what it expresses +were just what he had long been wishing to express. A real work of +art destroys, in the consciousness of the recipient, the separation +between himself and the artist, nor that alone, but also between +himself and all whose minds receive this work of art. In this freeing +of our personality from its separation and isolation, in this uniting +of it with others, lies the chief characteristic and the great +attractive force of art. + +If a man is infected by the author’s condition of soul, if he feels +this emotion and this union with others, then the object which has +effected this is art; but if there be no such infection, if there be +not this union with the author and with others who are moved by the +same work--then it is not art. And not only is infection a sure sign +of art, but the degree of infectiousness is also the sole measure of +excellence in art. + +_The stronger the infection the better is the art_, as art, speaking +now apart from its subject-matter--that is, not considering the +quality of the feelings it transmits. + +And the degree of the infectiousness of art depends on three +conditions:-- + +(1) On the greater or lesser individuality of the feeling +transmitted; (2) on the greater or lesser clearness with which the +feeling is transmitted; (3) on the sincerity of the artist, that is, +on the greater or lesser force with which the artist himself feels +the emotion he transmits. + +The more individual the feeling transmitted the more strongly does +it act on the recipient; the more individual the state of soul into +which he is transferred the more pleasure does the recipient obtain +and therefore the more readily and strongly does he join in it. + +The clearness of expression assists infection because the recipient +who mingles in consciousness with the author is the better satisfied +the more clearly the feeling is transmitted which as it seems to +him he has long known and felt and for which he has only now found +expression. + +But most of all is the degree of infectiousness of art increased by +the degree of sincerity in the artist. As soon as the spectator, +hearer, or reader, feels that the artist is infected by his own +production and writes, sings, or plays, for himself and not merely +to act on others, this mental condition of the artist infects the +recipient; and, contrariwise, as soon as the spectator, reader, or +hearer, feels that the author is not writing, singing, or playing, +for his own satisfaction--does not himself feel what he wishes +to express--but is doing it for him, the recipient, resistance +immediately springs up and the most individual and the newest +feelings and the cleverest technique not only fail to produce any +infection but actually repel. + +I have mentioned three conditions of contagion in art, but they may +all be summed up into one, the last, sincerity, that is, that the +artist should be impelled by an inner need to express his feeling. +That condition includes the first; for if the artist is sincere he +will express the feeling as he experienced it. And as each man is +different from everyone else, his feeling will be individual for +everyone else; and the more individual it is--the more the artist +has drawn it from the depths of his nature--the more sympathetic and +sincere will it be. And this same sincerity will impel the artist to +find a clear expression of the feeling which he wishes to transmit. + +Therefore this third condition--sincerity--is the most important +of the three. It is always complied with in peasant art, and +this explains why such art always acts so powerfully; but it is a +condition almost entirely absent from our upper-class art, which +is continually produced by artists actuated by personal aims of +covetousness or vanity. + +Such are the three conditions which divide art from its counterfeits, +and which also decide the quality of every work of art considered +apart from its subject-matter. + +The absence of any one of these conditions excludes a work from the +category of art and relegates it to that of art’s counterfeits. If +the work does not transmit the artist’s peculiarity of feeling and is +therefore not individual, if it is unintelligibly expressed, or if it +has not proceeded from the author’s inner need for expression--it is +not a work of art. If all these conditions are present, even in the +smallest degree, then the work, even if a weak one, is yet a work of +art. + +The presence in various degrees of these three conditions: +individuality, clearness, and sincerity, decides the merit of a work +of art, as art, apart from subject-matter. All works of art take rank +of merit according to the degree in which they fulfil the first, the +second, and the third of these conditions. In one the individuality +of the feeling transmitted may predominate; in another, clearness +of expression; in a third, sincerity; while a fourth may have +sincerity and individuality but be deficient in clearness; a fifth, +individuality and clearness, but less sincerity; and so forth, in all +possible degrees and combinations. + +Thus is art divided from what is not art, and thus is the quality of +art, as art, decided, independently of its subject-matter, that is to +say, apart from whether the feelings it transmits are good or bad. + +But how are we to define good and bad art with reference to its +content or subject-matter? + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + _The quality of art, considered according to its + subject-matter. The better the feeling the better the art. + The cultured crowd. The religious perception of our age. + New ideals put fresh demands to art. Art unites. Religious + art. Universal art. Both co-operate to one result. The new + appraisement of art. Bad art. Examples of art. How to test a + work claiming to be art._ + + +How in art are we to decide what is good and what is bad in +subject-matter? + +Art, like speech, is a means of communication and therefore of +progress, that is, of the movement of humanity forward towards +perfection. Speech renders accessible to men of the latest +generations all the knowledge discovered by the experience and +reflection both of preceding generations and of the best and +foremost men of their own times; art renders accessible to men +of the latest generations all the feelings experienced by their +predecessors, and those also which are felt by their best and +foremost contemporaries. And as the evolution of knowledge proceeds +by truer and more necessary knowledge dislodging and replacing what +is mistaken and unnecessary, so the evolution of feeling proceeds +through art,--feelings less kind and less needful for the well-being +of mankind being replaced by others kinder and more needful for +that end. That is the purpose of art. And, speaking now of its +subject-matter, the more art fulfils that purpose the better the art, +and the less it fulfils it the worse the art. + +And the appraisement of feelings (that is, the acknowledgment of one +set of feelings or another as being more or less good, more or less +necessary for the well-being of mankind) is made by the religious +perception of the age. + +In every period of history and in every human society there +exists an understanding of the meaning of life which represents +the highest level to which men of that society have attained,--an +understanding defining the highest good at which that society +aims. This understanding is the religious perception of the given +time and society. And this religious perception is always clearly +expressed by a few advanced men, and more or less vividly perceived +by all the members of the society. Such a religious perception and +its corresponding expression exists always in every society. If it +appears to us that in our society there is no religious perception, +this is not because there really is none but only because we do not +want to see it. And we often wish not to see it because it exposes +the fact that our life is inconsistent with that religious perception. + +Religious perception in a society is like the direction of a flowing +river. If the river flows at all, it must have a direction. If a +society lives, there must be a religious perception indicating the +direction in which, more or less consciously, all its members tend. + +And so there always has been and is a religious perception in every +society. And it is by the standard of this religious perception that +the feelings transmitted by art have always been estimated. It has +always been only on the basis of this religious perception of their +age that men have chosen, from the endlessly varied spheres of art, +that art which transmitted feelings making religious perception +operative in actual life. And such art has always been highly valued +and encouraged; while art transmitting feelings already outlived, +flowing from the antiquated religious perceptions of a former +age, has always been condemned and despised. All the rest of art, +transmitting those most diverse feelings by means of which people +commune with one another, was not condemned, and was tolerated if +only it did not transmit feelings contrary to religious perception. +Thus for instance among the Greeks, art transmitting the feeling of +beauty, strength, and courage (Hesiod, Homer, Phidias) was chosen, +approved, and encouraged; while art transmitting feelings of rude +sensuality, despondency, and effeminacy, was condemned and despised. +Among the Jews, art transmitting feelings of devotion and submission +to the God of the Hebrews and to His will (the epic of Genesis, +the prophets, the Psalms) was chosen and encouraged, while art +transmitting feelings of idolatry (the golden calf) was condemned and +despised. All the rest of art--stories, songs, dances, ornamentation +of houses, of utensils, and of clothes--which was not contrary to +religious perception, was neither distinguished nor discussed. Thus +in regard to its subject-matter has art been appraised always and +everywhere and thus it should be appraised, for this attitude towards +art proceeds from the fundamental characteristics of human nature and +those characteristics do not change. + +I know that according to an opinion current in our times religion +is a superstition which humanity has outgrown, and it is therefore +assumed that no such thing exists as a religious perception common to +us all by which art in our time can be estimated. I know that this is +the opinion current in the pseudo-cultured circles of to-day. People +who do not acknowledge Christianity in its true meaning because it +undermines all their social privileges, and who therefore invent all +kinds of philosophic and esthetic theories to hide from themselves +the meaninglessness and wrongness of their lives, cannot think +otherwise. These people intentionally, or sometimes unintentionally, +confuse the notion of a religious cult with the notion of religious +perception, and think that by denying the cult they get rid of +religious perception. But even the very attacks on religion, and +the attempts to establish an idea of life contrary to the religious +perception of our times, most clearly demonstrate the existence of a +religious perception condemning the lives that are not in harmony +with it. + +If humanity progresses, that is, moves forward, there must inevitably +be a guide to the direction of that movement. And religions have +always furnished that guide. All history shows that the progress of +humanity is accomplished no otherwise than under the guidance of +religion. But if the race cannot progress without the guidance of +religion,--and progress is always going on, and consequently also +in our own times,--then there must be a religion of our times. So +that whether it pleases or displeases the so-called cultured people +of to-day, they must admit the existence of religion--not of a +religious cult, Catholic, Protestant, or another, but of religious +perception--which even in our times is the guide always present where +there is any progress. And if a religious perception exists amongst +us, then our art should be appraised on the basis of that religious +perception; and as has been the case always and everywhere art +transmitting feelings flowing from the religious perception of our +time should be chosen from amongst all the indifferent art, should +be acknowledged, highly valued, and encouraged; while art running +counter to that perception should be condemned and despised, and all +the remaining indifferent art should neither be distinguished nor +encouraged. + +The religious perception of our time, in its widest and most +practical application, is the consciousness that our well-being, +both material and spiritual, individual and collective, temporal and +eternal, lies in the growth of brotherhood among men--in their loving +harmony with one another. This perception is not only expressed by +Christ and all the best men of past ages, it is not only repeated in +the most varied forms and from most diverse sides by the best men of +our times, but it already serves as a clue to all the complex labour +of humanity, consisting, as this labour does, on the one hand in the +destruction of physical and moral obstacles to the union of men, and +on the other hand in establishing the principles common to all men +which can and should unite them in one universal brotherhood. And +it is on the basis of this perception that we should appraise all +the phenomena of our life, and among the rest our art also; choosing +from all its realms and highly prizing and encouraging whatever +transmits feelings flowing from this religious perception, rejecting +whatever is contrary to it, and not attributing to the rest of art an +importance not properly belonging to it. + +The chief mistake made by people of the upper classes at the time +of the so-called Renaissance,--a mistake we still perpetuate,--was +not that they ceased to value and to attach importance to religious +art (people of that period could not attach importance to it +because, like our own upper classes, they could not believe in what +the majority considered to be religion), but their mistake was +that they set up in place of religious art which was lacking, an +insignificant art which aimed only at giving pleasure, that is, they +began to choose, to value, and to encourage, in place of religious +art, something which in any case did not deserve such esteem and +encouragement. + +One of the Fathers of the Church said that the great evil is not +that men do not know God, but that they have set up, instead of God, +that which is not God. So also with art. The great misfortune of the +people of the upper classes of our time is not so much that they are +without a religious art, as that, instead of a supreme religious art +chosen from all the rest as being specially important and valuable, +they have chosen a most insignificant and, usually, harmful art, +which aims at pleasing certain people, and which therefore, if only +by its exclusive nature, stands in contradiction to that Christian +principle of universal union which forms the religious perception of +our time. Instead of religious art, an empty and often vicious art +is set up, and this hides from men’s notice the need of that true +religious art which should be present in life in order to improve it. + +It is true that art which satisfies the demands of the +religious perception of our time is quite unlike former art, +but, notwithstanding this dissimilarity, to a man who does not +intentionally hide the truth from himself what does form the +religious art of our age is very clear and definite. In former +times, when the highest religious perception united only some people +(who even if they formed a large society were yet but one society +surrounded by others--Jews, or Athenian or Roman citizens), the +feelings transmitted by the art of that time flowed from a desire for +the might, greatness, glory, and prosperity of that society, and the +heroes of art might be people who contributed to that prosperity by +strength, by craft, by fraud, or by cruelty (Ulysses, Jacob, David, +Samson, Hercules, and all the heroes). But the religious perception +of our times does not select any one society of men; on the contrary +it demands the union of all--absolutely of all people without +exception--and above every other virtue it sets brotherly love to all +men. And therefore the feelings transmitted by the art of our time +not only cannot coincide with the feelings transmitted by former art, +but must run counter to them. + +Christian, truly Christian, art has been so long in establishing +itself, and has not yet established itself, just because the +Christian religious perception was not one of those small steps by +which humanity advances regularly, but was an enormous revolution +which, if it has not already altered, must inevitably alter the +entire life-conception of mankind, and consequently the whole +internal organisation of their life. It is true that the life of +humanity, like that of an individual, moves regularly; but in that +regular movement come, as it were, turning-points which sharply +divide the preceding from the subsequent life. Christianity was +such a turning-point; such at least it must appear to us who live by +the Christian perception of life. Christian perception gave another, +a new, direction to all human feelings, and therefore completely +altered both the content and the significance of art. The Greeks +could make use of Persian art and the Romans could use Greek art, or, +similarly, the Jews could use Egyptian art,--the fundamental ideals +were one and the same. Now the ideal was the greatness and prosperity +of the Persians, now the greatness and prosperity of the Greeks, +now that of the Romans. The same art was transferred into other +conditions and served new nations. But the Christian ideal changed +and reversed everything, so that, as the Gospel puts it, “That which +was exalted among men has become an abomination in the sight of +God.” The ideal is no longer the greatness of Pharaoh or of a Roman +emperor, not the beauty of a Greek nor the wealth of Phœnicia, but +humility, purity, compassion, love. The hero is no longer Dives, but +Lazarus the beggar; not Mary Magdalene in the day of her beauty, but +in the day of her repentance; not those who acquire wealth, but those +who have abandoned it; not those who dwell in palaces, but those +who dwell in catacombs and huts; not those who rule over others, +but those who acknowledge no authority but God’s. And the greatest +work of art is no longer a cathedral of victory[121] with statues of +conquerors, but the representation of a human soul so transformed by +love that a man who is tormented and murdered yet pities and loves +his persecutors. + +And the change is so great that men of the Christian world find it +difficult to resist the inertia of the heathen art to which they have +been accustomed all their lives. The subject-matter of Christian +religious art is so new to them, so unlike the subject-matter of +former art, that it seems to them as though Christian art were +a denial of art, and they cling desperately to the old art. But +this old art, having no longer in our day any source in religious +perception, has lost its meaning, and we shall have to abandon it +whether we wish to or not. + +The essence of the Christian perception consists in the recognition +by every man of his sonship to God, and of the consequent union of +men with God and with one another, as is said in the Gospel (John +xvii. 21[122]). Therefore the subject-matter of Christian art is such +feeling as can unite men with God and with one another. + +The expression _unite men with God and with one another_ may seem +obscure to people accustomed to the misuse of these words which is so +customary, but the words have a perfectly clear meaning nevertheless. +They indicate that the Christian union of man (in contradiction to +the partial, exclusive union of only some men) is that which unites +all without exception. + +Art, all art, has this characteristic, that it unites people. Every +art causes those to whom the artist’s feeling is transmitted to +unite in soul with the artist and also with all who receive the same +impression. But non-Christian art, while uniting some people, makes +that very union a cause of separation between these united people +and others; so that union of this kind is often a source not only of +division but even of enmity towards others. Such is all patriotic +art, with its anthems, poems, and monuments; such is all Church +art, that is, the art of certain cults, with their images, statues, +processions, and other local ceremonies. Such art is belated and +non-Christian, uniting the people of one cult, only to separate them +yet more sharply from the members of other cults and even to place +them in relations of hostility to one another. Christian art is such +only as tends to unite all without exception, either by evoking in +them the perception that each man and all men stand in like relation +towards God and towards their neighbour, or by evoking in them +identical feelings, which may even be the very simplest provided +only that they are not repugnant to Christianity and are natural to +everyone without exception. + +Good Christian art of our time may be unintelligible to people +because of imperfections in its form or because men are inattentive +to it, but it must be such that all men can experience the feelings +it transmits. It must be the art not of some one group of people, nor +of one class, nor of one nationality, nor of one religious cult; that +is, it must not transmit feelings which are accessible only to a man +educated in a certain way, or only to an aristocrat, or a merchant, +or only to a Russian, or a native of Japan, or a Roman Catholic, or +a Buddhist, and so on, but it must transmit feelings accessible to +everyone. Only art of this kind can be acknowledged in our time to +be good art, worthy of being chosen out from all the rest of art and +encouraged. + +Christian art, that is, the art of our time, should be catholic in +the original meaning of the word, that is, universal, and therefore +it should unite all men. And only two kinds of feeling do unite all +men: first, feelings flowing from the perception of our sonship to +God and of the brotherhood of man; and next, the simple feelings +of common life accessible to everyone without exception--such as +feelings of merriment, of pity, of cheerfulness, of tranquillity, and +so forth. Only these two kinds of feelings can now supply material +for art good in its subject-matter. + +And the action of these two kinds of art, apparently so dissimilar, +is one and the same. The feelings flowing from the perception of +our sonship to God and of the brotherhood of man--such as a feeling +of sureness in truth, devotion to the will of God, self-sacrifice, +respect for and love of man--evoked by Christian religious +perception; and the simplest feelings--such as a softened or a merry +mood caused by a song or an amusing jest intelligible to everyone, +or by a touching story, or a drawing, or a little doll: both alike +produce one and the same effect, the loving union of man with man. +Sometimes people who are together, if not hostile to one another, +are, at least estranged in mood and feeling, till perhaps a story, +a performance, a picture, or even a building, but oftenest of all +music, unites them all as by an electric flash, and in place of their +former isolation or even enmity they are all conscious of union and +mutual love. Each is glad that another feels what he feels; glad of +the communion established not only between him and all present but +also with all now living who will yet share the same impression; +and, more than that, he feels the mysterious gladness of a communion +which, reaching beyond the grave, unites us with all men of the past +who have been moved by the same feelings and with all men of the +future who will yet be touched by them. And this effect is produced +both by the religious art which transmits feelings of love to God and +one’s neighbour, and by universal art transmitting the very simplest +feelings common to all men. + +The art of our time should be appraised differently from former art +chiefly in this, that the art of our time, that is, Christian art +(basing itself on a religious perception which demands the union of +man), excludes from the domain of art good in its subject-matter +everything transmitting exclusive feelings, which do not unite but +divide men. It relegates such work to the category of art bad in its +subject-matter, while on the other hand it includes in the category +of art good in subject-matter a section not formerly admitted as +deserving to be chosen out and respected, namely, universal art +transmitting even the most trifling and simple feelings if only they +are accessible to all men without exception and therefore unite +them. Such art cannot, in our time, but be esteemed good, for it +attains the end which the religious perception of our time, that is, +Christianity, sets before humanity. + +Christian art either evokes in men those feelings which, through love +of God and of one’s neighbour, draw them to closer and ever closer +union and make them ready for and capable of such union; or evokes +in them those feelings which show them that they are already united +in the joys and sorrows of life. And therefore the Christian art of +our time can be and is of two kinds: 1) art transmitting feelings +flowing from a religious perception of man’s position in the world in +relation to God and to his neighbour--religious art in the limited +meaning of the term; and 2) art transmitting the simplest feelings of +common life, but such, always, as are accessible to all men in the +whole world--the art of common life--the art of a people--universal +art. Only these two kinds of art can be considered good art in our +time. + +The first, religious art,--transmitting both positive feelings of +love to God and one’s neighbour, and negative feelings of indignation +and horror at the violation of love,--manifests itself chiefly in the +form of words, and to some extent also in painting and sculpture: the +second kind, universal art, transmitting feelings accessible to all, +manifests itself in words, in painting, in sculpture, in dances, in +architecture, and, most of all, in music. + +If I were asked to give modern examples of each of these kinds of +art, then, as examples of the highest art flowing from love of God +and man (both of the higher, positive and of the lower, negative +kind), in literature I should name _The Robbers_ by Schiller; +Victor Hugo’s _Les Pauvres Gens_ and _Les Misérables_; the novels +and stories of Dickens--_The Tale of Two Cities_, _The Christmas +Carol_, _The Chimes_, and others; _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_; Dostoevski’s +works--especially his _Memoirs from the House of Death_; and _Adam +Bede_ by George Eliot. + + [Illustration: “A TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION” + _A drawing by I. N. Kramskóy_] + +In modern painting, strange to say, works of this kind, directly +transmitting the Christian feeling of love of God and of one’s +neighbour, are hardly to be found, especially among the works of +the celebrated painters. There are plenty of pictures treating of +the Gospel stories; they however, while depicting historical events +with great wealth of detail, do not, and cannot, transmit religious +feelings not possessed by their painters. There are many pictures +treating of the personal feelings of various people, but of pictures +representing great deeds of self-sacrifice and Christian love there +are very few, and what there are are principally by artists who are +not celebrated, and are for the most part not pictures but merely +sketches. Such for instance is the drawing by Kramskóy (worth many +of his finished pictures), showing a drawing-room with a balcony, +past which troops are marching in triumph on their return from the +war. On the balcony stands a wet-nurse holding a baby, and a boy. +They are admiring the procession of the troops, but the mother, +covering her face with a handkerchief, has fallen back on the sofa +sobbing. Such also is the picture by Walter Langley to which I have +already referred, and such again is a picture by the French artist +Morlon, depicting a lifeboat hastening in a heavy storm to the +relief of a steamer that is being wrecked. Approaching these in kind +are pictures which represent the hard-working peasant with respect +and love. Such are the pictures by Millet, and particularly his +drawing, “The Man with the Hoe,” also pictures in this style by Jules +Breton, Lhermitte, Defregger, and others. As examples of pictures +evoking indignation and horror at the violation of love to God and +man, Gay’s picture “Judgment” may serve, and also Leizen-Mayer’s +“Signing the Death Warrant.” But there are very few of this kind +also. Anxiety about the technique and the beauty of the picture for +the most part obscures the feeling. For instance, Gérôme’s “Pollice +Verso” expresses, not so much horror at what is being perpetrated as +attraction by the beauty of the spectacle.[123] + +To give examples, from the modern art of our upper classes, of +art of the second kind, good universal art, or even of the art of +a whole people, is yet more difficult, especially in literature +and music. If there are some works which by their inner contents +might be assigned to this class (such as _Don Quixote_, Molière’s +comedies, _David Copperfield_ and _The Pickwick Papers_ by Dickens, +Gógol’s and Púshkin’s tales, and some things of Maupassant’s), +these works for the most part--from the exceptional nature of the +feelings they transmit, and the superfluity of special details of +time and locality, and above all on account of the poverty of their +subject-matter in comparison with examples of universal ancient art +(such, for instance, as the story of Joseph)--are comprehensible +only to people of their own circle. That Joseph’s brethren, being +jealous of his father’s affection, sell him to the merchants; that +Potiphar’s wife wishes to tempt the youth; that having attained the +highest station he takes pity on his brothers, including Benjamin +the favourite,--these and all the rest are feelings accessible +alike to a Russian peasant, a Chinese, an African, a child or an +old man, educated or uneducated; and it is all written with such +restraint, is so free from any superfluous detail, that the story +may be told to any circle and will be equally comprehensible and +touching to everyone. But not such are the feelings of Don Quixote or +of Molière’s heroes (though Molière is perhaps the most universal, +and therefore the most excellent, artist of modern times), nor of +Pickwick and his friends. These feelings are not common to all men +but very exceptional, and therefore to make them contagious the +authors have surrounded them with abundant details of time and +place. And this abundance of detail makes the stories difficult of +comprehension to all people not living within reach of the conditions +described by the author. + + [Illustration: “DER SALONTIROLER” + _A Society Huntsman_ + _By Franz Defregger_] + +The author of the novel of Joseph did not need to describe in detail, +as would be done nowadays, the blood-stained coat of Joseph, the +dwelling and dress of Jacob, the pose and attire of Potiphar’s wife, +and how adjusting the bracelet on her left arm she said, “Come to +me,” and so on, because the content of feeling in this novel is so +strong that all details except the most essential--such as that +Joseph went out into another room to weep--are superfluous and would +only hinder the transmission of emotion. And therefore this novel is +accessible to all men, touches people of all nations and classes, +young and old, and has lasted to our times, and will yet last for +thousands of years to come. But strip the best novels of our time of +their details, and what will remain? + +It is therefore impossible in modern literature to indicate works +fully satisfying the demands of universality. Such works as exist are +to a great extent spoilt by what is usually called “realism,” but +would be better termed “provincialism,” in art. + +In music the same occurs as in verbal art and for similar reasons. In +consequence of the poorness of the feeling they contain, the melodies +of the modern composers are amazingly empty and insignificant. And +to strengthen the impression produced by these empty melodies, the +new musicians pile complex modulations on to each trivial melody not +only in their own national manner, but also in the way characteristic +of their own exclusive circle and particular musical school. +Melody--every melody--is free and may be understood of all men; +but as soon as it is bound up with a particular harmony, it ceases +to be accessible except to people trained to such harmony, and it +becomes strange, not only to common men of another nationality, but +to all who do not belong to the circle whose members have accustomed +themselves to certain forms of harmonisation. So that music, like +poetry, travels in a vicious circle. Trivial and exclusive melodies, +in order to make them attractive, are laden with harmonic, rhythmic, +and orchestral complications and thus become yet more exclusive, and +far from being universal are not even national, that is, they are not +comprehensible to the whole people but only to some people. + +In music, besides marches and dances by various composers which +satisfy the demands of universal art, one can indicate very few works +of this class: Bach’s famous violin _aria_, Chopin’s nocturne in E +flat major, and perhaps a dozen bits (not whole pieces, but parts) +selected from the works of Haydn, Mozart, Schubert, Beethoven, and +Chopin.[124] + +Although in painting the same thing is repeated as in poetry and in +music--namely, in order to make them more interesting, works weak in +conception are surrounded by minutely studied accessories of time and +place which give them a temporary and local interest but make them +less universal--still in painting more than in the other spheres of +art may be found works satisfying the demands of universal Christian +art; that is to say, there are more works expressing feelings in +which all men may participate. + +In the arts of painting and sculpture, all pictures and statues in +so-called genre style, representations of animals, landscapes and +caricatures with subjects comprehensible to everyone, and also all +kinds of ornaments, are universal in subject-matter. Such productions +in painting and sculpture are very numerous (for instance, china +dolls), but for the most part such objects (for instance, ornaments +of all kinds) are either not considered to be art or are considered +to be art of a low quality. In reality all such objects, if only they +transmit a true feeling experienced by the artist and comprehensible +to everyone (however insignificant it may seem to us to be), are +works of real, good, Christian art. + +I fear it will here be urged against me, that having denied that +the conception of beauty can supply a standard for works of art, I +contradict myself by acknowledging ornaments to be works of good +art. The reproach is unjust, for the subject-matter of all kinds +of ornamentation consists not in the beauty but in the feeling (of +admiration at, and delight in, the combination of lines and colours) +which the artist has experienced, and with which he infects the +spectator. Art remains what it was and what it must be: nothing but +the infection by one man of another or of others with the feelings +experienced by the infector. Among those feelings is the feeling of +delight at what pleases the sight. Objects pleasing the sight may be +such as please a small or a large number of people, or such as please +all men. And ornaments for the most part are of the latter kind. A +landscape representing a very unusual view, or a genre picture of a +special subject, may not please everyone, but ornaments, from Yakútsk +ornaments to Greek ones, are intelligible to everyone and evoke a +similar feeling of admiration in all, and therefore this despised +kind of art should in Christian society be esteemed far above +exceptional pretentious pictures and sculptures. + +So that there are only two kinds of good Christian art: all the rest +of art not comprised in these two divisions should be acknowledged +to be bad art, deserving, not to be encouraged but to be driven +out, denied, and despised, as being art not uniting but dividing +people. Such in literary art are all novels and poems which transmit +ecclesiastical or patriotic feelings and also exclusive feelings +pertaining only to the class of the idle rich: such as aristocratic +honour, satiety, spleen, pessimism, and refined and vicious feelings +flowing from sex-love--quite incomprehensible to the great majority +of mankind. + +In painting, we must similarly place in the class of bad art all +ecclesiastical, patriotic, and exclusive pictures; all pictures +representing the amusements and allurements of a rich and idle life; +all so-called symbolic pictures, in which the very meaning of the +symbol is comprehensible only to the people of a certain circle; +and above all pictures with voluptuous subjects--all that odious +female nudity which fills all the exhibitions and galleries. And to +this class belongs almost all the chamber and opera music of our +times,--beginning especially with Beethoven (Schumann, Berlioz, +Liszt, Wagner),--by its subject-matter devoted to the expression of +feelings accessible only to people who have developed in themselves +an unhealthy nervous irritation evoked by this exclusive, artificial, +and complex music. + +“What! the _Ninth Symphony_ not a good work of art!” I hear exclaimed +by indignant voices. + +And I reply: Most certainly it is not. All that I have written I +have written with the sole purpose of finding a clear and reasonable +criterion by which to judge the merits of works of art. And this +criterion, coinciding with the indications of plain and sane sense, +indubitably shows me that that symphony of Beethoven’s is not a +good work of art. Of course, to people educated in the worship of +certain productions and of their authors, to people whose taste +has been perverted just by being educated in such a worship, the +acknowledgment that such a celebrated work is bad is amazing and +strange. But how are we to escape the indications of reason and +common sense? + +Beethoven’s _Ninth Symphony_ is considered a great work of art. To +verify its claim to be such I must first ask myself whether this work +transmits the highest religious feeling? I reply in the negative, +for music in itself cannot transmit those feelings; and therefore I +ask myself next, Since this work does not belong to the highest kind +of religious art, has it the other characteristic of the good art of +our time,--the quality of uniting all men in one common feeling: does +it rank as Christian universal art? And again I have no option but +to reply in the negative; for not only do I not see how the feelings +transmitted by this work could unite people not specially trained +to submit themselves to its complex hypnotism, but I am unable to +imagine to myself a crowd of normal people who could understand +anything of this long, confused, and artificial production, except +short snatches which are lost in a sea of what is incomprehensible. +And therefore, whether I like it or not, I am compelled to conclude +that this work belongs to the rank of bad art. It is curious to note +in this connection, that attached to the end of this very symphony +is a poem of Schiller’s which (though somewhat obscurely) expresses +this very thought, namely, that feeling (Schiller speaks only of +the feeling of gladness) unites people and evokes love in them. But +though this poem is sung at the end of the symphony, the music does +not accord with the thought expressed in the verses; for the music +is exclusive and does not unite all men, but unites only a few, +dividing them off from the rest of mankind. + +And just in this same way, in all branches of art, many and many +works considered great by the upper classes of our society will have +to be judged. By this one sure criterion we shall have to judge the +celebrated _Divine Comedy_ and _Jerusalem Delivered_, and a great +part of Shakespeare’s and Goethe’s work, and in painting every +representation of miracles, including Raphael’s Transfiguration, etc. + +Whatever the work may be and however it may have been extolled, +we have first to ask whether this work is one of real art or a +counterfeit. Having acknowledged, on the basis of the indication of +its infectiousness even to a small class of people, that a certain +production belongs to the realm of art, it is necessary, on this +basis to decide the next question, Does this work belong to the +category of bad exclusive art, opposed to religious perception, or +to Christian art, uniting people? And having acknowledged a work to +belong to real Christian art, we must then, according to whether it +transmits the feelings flowing from love to God and man or merely the +simple feelings uniting all men, assign it a place in the ranks of +religious art or in those of universal art. + +Only on the basis of such verification shall we find it possible to +select, from the whole mass of what in our society claims to be art, +those works which form real, important, necessary spiritual food, +and to separate them from all the harmful and useless art and from +the counterfeits of art which surround us. Only on the basis of such +verification shall we be able to rid ourselves of the pernicious +results of harmful art and avail ourselves of that beneficient action +which is the purpose of true and good art, and which is indispensable +for the spiritual life of man and of humanity. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + _Results of absence of true art. Results of perversion of art: + labour and lives spent on what is useless and harmful. The + abnormal life of the rich. Perplexity of children and plain + folk. Confusion of right and wrong. Nietzsche and Redbeard. + Superstition, Patriotism, and Sensuality._ + + +Art is one of two organs of human progress. By words man interchanges +thoughts, by the forms of art he interchanges feelings, and this with +all men not only of the present time but also of the past and the +future. It is natural to human beings to employ both these organs of +intercommunication and therefore the perversion of either of them +must cause evil results to the society in which it occurs. And these +results will be of two kinds: first, the absence in that society +of the work which should be performed by the organ, and secondly, +the harmful activity of the perverted organ. And just these results +have shown themselves in our society. The organ of art has been +perverted, and therefore the upper classes of society have to a great +extent been deprived of the effect that it should have produced. The +diffusion in our society of enormous quantities, on the one hand, +of those counterfeits of art which only serve to amuse and corrupt +people, and on the other hand, of works of insignificant exclusive +art, mistaken for the highest art, have perverted most men’s capacity +to be infected by true works of art, and have thus deprived them of +the possibility of experiencing the highest feelings to which mankind +has attained, which can only be transmitted from man to man by art. + +All the best that has been done in art by man remains strange to +people who lack the capacity to be infected by art, and is replaced +either by spurious counterfeits of art or by insignificant art, +which they mistake for real art. People of our time and of our +society are delighted with Baudelaires, Verlaines, Moréases, Ibsens, +and Maeterlincks, in poetry; with Monets, Manets, Puvis de Chavannes, +Burne-Joneses, Stucks, and Böcklins in painting; with Wagners, +Liszts, Richard Strausses, in music; and they are no longer capable +of comprehending either the highest or the simplest art. + +In the upper classes, in consequence of this loss of capacity to be +infected by works of art, people grow up, are educated and live, +lacking the fertilising, improving influence of art, and therefore +not only do not advance towards perfection, do not become kinder, +but, on the contrary, possessing highly-developed external means of +civilization, they yet tend to become continually more savage, more +coarse, and more cruel. + +Such is the result of the absence from our society of the activity +of that essential organ--art. But the consequences of the perverted +activity of that organ are yet more harmful. And they are numerous. + + [Illustration: “THE ANGELS AT THE TOMB OF CHRIST” + _By E. Manet_ + _An example of a sort of picture Tolstoy disliked_] + +The first consequence, plain for all to see, is the enormous +expenditure of the labour of working people on things which are not +only useless but, for the most part, are harmful; and more than that, +the waste of priceless human lives on this unnecessary and harmful +business. It is terrible to consider with what intensity and amid +what privations, millions of people--who lack time and opportunity to +attend to what they and their families urgently require--labour for +ten, twelve or fourteen hours on end, and even at night, setting the +type for pseudo-artistic books which spread vice among mankind, or +working for theatres, concerts, exhibitions, and picture galleries, +which for the most part also serve vice; but it is yet more terrible +to reflect that lively, kindly children, capable of all that is good, +are devoted from their early years to such tasks as these: that for +six, eight, or ten hours a day, and for ten or fifteen years, some +of them should play scales and exercises; others should twist +their limbs, walk on their toes, and lift their legs above their +heads; a third set should sing solfeggios; a fourth set, showing +themselves off in all manner of ways, should recite verses; a fifth +set should draw from busts or from nude models and paint studies; a +sixth set should write compositions according to the rules of certain +periods; and that in these occupations, unworthy of a human being, +which are often continued long after full maturity, they should +waste their physical and mental strength and lose all perception +of the meaning of life. It is often said that it is horrible and +pitiful to see little acrobats putting their legs over their necks, +but it is not less pitiful to see children of ten giving concerts, +and it is still worse to see schoolboys of ten who as a preparation +for literary work have learnt by heart the exceptions to the Latin +grammar. These people not only grow physically and mentally deformed +but also morally deformed, and become incapable of doing anything +really needed by man. Occupying in society the rôle of amusers of +the rich, they lose their sense of human dignity and develop in +themselves such a passion for public applause that they are always +a prey to an inflated and unsatisfied vanity which grows in them to +diseased dimensions, and they expend their mental strength in efforts +to obtain satisfaction for this passion. And what is most tragic of +all is that these people, who for the sake of art are spoilt for +life, not only do not render service to this art, but on the contrary +inflict the greatest harm on it. They are taught in academies, +schools, and conservatoires, how to counterfeit art, and by learning +this they so pervert themselves that they quite lose the capacity to +produce works of real art, and become purveyors of that counterfeit, +or trivial, or depraved, art which floods our society. This is the +first obvious consequence of the perversion of the organ of art. + +The second consequence is that the productions of amusement-art, +which are prepared in such terrific quantities by the armies of +professional artists, enable the rich people of our times to live +the lives they do, lives not only unnatural, but in contradiction to +the humane principles these people themselves profess. To live as +do the idle rich people, especially the women, far from nature and +from animals, in artificial conditions, with muscles atrophied or +misdeveloped by gymnastics, and with enfeebled vital energy, would be +impossible were it not for what is called art--for this occupation +and amusement which hides from them the meaninglessness of their +lives and saves them from the dulness that oppresses them. Take from +all these people the theatres, concerts, exhibitions, piano-playing, +songs, and novels, with which they now fill their time in full +confidence that occupation with these things is a very refined, +esthetic, and therefore good occupation; take from the patrons of art +who buy pictures, assist musicians, and are acquainted with writers, +their rôle of protectors of that important matter art, and they will +not be able to continue such a life, but will all be eaten up by +ennui and spleen, and will become conscious of the meaninglessness +and wrongfulness of their present mode of life. Only occupation +with what among them is considered art renders it possible for them +to continue to live on, infringing all natural conditions, without +perceiving the emptiness and cruelty of their lives. And this support +afforded to the false manner of life pursued by the rich is the +second consequence, and a serious one, of the perversion of art. + +The third consequence of the perversion of art is the perplexity +produced in the minds of children and plain folk. Among people not +perverted by the false theories of our society, among workers and +children, there exists a very definite conception of why people +should be respected and praised. In the minds of peasants and +children the ground for praise or eulogy can only be either physical +strength: Hercules, the heroes and conquerors; or moral, spiritual, +strength: Sakya Muni giving up a beautiful wife and a kingdom to save +mankind, Christ going to the cross for the truth he professed, and +all the martyrs and the saints. Both are understood by peasants and +children. They understand that physical strength must be respected, +for it compels respect; and the moral strength of goodness an +unperverted man cannot fail to respect, because his whole spiritual +being draws him towards it. But these people, children and peasants, +suddenly perceive that besides those praised, respected, and rewarded +for physical or moral strength, there are others who are praised +extolled and rewarded much more than the heroes of strength and +virtue, merely because they sing well, compose verses, or dance. They +see that singers, composers, painters, ballet-dancers, earn millions +of roubles and receive more honour than the saints do: and peasants +and children are perplexed. + +When fifty years had elapsed after Púshkin’s death and, simultaneously, +the cheap editions of his works began to circulate among the people +and a monument was erected to him in Moscow, I received more than a +dozen letters from different peasants asking why Púshkin was raised +to such dignity? And only the other day a literate[125] man from +Sarátov called on me who had evidently gone out of his mind over this +very question. He was on his way to Moscow to expose the clergy for +having taken part in raising a monument to Mr. Púshkin. + +Indeed, one need only imagine to oneself what the state of mind of +such a man of the people must be when he learns from such rumours and +newspapers as reach him, that the clergy, Government officials, and +all the best people in Russia, are triumphantly unveiling a statue +to a great man, the benefactor, the pride of Russia--Púshkin, of +whom till then he had never heard. On all sides he reads or hears +about this, and he naturally supposes that if such honours are +rendered to anyone, then without doubt he must have done something +extraordinary--either some feat of strength or of goodness. He tries +to learn who Púshkin was, and having discovered that Púshkin was +neither a hero nor a general but a private person and a writer, he +comes to the conclusion that Púshkin must have been a holy man and a +teacher of goodness, and he hastens to read or to hear his life and +works. But what must be his perplexity when he learns that Púshkin +was a man of more than easy morals, who was killed in a duel when +attempting to murder another man, and that all his service consisted +in writing verses about love, which were often very indecent. + +That a hero, or Alexander the Great, or Genghis Khan, or Napoleon, +was great, he understands, because any one of them could have crushed +him and a thousand like him; that Buddha, Socrates, and Christ, were +great he also understands, for he knows and feels that he and all men +should be such as they were; but why a man should be great because he +wrote verses about the love of women he cannot make out. + +A similar perplexity must trouble the brain of a Breton or Normandy +peasant who hears that a monument, “_une statue_” (as to the +Madonna), is being erected to Baudelaire, and reads, or is told, what +the contents of his _Fleurs du Mal_ are; or, more amazing still, to +Verlaine, when he learns the story of that man’s wretched, vicious +life, and reads his verses. And what confusion it must cause in +the brains of peasants when they learn that some Patti or Taglioni +is paid £10,000 for a season, or that a painter gets as much for +a picture, or that authors of novels describing love-scenes have +received even more than that. + +And it is the same with children. I remember how I passed through +this stage of amazement and stupefaction and only reconciled myself +to this exaltation of artists to the level of heroes and saints by +lowering in my own estimation the importance of moral excellence and +by attributing a false, unnatural meaning to works of art. And a +similar confusion must occur in the soul of each child and each man +of the people when he learns of the strange honours and rewards that +are lavished on artists. This is the third consequence of the false +relation in which our society stands towards art. + +The fourth consequence is that people of the upper classes, more and +more frequently encountering the contradictions between beauty and +goodness, put the ideal of beauty first, thus freeing themselves from +the demands of morality. These people, reversing the rôles, instead +of admitting, as is really the case, that the art they serve is an +antiquated affair, allege that morality is an antiquated affair which +can have no importance for people situated on that high plane of +development which they opine that they occupy. + +This result of the false relation to art showed itself in our society +long ago; but recently, with its prophet Nietzsche and his adherents, +and with the decadents and certain English esthetes who coincide with +him, it is being expressed with especial impudence. The Decadents, +and esthetes of the type at one time represented by Oscar Wilde, +select as a theme for their productions the denial of morality and +the laudation of vice. + +This art has partly generated and partly coincides with a similar +philosophic theory. I recently received from America a book entitled +_The Survival of the Fittest: Philosophy of Power_, 1896, by Ragner +Redbeard, Chicago. The substance of this book, as it is expressed +in the editor’s preface, is that to measure right by the false +philosophy of the Hebrew prophets and weepful Messiahs is madness. +Right is not the offspring of doctrine, but of power. All laws, +commandments, or doctrines as to not doing to another what you +do not wish done to you, have no inherent authority whatever, but +receive it only from the club, the gallows, and the sword. A man +truly free is under no obligation to obey any injunction, human or +divine. Obedience is the sign of the degenerate. Disobedience is the +stamp of the hero. Men should not be bound by moral rules invented by +their foes. The whole world is a slippery battlefield. Ideal justice +demands that the vanquished should be exploited, emasculated, and +scorned. The free and brave may seize the world. And therefore there +should be eternal war for life, for land, for love, for women, for +power, and for gold. (Something similar was said a few years ago by +the celebrated and refined academician, de Vogüé.) The earth with its +treasures is booty for the bold. + +The author has evidently by himself, independently of Nietzsche, come +to the same conclusions which are professed by the new artists. + +Expressed in the form of a doctrine these positions startle us. +In reality they are implied in the ideal of art serving beauty. +The art of our upper classes has educated people in this ideal of +the superman,--which is in reality the old ideal of Nero, Sténka +Rázin,[126] Genghis Khan, Robert Macaire,[127] or Napoleon, and all +their accomplices, assistants, and adulators,--and it supports this +ideal with all its might. + +It is this supplanting of the ideal of what is right by the ideal +of what is beautiful, that is, of what is pleasant, that is the +fourth consequence and a terrible one of the perversion of art in our +society. It is fearful to think of what would befall humanity were +such art to spread among the masses of the people. And it already +begins to spread. + +Finally, the fifth and chief result is that the art which flourishes +in the upper classes of European society has a directly vitiating +influence, infecting people with the worst feelings and with those +most harmful to humanity--superstition, patriotism, and, above all, +sensuality. + +Look carefully into the causes of the ignorance of the masses and +you may see that the chief cause does not at all lie in the lack of +schools and libraries, as we are accustomed to suppose, but in those +superstitions, both ecclesiastical and patriotic, with which the +people are saturated and which are unceasingly generated by all the +methods of art. Church superstitions are supported and produced by +the poetry of prayers, hymns, paintings, by the sculpture of images +and of statues, by singing, by organs, by music, by architecture, and +even by dramatic art in religious ceremonies. Patriotic superstitions +are supported and produced by verses and stories (which are supplied +even in schools), by music, by songs, by triumphal processions, by +royal meetings, by martial pictures, and by monuments. + +Were it not for this continual activity in all departments of art, +perpetuating the ecclesiastical and patriotic intoxication and +embitterment of the people, the masses would long ere this have +attained to true enlightenment. + +But it is not only in Church matters and patriotic matters that art +depraves; it is art in our time that serves as the chief cause of +the perversion of people in the most important question of social +life--in their sexual relations. We nearly all know by our own +experience, and those who are fathers and mothers know in the case +of their grown-up children also, what fearful mental and physical +suffering, what useless waste of strength, people suffer merely as a +consequence of dissoluteness in sexual desire. + +Since the world began, since the Trojan war which sprang from that +same sexual dissoluteness, down to and including the suicides and +murders of lovers described in almost every newspaper, a great +proportion of the sufferings of the human race have come from this +source. + +And what is art doing? All art, real and counterfeit, with very few +exceptions, is devoted to describing, depicting, and inflaming, +sexual love in every shape and form. If one remembers all those +novels and their lust-kindling descriptions of love, from the most +refined to the grossest, with which the literature of our society +overflows; if one only remembers all those pictures and statues +representing women’s naked bodies, and all sorts of abominations, +which are reproduced in illustrations and advertisements; if one only +remembers all the filthy operas and operettas, songs and ballads, +with which our world teems, involuntarily it seems as if existing art +had but one definite aim--to disseminate vice as widely as possible. + +Such are the most direct though not all the consequences of that +perversion of art which has occurred in our society. So that what in +our society is called art not only does not conduce to the progress +of mankind, but more than almost anything else hinders the attainment +of goodness in our lives. + +And therefore the question which involuntarily presents itself to +every man free from artistic activity and not bound to existing art +by self-interest, the question asked by me at the beginning of this +work: Is it just that to what we call art, to a something possessed +by but a small section of society, should be offered up such +sacrifices of human labour, of human lives, and of goodness, as are +now being offered up? receives the natural reply: No; it is unjust, +and these things should not be! Such is also the answer of sound +sense and unperverted moral feeling. Not only should these things not +be, not only should no sacrifices be offered up to what among us is +called art, but, on the contrary, the efforts of those who wish to +live rightly should be directed towards the destruction of this art, +for it is one of the most cruel of the evils that harass our section +of humanity. So that were the question put: Would it be preferable +for our Christian world to be deprived of _all_ that is now esteemed +to be art, and together with the false to lose _all_ that is good in +it? I think that every reasonable and moral man would again decide +the question as Plato decided it for his _Republic_, and as all the +early Church-Christian and Mahommedan teachers of mankind decided it, +that is, would say, Rather let there be no art at all than continue +the depraving art, or simulation of art, which now exists. Happily no +one has to face this question and no one need adopt either solution. +All that man can do, and that we--the so-called educated people +who are so placed that we have the possibility of understanding +the meaning of the phenomena of our life--can and should do, is to +understand the error we are involved in, and not harden our hearts in +it, out seek for a way of escape. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + _The purpose of human life is the brotherly union of man. Art + must be guided by this perception._ + + +The cause of the lie into which the art of our society has fallen was +that people of the upper classes, having ceased to believe in the +Church teaching (called Christian), did not resolve to accept true +Christian teaching in its real and fundamental principles of sonship +to God and brotherhood to man, but continued to live on without any +belief, endeavouring to make up for the absence of belief--some by +hypocrisy, pretending still to believe in the nonsense of the Church +creeds; others by boldly asserting their disbelief; others by refined +agnosticism; and others, again, by returning to the Greek worship of +beauty, proclaiming egotism to be right, and elevating it to the rank +of a religious doctrine. + +The cause of the malady was the non-acceptance of Christ’s teaching +in its real, that is, its full, meaning. And the only cure lies in +acknowledging that teaching in its full meaning. Such acknowledgement +in our time is not only possible but inevitable. Already to-day a +man standing on the height of the knowledge of our age, whether he +be nominally a Catholic or a Protestant, cannot say that he really +believes in the dogmas of the Church: in God being a Trinity, in +Christ being God, in the Scheme of Redemption, and so forth; nor can +he satisfy himself by proclaiming his unbelief or scepticism, nor by +relapsing into the worship of beauty and egotism. Above all he can no +longer say that we do not know the real meaning of Christ’s teaching. +That meaning has not only become accessible to all men of our times, +but the whole life of man to-day is permeated by the spirit of that +teaching and consciously or unconsciously is guided by it. + +However differently in form people belonging to our Christian world +may define the destiny of man: whether they see it in human progress +(in whatever sense of the words), in the union of all men in a +socialistic realm, or in the establishment of a commune; whether +they look forward to the union of mankind under the guidance of one +universal Church, or to the federation of the world--however various +in form their definitions of the destination of human life may be, +all men in our times already admit that the highest well-being +attainable by men is to be reached by their union with one another. + +However people of our upper classes (feeling that their ascendency +can only be maintained as long as they separate themselves--the rich +and learned--from the labourers, the poor, and the unlearned) may +seek to devise new conceptions of life by which their privileges +may be perpetuated--now the ideal of returning to antiquity, now +mysticism, now Hellenism, now the cult of the superior person +(supermanism)--they have, willingly or unwillingly, to admit the +truth which is becoming clear upon all sides voluntarily and +involuntarily, namely, that our welfare lies only in the union and +brotherhood of man. + +Unconsciously this truth is confirmed by the construction of +means of communication,--telegraphs, telephones, the press, and +the ever-increasing attainability of material well-being for +everyone--and consciously it is affirmed by the destruction of +superstitions which divide men, by the diffusion of the truths of +knowledge, and by the expression of the ideal of the brotherhood of +man in the best works of art of our time. + +Art is a spiritual organ of human life which cannot be destroyed, +and therefore, notwithstanding all the efforts made by people of the +upper classes to conceal the religious ideal by which humanity lives, +that ideal is more and more clearly recognised by man, and even in +our perverted society is more and more often partially expressed by +science and by art. During the present century works of the higher +kind of religious art, permeated by a truly Christian spirit, have +appeared more and more frequently both in literature and in painting, +as also works of the universal art of common life accessible to all. +So that even art knows the true ideal of our times and tends towards +it. On the one hand, the best works of art of our time transmit +religious feelings urging towards the union and the brotherhood +of man (such are the works of Dickens, Hugo, Dostoevski; and, in +painting, of Millet, Bastien Lepage, Jules Breton, Lhermitte, and +others); on the other hand, they strive towards the transmission, +not of feelings which are natural to people of the upper classes +only, but of such feelings as may unite everyone without exception. +There are as yet few such works, but the need of them is already +acknowledged. In recent times we also meet more and more frequently +with attempts at publications, pictures, concerts, and theatres, for +the people. All this is still very far from accomplishing what should +be done, but already the direction in which good art instinctively +presses forward to regain the path natural to it can be discerned. + +The religious perception of our time--which consists in acknowledging +that the aim of life (both collective and individual) is the union +of mankind--is already so sufficiently distinct that people have +now only to reject the false theory of beauty, according to which +enjoyment is considered to be the purpose of art, and religious +perception will naturally take its place as the guide of the art of +our time. + +And as soon as this religious perception which already unconsciously +directs the life of man is consciously acknowledged, then immediately +and naturally the division of art into art for the lower and art +for the upper classes will disappear. There will be one common, +brotherly, universal art; and then first, that art will naturally +be rejected which transmits feelings incompatible with the religious +perception of our time--feelings which do not unite, but divide +men--and later that insignificant, exclusive art will be rejected to +which an unmerited importance is now attributed. + +And as soon as this occurs, art will immediately cease to be, what it +has been in recent times, a means of making people coarser and more +vicious, and it will become what it always used to be and should be, +a means by which humanity progresses towards unity and blessedness. + +Strange as the comparison may sound, what has happened to the art of +our circle and time is what happens to a woman who sells her womanly +attractiveness, intended for maternity, for the pleasure of those who +desire such pleasures. + +The art of our time and of our circle has become a prostitute. And +this comparison holds good even in minute details. Like her it is not +limited to certain times, like her it is always adorned, like her it +is always saleable, and like her it is enticing and ruinous. + +A real work of art can only arise in the soul of an artist +occasionally, as the fruit of the life he has lived, just as a child +is conceived by its mother. But counterfeit art is produced by +artisans and handicraftsmen continually, if only consumers can be +found. + +Real art, like the wife of an affectionate husband, needs no +ornaments. But counterfeit art, like a prostitute, must always be +decked out. + +The cause of the production of real art is the artist’s inner need +to express a feeling that has accumulated, just as for a mother the +cause of sexual conception was love. The cause of counterfeit art, as +of prostitution, is gain. + +The consequence of true art is the introduction of a new feeling into +the intercourse of life, as the consequence of a wife’s love is the +birth of a new man into life. + +The consequences of counterfeit art are the perversion of man, +pleasure which never satisfies, and the weakening of man’s spiritual +strength. + +And this is what people of our day and of our circle should +understand, in order to avoid the filthy torrent of depraved and +prostituted art with which we are deluged. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + _The art of the future not the possession of a select + minority, but a means towards perfection and unity._ + + +People talk of the art of the future, meaning by art of the future +some especially refined new art which they imagine will be developed +out of that exclusive art of one class which is now considered +the highest art. But no such new art of the future can or will be +found. Our exclusive art, that of the upper classes of Christendom, +has found its way into a blind alley. The direction in which it +has been going leads nowhere. Having once let go of that which is +most essential for art (namely, the guidance given by religious +perception), that art has become ever more and more exclusive and +therefore ever more and more perverted, until finally it has come to +nothing. The art of the future, that which is really coming, will +not be a development of present-day art but will arise on completely +other and new foundations having nothing in common with those by +which our present art of the upper classes is guided. + +Art of the future, that is to say, such part of art as shall be +chosen from among all the art diffused among mankind, will consist, +not in transmitting feelings accessible only to members of the rich +classes as is the case to-day, but in transmitting feelings that +embody the highest religious perception of our times. Only those +productions will be considered art which transmit feelings drawing +men together in brotherly union, or such universal feelings as can +unite all men. Only such art will be chosen, tolerated, approved, +and diffused. But art transmitting feelings flowing from antiquated, +worn-out religious teaching,--ecclesiastical art, patriotic art, +voluptuous art, transmitting feelings of superstitious fear, of +pride, of vanity, of ecstatic admiration of national heroes,--art +exciting exclusive love of one’s own people, or sensuality, will be +considered bad, harmful art, and will be censured and despised by +public opinion. All the rest of art, transmitting feelings accessible +only to a section of people, will be considered unimportant and will +be neither blamed nor praised. And the appraisement of art in general +will devolve, not as is now the case on a separate class of rich +people, but on the whole people; so that for a work to be thought +good, and to be approved and diffused, it will have to satisfy the +demands, not of a few people living under similar and often unnatural +conditions but of all those great masses of people who undergo the +natural conditions of laborious life. + +Nor will the artists producing the art be, as now, merely a few +people selected from a small section of the nation, members of the +upper classes or their hangers-on, but they will consist of all those +gifted members of the whole people who prove capable of, and have a +leaning towards, artistic activity. + +Artistic activity will then be accessible to all men. It will become +accessible to the whole people because (in the first place) in the +art of the future not only will that complex technique which deforms +the productions of the art of to-day and requires so great an effort +and expenditure of time not be demanded, but on the contrary the +demand will be for clearness, simplicity, and brevity--conditions +brought about not by mechanical methods but through the education +of taste. And secondly, artistic activity will become accessible to +all men of the people because, instead of the present professional +schools which only some can enter, all will learn music and graphic +art (singing and drawing) equally with letters, in the elementary +schools, in such a way that every man, having received the first +principles of drawing and music and feeling a capacity for, and a +call to, one or other of the arts, will be able to perfect himself in +it. + +People think that if there are no special art-schools the technique +of art will deteriorate. Undoubtedly if by technique we understand +those _complexities_ of art which are now considered an excellence, +it will deteriorate; but if by technique is understood clearness, +beauty, simplicity, and compression, in works of art, then even +if the elements of drawing and music were not to be taught in the +national schools, the technique will not only not deteriorate but, as +is shown by all peasant art, will be a hundred times better. It will +be improved because all the artists of genius now hidden among the +masses will become producers of art and supply models of excellence +which (as has always been the case) will be the best schools of +technique for their successors. For every true artist even now learns +his technique chiefly, not in the schools, but in life, from the +examples of the great masters; then--when art will be produced by the +best artists of the whole nation and there will be more such examples +and they will be more accessible--such part of school training as +the future artist will lose will be a hundredfold compensated for by +the training he will receive from the numerous examples of good art +diffused in society. + +Such will be one difference between present and future art. Another +difference will be that art will not be produced by professional +artists receiving payment for their work and engaged on nothing else +besides their art. The art of the future will be produced by all the +members of the community who feel the need of such activity, but they +will occupy themselves with art only when they feel such need. + +In our society people think that an artist will work better and +produce more if he has a secured maintenance. And this opinion would +prove once more quite clearly, were such proof yet needed, that what +among us is considered art is not art but only a counterfeit. It is +quite true that for the production of boots or loaves division of +labour is very advantageous, and that the bootmaker or baker who need +not prepare his own dinner or fetch his own fuel will make more boots +or loaves than if he had to busy himself with these matters. But art +is not a handicraft; it is the transmission of feeling the artist has +experienced. And sound feeling can only be engendered in a man when +he is living in all respects a life natural and proper to man. And +therefore security of maintenance is a condition most harmful to an +artist’s true productiveness, since it removes him from the condition +natural to all men--that of struggle with nature for the maintenance +of both his own life and that of others--and thus deprives him of the +opportunity and the possibility of experiencing the most important +and most natural feelings of man. There is no position more injurious +to an artist’s productiveness than that position of complete security +and luxury in which artists usually live in our society. + +The artist of the future will live the common life of man, earning +his subsistence by some kind of labour. The fruits of that highest +spiritual strength which passes through him he will try to share with +the greatest possible number of people, for in such transmission +to others of the feelings that have arisen in him he will find +his happiness and reward. The artist of the future will be unable +to understand how an artist, whose chief delight is in the wide +diffusion of his works, could give them only in exchange for a +certain payment. + +Until the dealers are driven out, the temple of art will not be a +temple. But the art of the future will drive them out. + +And therefore the subject-matter of the art of the future, as I +imagine it to myself, will be totally unlike that of to-day. It +will consist, not in the expression of exclusive feelings: pride, +spleen, satiety, and all possible forms of voluptuousness, available +and interesting only to people who have freed themselves by force +from the labour natural to human beings; but it will consist in the +expression of feelings flowing from the religious perception of our +times, or open to all men without exception and experienced by a man +living a life natural to all men. + +To people of our circle who do not know and cannot or will not +understand the feelings which will form the subject-matter of the art +of the future, such subject-matter appears very poor in comparison +with those subtleties of exclusive art with which they are now +occupied. “What is there fresh to be said about the Christian feeling +of love to one’s fellow-man?” “The feelings common to everyone are so +insignificant and monotonous,” think they. And yet in our time the +really fresh feelings can only be religious, Christian feelings, and +such as are open and accessible to all. The feelings flowing from the +religious perception of our times, Christian feelings, are infinitely +new and varied, only not in the sense some people imagine,--not +because they can be evoked by depicting Christ and Gospel episodes or +by repeating in new forms the Christian truths of unity, brotherhood, +equality, and love,--but because all the oldest, commonest, and most +hackneyed phenomena of life evoke the newest, most unexpected and +poignant emotions as soon as a man regards them from the Christian +point of view. + +What can be older than the relations between married couples, of +parents to children, of children to parents; the relations of men +to their fellow-countrymen and to foreigners, to an invasion, to +defence, to property, to the land, or to animals? But as soon as a +man regards these matters from the Christian point of view, endlessly +varied, fresh, complex, and strong emotions immediately arise. + +And in the same way, that realm of subject-matter for the art of the +future which relates to the simplest feelings of common life open +to all will not be narrowed but widened. In our former art only the +expression of feelings natural to people of a certain exceptional +position was considered worthy of being transmitted by art, and even +then only on condition that these feelings were transmitted in a +most refined manner, incomprehensible to the majority of men; all +the immense realm of folk-art and children’s art--jests, proverbs, +riddles, songs, dances, children’s games, and mimicry--was not +esteemed a domain worthy of art. + +The artist of the future will understand that to compose a +fairy-tale, a touching little song, a lullaby or an entertaining +riddle, an amusing jest, or to draw a sketch which will delight +dozens of generations or millions of children and adults, is +incomparably more important and more fruitful than to compose a novel +or a symphony, or paint a picture, which will divert some members of +the wealthy classes for a short time and then for ever be forgotten. +The region of this art of the simple feelings accessible to all is +enormous and it is as yet almost untouched. + +The art of the future therefore will not be poorer but infinitely +richer in subject-matter. And the form of the art of the future will +also not be inferior to the present forms but infinitely superior. +Superior, not in the sense of having a refined and complex technique, +but in the sense of the capacity briefly, simply, and clearly to +transmit, without any superfluities, the feeling the artist has +experienced and wishes to transmit. + +I remember once speaking to a famous astronomer who had given public +lectures on the spectrum analysis of the stars of the Milky Way, +and saying it would be a good thing if, with his knowledge and +masterly delivery, he would give a lecture merely on the formation +and movements of the earth, for certainly there were many people +at his lectures on the spectrum analysis of the stars of the Milky +Way, especially among the women, who did not well know why night +follows day and summer follows winter. The wise astronomer smiled as +he answered, “Yes, it would be a good thing, but it would be very +difficult. To lecture on the spectrum analysis of the Milky Way is +far easier.” + +And so it is in art. To write a rhymed poem dealing with the times +of Cleopatra, or paint a picture of Nero burning Rome, or compose +a symphony in the manner of Brahms or Richard Strauss, or an opera +like Wagner’s, is far easier than to tell a simple story without any +unnecessary details yet so that it shall transmit the feelings of +the narrator, or to draw a pencil-sketch which should touch or amuse +the beholder, or to compose four bars of clear and simple melody +without any accompaniment, which should convey an impression and be +remembered by those who hear it. + +“It is impossible to us, with our culture, to return to a primitive +state,” say the artists of our time. “It is impossible for us now +to write such stories as that of Joseph or the Odyssey, to produce +such statues as the Venus of Milo, or to compose such music as the +folk-songs.” + +And indeed for the artists of our society and day it is impossible, +but not for the future artist who will be free from all the +perversion of technical improvements hiding the absence of +subject-matter, and who, not being a professional artist, and +receiving no payment for his activity, will only produce art when he +feels impelled to do so by an irresistible inner impulse. + +The art of the future will thus be completely distinct, both in +subject-matter and in form, from what is now called art. The only +subject-matter of the art of the future will be either feelings +drawing men towards union, or such as already unite them; and the +forms of art will be such as will be open to everyone. And therefore +the ideal of excellence in the future will not be exclusiveness +of feeling, accessible only to some, but, on the contrary, its +universality. And not bulkiness, obscurity, and complexity of form, +which are now valued, but, on the contrary, brevity, clearness, and +simplicity of expression. Only when art has attained to that, will +it neither divert nor deprave men as it does now, calling on them to +expend their best strength on it, but be what it should be--a vehicle +wherewith to transmit religious, Christian perception from the realm +of reason and intellect into that of feeling, and really drawing +people in actual life nearer to the perfection and unity indicated to +them by their religious perception. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + _The connection between science and art. The mendacious + sciences; the trivial sciences. Science should deal with the + great problems of human life, and serve as a basis for art._ + + + CONCLUSION + +I have accomplished, to the best of my ability, this work which has +occupied me for fifteen years, on a subject near to me--that of art. +By saying that this subject has occupied me for fifteen years, I do +not mean that I have been writing this book fifteen years, but only +that I began to write on art fifteen years ago, thinking that when +once I undertook the task I should be able to accomplish it without +a break. It proved however that my views on the matter then were so +far from clear that I could not arrange them in a way that satisfied +me. From that time I have never ceased to think on the subject, and +I have recommenced writing on it six or seven times; but each time, +after writing a considerable part of it, I have found myself unable +to bring the work to a satisfactory conclusion and have had to put +it aside. Now I have finished it; and however badly I may have +performed the task, my hope is that my fundamental thought on the +false direction the art of our society has taken and is following, on +the reasons of this, and on the real destination of art, is correct, +and that therefore my work will not be without avail. But that this +should come to pass, and that art should really abandon its false +path and take the new direction, it is necessary that another equally +important spiritual human activity--science--in intimate dependence +on which art always rests, should abandon the false path which it +too, like art, is following. + +Science and art are as closely bound together as the lungs and the +heart, so that if the one organ is vitiated the other cannot act +rightly. + +True science investigates and brings to human perception such +truths and such knowledge as the people of a given time and society +consider most important. Art transmits these truths from the region +of perception to the region of emotion. If therefore the path chosen +by science be false so also will be the path taken by art. Science +and art are like a certain kind of barge with kedge-anchors which +used to ply on our rivers. Science, like the boats which took the +anchors upstream and made them secure, gives direction to the forward +movement; while art, like the windlass worked on the barge to draw +it towards the anchor, causes the actual progression. And thus a +false activity of science inevitably causes a correspondingly false +activity of art. + +As art in general is the transmission of every kind of feeling, +but in the limited sense of the word we call nothing art unless +it transmits feelings acknowledged by us to be important, so also +science in general is the transmission of all possible knowledge, but +in the limited sense of the word we give the name of science to that +which transmits knowledge admitted by us to be important. + +And the degree of importance, both of the feelings transmitted by +art and of the information transmitted by science, is decided by the +religious perception of the given time and society, that is, by the +common understanding of the purpose of their lives possessed by the +people of that time or society. + +What most of all contributes to the fulfilment of that purpose will +be studied most; what contributes less will be studied less; what +does not contribute at all to the fulfilment of the purpose of human +life will be entirely neglected or, if studied, such study will not +be accounted science. So it always has been and so it should be now, +for such is the nature of human knowledge and of human life. But the +science of the upper classes of our time, which not only does not +acknowledge any religion, but considers every religion to be mere +superstition, could not and cannot make such distinctions. + +Scientists of our day affirm that they study _everything_ +impartially; but as everything is too much, is in fact an infinite +number of objects, and it is impossible to study all alike, this is +only said in theory, while in practice not everything is studied, +and study is applied far from impartially--only that being studied +which, on the one hand, is most wanted by, and on the other hand, is +pleasantest to, those people who occupy themselves with science. And +what the members of the upper classes who are occupying themselves +with science most want is the maintenance of the system under which +those classes retain their privileges; and what is pleasantest are +such things as satisfy idle curiosity, do not demand great mental +effort, and can be practically applied. + +And therefore one side of science, including theology and philosophy +adapted to the existing order, as also history and political economy +of the same sort, are chiefly occupied in proving that the existing +order is the very one which ought to endure; that it has come into +existence and continues to exist by the operation of immutable +laws not amenable to human will, and that all efforts to change +it are therefore harmful and wrong. The other part, experimental +science--including mathematics, astronomy, chemistry, physics, +botany, and all the natural sciences--is exclusively occupied with +things that have no direct relation to the purpose of human life: +with what is curious, and with things of which practical application +advantageous to people of the upper classes can be made. And to +justify that selection of objects of study which (in conformity with +their own position) the men of science of our times have made, they +have devised a theory of science for science’s sake, quite similar +to the theory of art for art’s sake. + +As by the theory of art for art’s sake it appears that occupation +with all those things that please us--is art, so, by the theory of +science for science’s sake, the study of that which interests us--is +science. + +So that one side of science, instead of studying how people should +live in order to fulfil their mission in life, demonstrates the +righteousness and immutability of the bad and false arrangements +of life which exist around us; while the other part, experimental +science, occupies itself with questions of simple curiosity or with +technical improvements. + +The first of these divisions of science is harmful, not only because +it confuses people’s perceptions and gives false decisions, but also +by its mere existence, occupying the ground which should belong to +true science. It does this harm, that every man, in order to approach +the study of the most important questions of life, must first refute +these erections of lies which have for ages been piled around each of +the most essential questions of human life, and which are propped up +by all the strength of human ingenuity. + +The second division--the one of which modern science is so +particularly proud, and which is considered by many people to be the +only real science--is harmful in that it diverts attention from the +really important subjects to insignificant subjects, and is also +directly harmful in that, under the evil system of society which the +first division of science justifies and supports, a great part of the +technical gains of science are turned not to the advantage but to the +injury of mankind. + +Indeed, it is only to those who are devoting their lives to such +study that it seems as if all the inventions which are made in the +sphere of natural science were very important and useful things. +And to these people it seems so only when they do not look around +them and do not see what is really important. They only need tear +themselves away from the psychological microscope under which they +examine the objects of their study, and look about them, in order to +see how insignificant is all that has afforded them such naïve pride, +all that knowledge not only of geometry of n-dimensions, spectrum +analysis of the Milky Way, form of atoms, dimensions of human skulls +of the Stone Age, and similar trifles, but even our knowledge of +micro-organisms, X-rays, and so forth, in comparison with such +knowledge as we have thrown aside and handed over to the perversions +of the professors of theology, jurisprudence, political economy, +financial science, etc. We need only look around us to perceive that +the activity proper to real science is not the study of whatever +happens to interest us, but the study of how man’s life should be +established,--the study of those questions of religion, morality, +and social life, without the solution of which all our knowledge of +nature will be harmful or insignificant. + +We are highly delighted and very proud that our science renders it +possible to utilise the energy of a waterfall and make it work in +factories, or that we have pierced tunnels through mountains, and so +forth. But the pity of it is that we make the force of the waterfall +labour, not for the benefit of the workmen but to enrich capitalists +who produce articles of luxury or weapons of man-destroying war. The +same dynamite with which we blast the mountains to pierce tunnels, we +use for wars, which latter we not only do not intend to abstain from +but consider inevitable, and unceasingly prepare for. + +If we are now able to inoculate preventatively with diphtheritic +microbes, to find a needle in a body by means of X-rays, to +straighten a hunchback, cure syphilis, and perform wonderful +operations, we should not be proud of these acquisitions (even were +they all established beyond dispute) if we fully understood the true +purpose of real science. If but one-tenth of the efforts now spent +on objects of pure curiosity or of merely practical application +were expended on real science organising the life of man, more than +half the people now sick would not have the illnesses from which +a small minority of them get cured in hospitals. There would be +no poor-blooded and deformed children growing up in factories, no +death-rates, as now, of 50 per cent. among children, no deterioration +of whole generations, no prostitution, no syphilis, and no murdering +of hundreds of thousands in wars, nor those horrors of folly and of +misery which our present science considers a necessary condition of +human life. + +We have so perverted the conception of science that it seems strange +to men of our day to allude to sciences which should prevent the +mortality of children, prostitution, syphilis, the deterioration +of whole generations, and the wholesale murder of men. It seems +to us that science is only then real science when a man in a +laboratory pours liquids from one jar into another, or analyses +the spectrum, or cuts up frogs and porpoises, or weaves in a +specialised scientific jargon an obscure network of conventional +phrases--theological, philosophical, historical, juridical, or +politico-economical--semi-intelligible to the man himself and +intended to demonstrate that what now is, is what should be. + +But science, true science,--such science as would really deserve +the respect which is now claimed by the followers of one (the least +important) part of science,--is not at all of this kind: real science +lies in knowing what we should and what we should not believe, in +knowing how the associated life of man should and should not be +constituted: how to treat sexual relations, how to educate children, +how to use the land, how to cultivate it oneself without oppressing +other people, how to treat foreigners, how to treat animals, and +much more that is important for the life of man. + +Such has true science ever been and such it should be. And such +science is springing up in our times; but, on the one hand, such true +science is denied and refuted by all those scientific people who +defend the existing order of society, and, on the other hand, it is +considered empty, unnecessary, unscientific science by those who are +engrossed in experimental science. + +For instance, books and sermons appear, demonstrating the +antiquatedness and absurdity of Church dogmas, as well as the +necessity of making clear the reasonable religious perception +suitable to our times, and all the theology that is held to be +real science is only engaged in refuting these works and in +exercising human intelligence again and again upon finding support +and justification for superstitions long since out-lived, which +have now become quite meaningless. Or a sermon appears showing +that land should not be an object of private possession and that +the institution of private property in land is a chief cause of +the poverty of the masses. Apparently science, real science, +should welcome such a sermon and draw further deductions from +this position. But the science of our times does nothing of the +kind: on the contrary, political economy demonstrates the opposite +position, namely, that landed property, like every other form of +property, must be more and more concentrated in the hands of a small +number of owners. Again, in the same way, one would suppose it to +be the business of real science to demonstrate the irrationality, +unprofitableness, and immorality of war and of executions; or the +inhumanity and harmfulness of prostitution; or the absurdity, +harmfulness, and immorality of using narcotics or of eating animals; +or the irrationality, harmfulness, and antiquatedness of patriotism. +And such works exist, but are all considered unscientific; while +works to prove that all these things ought to continue, and works +intended to satisfy an idle thirst for knowledge lacking any relation +to human life, are considered to be scientific. + +The deviation of the science of our time from its true purpose is +strikingly illustrated by those ideals which are put forward by +some scientists, and are not denied but admitted by the majority of +scientific men. + +These ideals are expressed not only in stupid, fashionable books, +describing the world as it will be a thousand or three thousand years +hence, but also by sociologists who consider themselves serious men +of science. These ideals are that food, instead of being obtained +from the land by agriculture, will be prepared in laboratories +by chemical means, and that human labour will be almost entirely +superseded by the utilisation of natural forces. + +Man will not, as now, eat an egg laid by a hen he has kept, or bread +grown on his field, or an apple from a tree he has reared and which +has blossomed and matured in his sight; but he will eat tasty, +nutritious food prepared in laboratories by the conjoint labour of +many people, in which he will share to a small extent. Man will +hardly need to labour, so that all men will be able to yield to +idleness as the upper, ruling classes now yield to it. + +Nothing shows more plainly than these ideals to what a degree the +science of our times has deviated from the true path. + +The great majority of men in our times lack good and sufficient food +(as well as dwellings and clothes and all the first necessities of +life). And this great majority of men is compelled, to the injury of +its well-being, to labour continually beyond its strength. Both these +evils can easily be removed by abolishing mutual strife, luxury, and +the unrighteous distribution of wealth--in a word by the abolition +of a false and harmful order and the establishment of a reasonable, +human manner of life. But science considers the existing order +of things to be as immutable as the movements of the planets, and +therefore assumes that the purpose of science is, not to elucidate +the falseness of this order and to arrange a new, reasonable way of +life, but, under the existing order of things, to feed everybody +and enable all to be as idle as the ruling classes, living depraved +lives, now are. + +And, meanwhile, it is forgotten that nourishment by corn, vegetables, +and fruit, raised from the soil by one’s own labour, is the +pleasantest, healthiest, easiest, and most natural nourishment, and +that the work of using one’s muscles is as necessary a condition of +life as is the oxidation of the blood by breathing. + +To invent means whereby people, while continuing our false division +of property and labour, might be well nourished by means of +chemically-prepared food and might make the forces of nature work for +them, is like inventing means to pump oxygen into the lungs of a man +kept in a closed chamber the air of which is bad, when all that is +needed is for the man no longer to be confined in a closed chamber. + +In the vegetable and animal kingdoms a laboratory has been arranged +for the production of food such as can be surpassed by no professors, +and to enjoy the fruits of this laboratory and to participate in it +man has only to yield to that ever joyful impulse to labour without +which his life is a torment. And lo and behold! the scientists +of our times, instead of employing all their strength to abolish +whatever hinders man from utilising the good things prepared for +him, acknowledge the conditions under which man is deprived of these +blessings to be unalterable; and instead of arranging the life of man +so that he may work joyfully and be fed from the soil, they devise +methods which will cause him to become an artificial abortion. It is +like not helping a man out of confinement into the fresh air, but +devising means, instead, to pump into him the necessary quantity +of oxygen, and arranging so that he may live in a stifling cellar +instead of living at home. + +Such false ideals could not exist if science were not on a false path. + +And yet the feelings transmitted by art grow up on the bases supplied +by science. + +But what feelings can such misdirected science evoke? One side of +this science evokes antiquated feelings which humanity has exhausted, +and which in our times are bad and exclusive. The other side, +occupied with the study of subjects unrelated to the conduct of human +life, by its very nature cannot serve as a basis for art. + +So that art in our times, to be art, must either open up its own +road independently of science, or must take direction from the +unrecognised science which is denounced by the orthodox section of +science. And this is what art, when it even partially fulfils its +mission, is doing. + +It is to be hoped that the work I have tried to perform concerning +art will be performed also for science: that the falseness of the +theory of science for science’s sake will be demonstrated; that +the necessity of acknowledging Christian teaching in its true +meaning will be clearly shown, and on the basis of that teaching +a reappraisement be made of the knowledge we possess and of which +we are so proud; that the secondariness and insignificance of +experimental science, and the primacy and importance of religious, +moral, and social knowledge, will be established; and that such +knowledge will not, as now, be left to the guidance of the +upper classes only, but will form a chief interest of all free, +truth-loving men, such as those who, not in agreement with the upper +classes but in their despite, have always forwarded the real science +of life. + +Astronomical, physical, chemical, and biological science, as also +technical and medical science, will be studied only in so far as +they can help to free mankind from religious, juridical, or social +deceptions, or can serve to promote the well-being of all men and not +of any single class. + +Only then will science cease to be what it is now--on the one hand +a system of sophistries, needed for the maintenance of the existing +worn-out order of society, and on the other hand a shapeless mass +of miscellaneous knowledge, for the most part good for little or +nothing--and become a shapely and organic whole having a definite and +reasonable purpose comprehensible to all men, namely, the purpose of +bringing to the consciousness of men the truths that flow from the +religious perception of our times. + +And only then will art, which is always dependent on science, be what +it might and should be, an organ co-equally important with science +for the life and progress of mankind. + +Art is not a pleasure, a solace, or an amusement; art is a great +matter. Art is an organ of human life transmitting man’s reasonable +perception into feeling. In our age the common religious perception +of men is the consciousness of the brotherhood of man--we know that +the well-being of man lies in union with his fellow-men. True science +should indicate the various methods of applying this consciousness to +life. Art should transform this perception into feeling. + +The task of art is enormous. Through the influence of real art, +aided by science, guided by religion, that peaceful co-operation of +man which is now maintained by external means,--by our law-courts, +police, charitable institutions, factory inspection, and so +forth,--should be obtained by man’s free and joyous activity. Art +should cause violence to be set aside.[128] + +And it is only art that can accomplish this. + +All that now, independently of the fear of violence and punishment, +makes the social life of man possible (and already this is an +enormous part of the order of our lives)--all this has been brought +about by art. If by art has been inculcated how people should treat +religious objects, their parents, their children, their wives, their +relations, strangers, foreigners; how to conduct themselves towards +their elders, their superiors, towards those who suffer, towards +their enemies, and towards animals; and if this has been obeyed +through generations by millions of people, not only unenforced by +any violence but so that the force of such customs can be shaken in +no way but by means of art: then by art also other customs, more in +accord with the religious perception of our time, may be evoked. If +art has been able to convey the sentiment of reverence for images, +for the Eucharist, and for the king’s person; of shame at betraying a +comrade, devotion to a flag, the necessity of revenge for an insult, +the need to sacrifice one’s labour for the erection and adornment of +churches, the duty of defending one’s honour, or the glory of one’s +native land--then that same art can also evoke reverence for the +dignity of every man and for the life of every animal; can make men +ashamed of luxury, of violence, of revenge, or of using for their +pleasure that of which others are in need; can compel people freely, +gladly, and without noticing it, to sacrifice themselves in the +service of man. + +The task for art to accomplish is to make that feeling of brotherhood +and love of one’s neighbour now attained only by the best members +of society, the customary feeling and the instinct of all men. By +evoking under imaginary conditions the feeling of brotherhood and +love, religious art will train men to experience those same feelings +under similar circumstances in actual life; it will lay in the souls +of men the rails along which the actions of those whom art thus +educates will naturally pass. And universal art, by uniting the most +different people in one common feeling, by destroying separation, +will educate people to union, and will show them, not by reason but +by life itself, the joy of universal union reaching beyond the bounds +set by life. + +The destiny of art in our time is to transmit, from the realm of +reason to the realm of feeling, the truth that well-being for men +consists in their being united together, and to set up, in place +of the existing reign of force, that kingdom of God--that is, of +love--which we all recognise to be the highest aim of human life. + +Possibly in the future, science may reveal to art yet newer and +higher ideals which art may realise; but in our time the destiny of +art is clear and definite. The task of Christian art is to establish +brotherly union among men. + + + + + APPENDICES + + + APPENDIX I + +Translations of French poems and prose quoted in Chapter X.[129] + + + _BAUDELAIRE’S “FLOWERS OF EVIL”_ + + No. XXIV + + I adore thee as much as the vaults of night, + O vessel of grief, taciturnity great, + And I love thee the more because of thy flight. + It seemeth, my night’s beautifier, that you + Still heap up those leagues--yes! ironically heap!-- + That divide from my arms the immensity blue. + + I advance to attack, I climb to assault, + Like a choir of young worms at a corpse in the vault; + Thy coldness, oh cruel, implacable beast! + Yet heightens thy beauty, on which my eyes feast! + + + _BAUDELAIRE’S “FLOWERS OF EVIL”_ + + No. XXXVI + + _DUELLUM_ + + Two warriors come running, to fight they begin, + With gleaming and blood they bespatter the air; + These games, and this clatter of arms, is the din + Of youth that’s a prey to the raging of love. + + The rapiers are broken! and so is our youth, + But the dagger’s avenged, dear! and so is the sword, + By the nail that is steeled and the hardened tooth. + Oh! the fury of hearts aged and ulcered by love! + + In the ditch, where the ounce and the pard have their lair, + Our heroes have rolled in an angry embrace; + Their skin blooms on brambles that erewhile were bare. + + That ravine is a friend-inhabited hell! + Then let us roll in, oh woman inhuman, + To immortalise hatred that nothing can quell! + + + FROM BAUDELAIRE’S PROSE WORK ENTITLED + ‘LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE’ + + _THE STRANGER_ + +Whom dost thou love best? say, enigmatical man--thy father, thy +mother, thy sister, or thy brother? + +“I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.” + +Thy friends? + +“There you use an expression the meaning of which till now remains +unknown to me.” + +Thy country? + +“I know not in what latitude it is situated.” + +Beauty? + +“I would gladly love her, goddess and immortal.” + +Gold? + +“I hate it, as you hate God.” + +Then what do you love, extraordinary stranger? + +“I love the clouds ... the clouds that pass ... there ... the +marvellous clouds!” + + + _THE SOUP AND THE CLOUDS_ + +My beloved little silly was giving me my dinner, and I was +contemplating, through the open window of the dining-room, those +moving architectures which God makes out of vapours, the marvellous +constructions of the impalpable. And I said to myself, amid my +contemplation, All these phantasmagoria are almost as beautiful as +the eyes of my beautiful beloved, the monstrous little silly with the +green eyes. + +Suddenly I felt the violent blow of a fist on my back, and I heard a +harsh, charming voice, an hysterical voice, as it were hoarse with +brandy, the voice of my dear little well-beloved, saying, Are you +going to eat your soup soon, you d---- b---- of a dealer in clouds? + + + _THE GALLANT MARKSMAN_ + +As the carriage was passing through the forest he ordered it to be +stopped near a shooting-gallery, saying that he wished to shoot off +a few bullets to _kill_ Time. To kill this monster, is it not the +most ordinary and the most legitimate occupation of everyone? And +he gallantly offered his arm to his dear, delicious, and execrable +wife--that mysterious woman to whom he owed so much pleasure, so much +pain, and perhaps also a large part of his genius. + +Several bullets struck far from the intended mark--one even +penetrated the ceiling; and as the charming creature laughed wildly, +mocking her husband’s awkwardness, he turned abruptly towards her and +said, Look at that doll there on the right with the haughty mien and +her nose in the air; well, dear angel, _I imagine to myself that it +is you_! And he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The doll was +neatly decapitated. + +Then, bowing towards his dear one, his delightful, execrable wife, +his inevitable, pitiless muse, and kissing her hand respectfully, he +added, Ah! my dear angel, how I thank you for my skill! + + + _VERLAINE’S FORGOTTEN AIRS_ + + No. I + + “The wind in the plain + Suspends its breath.”--FAVART. + + ’Tis ecstasy languishing, + Amorous fatigue, + Of woods all the shudderings + Embraced by the breeze, + ’Tis the choir of small voices + Towards the grey trees. + + Oh the frail and fresh murmuring! + The twitter and buzz, + The soft cry resembling + Breathed forth by the grass.... + Oh, the roll of the pebbles + ’Neath waters that pass! + + Oh, this soul that is groaning + In sleepy complaint! + In us is it moaning? + In me and in you? + Low anthem exhaling + While soft falls the dew. + + + _VERLAINE’S “FORGOTTEN AIRS”_ + + No. VIII + + In the unending + Dulness of this land, + Uncertain the snow + Is gleaming like sand. + + No kind of brightness + In copper-hued sky, + The moon you might see + Now live and now die. + + Grey float the oak trees-- + Cloudlike they seem-- + Of neighbouring forests, + Mists in between. + + Wolves hungry and lean, + And famishing crow, + What happens to you + When acrid winds blow? + + In the unending + Dulness of this land, + Uncertain the snow + Is gleaming like sand. + + + _SONG BY MAETERLINCK_ + + When he went away, + (Then I heard the door) + When he went away, + On her lips a smile there lay.... + + Back he came to her, + (Then I heard the lamp) + Back he came to her, + Someone else was there.... + + It was death I met, + (And I heard her soul) + It was death I met, + For her he’s waiting yet.... + + Someone came to say, + (Child, I am afraid) + Someone came to say + That he would go away.... + + With my lamp alight, + (Child, I am afraid) + With my lamp alight, + Approached I in affright.... + + To one door I came, + (Child, I am afraid) + To one door I came, + A shudder shook the flame.... + + At the second door, + (Child, I am afraid) + At the second door + Words did the flame outpour.... + + To the third I came, + (Child, I am afraid) + To the third I came, + Then died the little flame.... + + Should he one day return, + And see you lying dead? + Say I longed for him + When on my dying bed.... + + If he asks for you, + Say what answer then? + Give him my gold ring + And answer not a thing.... + + Should he question me + Concerning the last hour? + Say I smiled for fear + That he should shed a tear.... + + Should he question more + Without knowing me? + Like a sister speak; + Suffering he may be.... + + Should he question why + Empty is the hall? + Show the gaping door, + The lamp alight no more.... + + + + + APPENDIX II + +This is the first page of Mallarmé’s book _Divagations_, referred to +in Chapter X, page 215. + + + _LE PHÉNOMÈNE FUTUR_ + +Un ciel pâle, sur le monde qui finit de décrépitude, va peut-être +partir avec les nuages: les lambeaux de la pourpre usée des couchants +déteignent dans une rivière dormant à l’horizon submergé de rayons +et d’eau. Les arbres s’ennuient, et, sous leur feuillage blanchi +(de la poussière du temps plutôt que celle des chemins) monte la +maison en toile de Montreur de choses Passées: maint réverbère +attend le crépuscule et ravive les visages d’une malheureuse foule, +vaincue par la maladie immortelle et le péché des siècles, d’hommes +près de leurs chétives complices enceintes des fruits misérables +avec lesquels périra la terre. Dans le silence inquiet de tous les +yeux suppliant là-bas le soleil qui, sous l’eau, s’enfonce avec le +désespoir d’un cri, voici le simple boniment: “Nulle enseigne ne +vous régale du spectacle intérieur, car il n’est pas maintenant un +peintre capable d’en donner une ombre triste. J’apporte, vivante (et +préservée à travers les ans par la science souveraine), une Femme +d’autrefois. Quelque folie, originelle et naïve, une extase d’or, je +ne sais quoi! par elle nommé sa chevelure, se ploie avec la grâce des +étoffes autour d’un visage qu’ éclaire la nudité sanglante de ses +lèvres. A la place du vêtement vain, elle a un corps; et les yeux, +semblables aux pierres rares! ne valent pas ce regard qui sort de sa +chair heureuse: des seins levés comme s’ils étaient pleins d’un lait +éternel, la pointe vers le ciel, les jambes lisses qui gardent le sel +de la mer première.” Se rappelant leurs pauvres épouses, chauves, +morbides et pleines d’horreur, les maris se pressent: elles aussi par +curiosité, mélancoliques, veulent voir. + +Quand tous auront contemplé la noble créature, vestige de quelque +époque déjà maudite, les uns indifférents, car ils n’auront pas eu la +force de comprendre, mais d’autres navrés et la paupière humide de +larmes résignées, se regarderont; tandis que les poètes de ces temps, +sentant se rallumer leur yeux éteints, s’achemineront vers leur +lampe, le cerveau ivre un instant d’une gloire confuse, hantés du +Rythme et dans l’oubli d’exister à une époque qui survit à la beauté. + + + _THE FUTURE PHENOMENON_--BY MALLARMÉ + +A pale sky, above the world that is ending through decrepitude, about +perhaps to pass away with the clouds: shreds of worn-out purple of +the sunsets wash off their colour in a river sleeping on the horizon, +submerged with rays and water. The trees are weary and, beneath their +whitened foliage (whitened by the dust of time rather than that of +the roads) rises the canvas house of “Showman of Things Past.” Many a +lamp awaits the gloaming and brightens the faces of a miserable crowd +vanquished by the everlasting sickness and the sin of ages, of men +by the sides of their puny accomplices pregnant with the miserable +fruit through which the world will perish. In the anxious silence +of all the eyes there supplicating the sun, which sinks under the +water with the desperation of a cry, this is the plain announcement: +“No sign-board regales you with the spectacle that is inside, for +there is no painter now capable of giving even a sad shadow of it. I +bring, living (and preserved by sovereign science through the years), +a Woman of other days. Some kind of folly, naïve and original, an +ecstasy of gold, I know not what, by her called her hair, clings with +the grace of drapery round a face brightened by the blood-red nudity +of her lips. In place of vain clothing, she has a body; and her +eyes, resembling precious stones! are not worth that look which comes +from her happy flesh: breasts raised as if full of eternal milk, the +points towards the sky; the smooth legs, that keep the salt of the +first sea.” Remembering their poor spouses, bald, morbid, and full of +horrors, the husbands press forward: the women too, from curiosity, +gloomily wish to see. + +When all shall have contemplated the noble creature, vestige of +some epoch already damned, they will look at each other, some +indifferently, for they will not have had strength to understand, +but others broken-hearted and with eye-lids wet with tears of +resignation, while the poets of those times, feeling their dim eyes +rekindled, will make their way towards their lamp, their brain for an +instant drunk with confused glory, haunted by Rhythm and forgetful +that they exist at an epoch which has survived Beauty. + + + + + APPENDIX III + +Poems referred to in Chapter X, page 217. + + + No. 1 + +The following verse is by Henri de Régnier, from page 28 a volume of +his poems:-- + + + _L’ACCUEIL_ + + Si tu veux que ce soir, à l’âtre, je t’accueille-- + Jette d’abord la fleur, qui de ta main s’effeuille; + Son cher parfum ferait ma tristesse trop sombre; + Et ne regard pas derrière toi vers l’ombre, + Car je te veux, ayant oublié la forêt + Et-le vent, et l’écho et ce qui parlerait + Voix à ta solitude ou pleur à ta silence! + Et debout, avec ton ombre qui te devance, + Et hautine sur mon seuil, et pâle, et vénue + Comme si j’etais mort ou que tu fusses nue! + + Henri de Régnier: _Les jeux rustiques et devins_. + + + _THE WELCOME_ + + If you want us to-night by my fireside to greet-- + Drop the flower you hold that sheds petals so sweet; + Its dear scent would render my sadness too black; + And do not on the shadows behind you look back, + For I want you, forgetful of forest and wind, + Of echoes and all you’d recall to your mind + Giving voice to your silence, to solitude tears, + At my door, while before you your shadow appears, + And haughty and pale and erect you stand there-- + Just as if I were dead, or that naked you were. + + + No. 2 + +The following verses are by Vielé-Griffin, from page 28 of a volume +of his poems:-- + + + _OISEAU BLEU COULEUR DU TEMPS_ + + 1. + + Sais-tu l’oubli + D’un vain doux rêve, + Oiseau moqueur + De la forêt? + Le jour pâlit, + La nuit se lève, + Et dans mon cœur + L’ombre a pleuré; + + + 2. + + O chante-moi + Ta folle gamme, + Car j’ai dormi + Ce jour durant; + Le lâche emoi + Où fut mon âme + Sanglote ennui + Le jour mourant ... + + + 3. + + Sais-tu le chant + De sa parole + Et de sa voix, + Toi qui redis + Dans le couchant + Ton air frivole + Comme autrefois + Sous les midis? + + + 4. + + O, chante alors + La mélodie + De son amour, + Mon fol espoir, + Parmi les ors + Et l’incendie + Du vain doux jour + Qui meurt ce soir. + + FRANCIS VIELÉ-GRIFFIN: _Poèmes et Poésies_. + + + _BLUE BIRD COLOUR OF THE TIMES_ + + 1. + + Canst thou forget + In dreams so vain, + Oh, mocking bird + Of forest deep? + The day doth set, + Night comes again, + My heart has heard + The shadows weep; + + + 2. + + Thy tones let flow + In maddening scale, + For I have slept + The livelong day; + Emotions low + In me now wail, + My soul they’ve kept: + Light dies away ... + + + 3. + + That music sweet. + Ah, do you know + Her voice and speech? + Your airs so light + You who repeat + In sunset’s glow, + As you sang, each, + At noonday’s height. + + + 4. + + Of my desire, + My hope so bold, + Her love--up, sing, + Sing ’neath this light, + This flaming fire, + And all the gold + The eve doth bring + Ere comes the night. + + + No. 3 + +And here are some verses by the esteemed young poet Verhaeren, which +I also take from page 28 of his Works:-- + + + _ATTIRANCES_ + + Lointainement, et si étrangement pareils, + De grands masques d’argent que la brume recule, + Vaguent, au jour tombant, autour des vieux soleils. + + Les doux lointaines!--et comme, au fond du crépuscule, + Ils nous fixent le cœur, immensément le cœur, + Avec les yeux défunts de leur visage d’âme. + + C’est toujours du silence, à moins, dans la pâleur + Du soir, un jet de feu sondain, un cri de flamme, + Un départ de lumière inattendu vers Dieu. + + On se laisse charmer et troubler de mystère, + Et l’on dirait des morts qui taisent un adieu + Trop mystique, pour être écouté par la terre! + + Sont-ils le souvenir matériel et clair + Des éphèbes chrétiens couchés aux catacombes + Parmi les lys? Sont-ils leur regard et leur chair? + + Ou seul, ce qui survit de merveilleux aux tombes + De ceux qui sont partis, vers leurs rêves, un soir, + Conquérir la folie à l’assaut des nuées? + + Lointainement, combien nous les sentons vouloir + Un peu d’amour pour leurs œuvres destituées, + Pour leur errance et leur tristesse aux horizons. + + Toujours! aux horizons du cœur et de pensées, + Alors que les vieux soirs éclatent en blasons + Soudains, pour les gloires noires et angoissées. + + ÉMILE VERHAEREN, + _Poèmes_. + + + _ATTRACTIONS_ + + Large masks of silver, by mists drawn away, + So strangely alike, yet so far apart, + Float round the old suns when faileth the day. + + They transfix our heart, so immensely our heart, + Those distances mild, in the twilight deep, + Looking out of dead faces, with their spirit eyes. + + All around is now silence, except when there leap + In the pallor of evening, with fiery cries, + Some fountains of flame that Godward do fly. + + Mysterious trouble and charms us enfold, + You might think that the dead spoke a silent good-bye, + Oh! too mystical far on earth to be told! + + Are they the memories, material and bright, + Of the Christian youths that in catacombs sleep + ’Mid the lilies? Are they their flesh or their sight? + + Or the marvel alone that survives, in the deep, + Of those that, one night, returned to their dreams + Of conquering folly by assaulting the skies? + + For their destitute works--we feel it, it seems, + For a little love their longing cries + From horizons far--for their wanderings and pain. + + In horizons ever of heart and thought, + While the evenings old in bright blaze wane + Suddenly, for black glories anguish fraught. + + + No. 4 + +And the following is a poem by Moréas, evidently an admirer of Greek +beauty. It is from page 28 of a volume of his poems:-- + + + _ÉNONE AU CLAIR VISAGE_ + + Énone, j’avais cru qu’en aimant ta beauté + Où l’âme avec le corps trouvent leur unité, + J’allais, m’affermissant et le cœur et l’esprit, + Monter jusqu’à cela, qui jamais ne périt, + N’ayant été créé, qui n’est froidure ou feu, + Qui n’est beau quelque part et laid en autre lieu; + Et me flattais encor d’une belle harmonie + Que j’eusse composé du meilleur et du pire, + Ainsi que le chanteur qui chérit Polymnie, + En accordant le grave avec l’aigu, retire + Un son bien élevé sur les nerfs de sa lyre. + Mais mon courage, hélas! se pâmant comme mort, + M’enseigna que le trait qui m’avait fait amant + Ne fut pas de cet arc que courbe sans effort + La Vénus qui naquit du mâle seulement, + Mais que j’avais souffert cette Vénus dernière, + Qui a le cœur couard, né d’une faible mère. + Et pourtant, ce mauvais garçon, chasseur habile, + Qui charge son carquois de sagette subtile, + Qui secoue en riant sa torche, pour un jour, + Qui ne pose jamais que sur de tendres fleurs, + C’est sur un teint charmant qu’il essuie les pleurs, + Et c’est encore un Dieu, Énone, cet Amour. + Mais, laisse, les oiseaux du printemps sont partis, + Et je vois les rayons du soleil amortis. + Énone, ma douleur, harmonieux visage, + Superbe humilité, doux-honnête langage, + Hier me remirant dans cet étang glacé + Qui au bout du jardin se couvre de feuillage, + Sur ma face je vis que les jours out passé. + + JEAN MORÉAS: _Le Pélerin Passionné_. + + + _ENONE OF THE CLEAR VISAGE_ + + Enone, in loving thy beauty I thought + (Where the soul and the body to union are brought) + I should mount, by strengthening my heart and my mind, + Till that which knows nothing of Death I should find: + Uncreated, which is not here ugly, there fair, + Nor cold in one part and on fire otherwhere. + I flattered myself that the better and worse + To a harmony perfect should move in my verse; + As the poet who serves Polyhymnia can bring + The grave and the piercing to concord, and ring + Notes loftier still from the nerves of his lyre. + But my courage which now does but faintly suspire, + Nigh to death, hath proclaimed that the arrow--ah, woe!-- + Which pierced me, and first with this love made me moan, + Was no arrow dispatched from the easy-bent bow + By a Venus who sprang from a father alone. + But ’twas that other Venus who caused me to smart, + She, born of frail mother with cowardly heart. + Yet this naughty rascal, this hunter so bold, + Whose quiver does arrows of subtlety hold, + Who, laughing and shaking his torch (for a day!), + Never rests but upon tender flowers and gay, + And on a sweet skin dries his tears as they flow-- + ’Tis a God still, Enone, this Love that we know. + Let it pass, for the birds of the springtime are fled, + And I see the last rays of a sun that’s nigh dead. + Enone, my grief, ah harmonious face, + Humility grand, words of virtue and grace, + I looked yestere’en in the pond frozen fast, + Strewn with leaves at the end of the garden’s fair space, + And I read in my face that those days are now past. + + + No. 5 + +And this is also from page 28 of a thick book, full of similar poems, +by M. Montesquiou. + + + _BERCEUSE D’OMBRE_ + + Des formes, des formes, des formes + Blanche, bleue, et rose, et d’or + Descendront du haut des ormes + Sur l’enfant qui se rendort. + Des formes! + + Des plumes, des plumes, des plumes + Pour composer un doux nid. + Midi sonne; les enclumes + Cessent; la rumeur finit ... + Des plumes! + + Des roses, des roses, des roses + Pour embaumer son sommeil, + Vos pétales sont moroses + Près du sourire vermeil. + O roses! + + Des ailes, des ailes, des ailes + Pour bourdonner à son front, + Abeilles et demoiselles, + Des rythmes qui berceront. + Des ailes! + + Des branches, des branches, des branches + Pour tresser un pavilion, + Par où des clartés moins franches + Descendront sur l’oisillon. + Des branches! + + + Des songes, des songes, des songes + Dans ses pensers entr’ouverts + Glissez un pen de mensonges + A voir le vie au travers. + Des songes! + + Des fées, des fées, des fées, + Pour filer leurs écheveaux + Des mirages, de bouffées + Dans tous ces petits cerveaux. + Des fées. + + Des anges, des anges, des anges + Pour emporter dans l’éther + Les petits enfants étranges + Qui ne veulent pas rester ... + Nos anges! + + COMTE ROBERT DE MONTESQUIOU-FEZENSAC, + _Les Hortensias Bleues_. + + + _THE SHADOW LULLABY_ + + Forms, forms, forms + White, blue, and gold, and red + Descending from the elm trees, + On sleeping baby’s head. + Forms! + + Feathers, feathers, feathers + To make a cosy nest. + Twelve striking: stops the clamour; + The anvils are at rest ... + Oh feathers! + + Roses, roses, roses + To scent his sleep awhile, + Pale are your fragrant petals + Beside his ruby smile. + Oh roses! + + Wings, wings, wings + Of bees and dragon-flies, + To hum around his forehead, + And lull him with your sighs. + Oh wings! + + Branches, branches, branches + A shady bower to twine, + Through which, oh daylight, faintly + Descend on birdie mine. + Branches! + + Dreams, dreams, dreams + Into his opening mind, + Let in a little falsehood + With sights of life behind. + Dreams! + + Fairies, fairies, fairies, + To twine and twist their threads + With puffs of phantom visions + Into these little heads. + Fairies! + + Angels, angels, angels + To the ether far away, + Those children strange to carry + That here don’t wish to stay ... + Our angels! + + + + + APPENDIX IV + +These are the contents of the _Nibelungen Ring_: + +The first part tells that the nymphs, the daughters of the Rhine, +for some reason guard gold in the Rhine and sing: Weia, Waga, Woge +du Welle, Walle zur Wiege, Wagalaweia, Wallala, Weila, Weia, and so +forth. + +These singing nymphs are pursued by a dwarf (a nibelung) who desires +to seize them. The dwarf cannot catch any of them. Then the nymphs +guarding the gold tell the dwarf just what they ought to keep secret, +namely, that whoever renounces love will be able to steal the gold +they are guarding. And the dwarf renounces love and steals the gold. +This ends the first scene. + +In the second scene a god and a goddess lie in a field in sight of a +castle which giants have built for them. Presently they wake up and +are pleased with the castle, and they relate that in payment for this +work they must give the goddess Freia to the giants. The giants come +for their pay. But the god Wotan objects to parting with Freia. The +giants grow angry. The gods hear that the dwarf has stolen the gold, +and promise to confiscate it and to pay the giants with it. But the +giants won’t trust them, and seize the goddess Freia in pledge. + +The third scene takes place under ground. Alberich, the dwarf who +stole the gold, for some reason beats another dwarf, Mime, and takes +from him a helmet which has the power both of making people invisible +and of turning them into animals. The gods, Wotan and others, appear +and quarrel with one another and with the dwarfs, and wish to take +the gold, but Alberich won’t give it up, and (like everybody all +through the piece) behaves in a way to ensure his own ruin. He puts +on the helmet, and becomes first a dragon and then a toad. The gods +catch the toad, take the helmet off it, and carry Alberich away with +them. + +Scene IV. The gods bring Alberich to their home and order him to +command his dwarfs to bring them all the gold. The dwarfs bring it. +Alberich gives up the gold but keeps a magic ring. The gods take the +ring. So Alberich curses the ring and says it is to bring misfortune +on anyone who has it. The giants appear; they bring the goddess Freia +and demand her ransom. They stick up staves of Freia’s height, and +gold is poured in between these staves: this is to be the ransom. +There is not enough gold, so the helmet is thrown in, and they demand +the ring also. Wotan refuses to give it up, but the goddess Erda +appears and commands him to do so because it brings misfortune. Wotan +gives it up. Freia is released. The giants, having received the ring, +fight, and one of them kills the other. This ends the Prelude, and we +come to the First Day. + +The scene shows a house in a tree. Siegmund runs in tired, and lies +down. Sieglinda, the mistress of the house (and wife of Hunding), +gives him a drugged draught and they fall in love with each other. +Sieglinda’s husband comes home, learns that Siegmund belongs to a +hostile race, and wishes to fight him next day; but Sieglinda drugs +her husband and comes to Siegmund. Siegmund discovers that Sieglinda +is his sister, and that his father drove a sword into the tree so +that no one can get it out. Siegmund pulls the sword out, and commits +incest with his sister. + +Act II. Siegmund is to fight with Hunding. The gods discuss the +question as to whom they shall award the victory. Wotan, approving +of Siegmund’s incest with his sister, wishes to spare him, but under +pressure from his wife, Fricka, he orders the Valkyrie Brünnhilda to +kill Siegmund. Siegmund goes to fight. Sieglinda faints. Brünnhilda +appears and wishes to slay Siegmund. Siegmund wishes to kill +Sieglinda also, but Brünnhilda does not allow it, and he fights with +Hunding. Brünnhilda defends Siegmund, but Wotan defends Hunding. +Siegmund’s sword breaks, and he is killed. Sieglinda runs away. + +Act III. The Valkyries (divine Amazons) are on the stage. The +Valkyrie Brünnhilda arrives on horseback, bringing Siegmund’s body. +She is flying from Wotan, who is chasing her for her disobedience. +Wotan catches her, and as a punishment dismisses her from her post +as a Valkyrie. He also casts a spell on her, so that she has to go +to sleep and continue asleep until a man wakes her. When someone +wakes her she will fall in love with him. Wotan kisses her; she falls +asleep. He lets off fire, which surrounds her. + +We now come to the Second Day. The dwarf Mime forges a sword in a +wood. Siegfried appears. He is a son born from the incest of brother +with sister (Siegmund with Sieglinda), and has been brought up in +this wood by the dwarf. In general the motives for the actions of +everybody in this production are quite unintelligible. Siegfried +learns his own origin, and that the broken sword was his father’s. +He orders Mime to re-forge it, and then goes off. Wotan comes in the +guise of a wanderer and relates what will happen: that he who has not +learnt to fear will forge the sword and will defeat everybody. The +dwarf conjectures that this is Siegfried, and wants to poison him. +Siegfried returns, forges his father’s sword, and runs off, shouting, +“Heiho heiho heiho! Ho ho! Aha! oho! aha! Heiaho! heiaho! heiaho! Ho! +ho! Hahei! hoho! hahei!” + +And we get to Act II. Alberich sits guarding a giant, who, in form +of a dragon, guards the gold he has received. Wotan appears, and +for some unknown reason foretells that Siegfried will come and kill +the dragon. Alberich wakes the dragon and asks him for the ring, +promising to defend him from Siegfried. The dragon won’t give up +the ring. Exit Alberich. Mime and Siegfried appear. Mime hopes the +dragon will teach Siegfried to fear. But Siegfried does not fear. +He drives Mime away and kills the dragon, after which he puts his +finger, smeared with the dragon’s blood, to his lips. This enables +him to know men’s secret thoughts, as well as the language of birds. +The birds tell him where the treasure and the ring are, and also that +Mime wishes to poison him. Mime returns and says out loud that he +wishes to poison Siegfried. This is meant to signify that Siegfried, +having tasted dragon’s blood, understands people’s secret thoughts. +Siegfried, having learnt Mime’s intentions, kills him. The birds tell +Siegfried where Brünnhilda is, and he goes to find her. + +Act III. Wotan calls up Erda. Erda prophesies to Wotan, and gives +him advice. Siegfried appears, quarrels with Wotan, and they fight. +Suddenly Siegfried’s sword breaks Wotan’s spear, which had been +more powerful than anything else. Siegfried goes into the fire to +Brünnhilda and kisses her; she wakes up, abandons her divinity, and +throws herself into Siegfried’s arms. + +Third Day. Prelude. Three Norns plait a golden rope and talk about +the future. They go away. Siegfried and Brünnhilda appear. Siegfried +takes leave of her, gives her the ring, and goes away. + +Act I. By the Rhine. A king wants to get married and also to give his +sister in marriage. Hagen, the king’s wicked brother, advises him +to marry Brünnhilda and to give his sister to Siegfried. Siegfried +appears; they give him a drugged draught, which makes him forget all +the past and fall in love with the king’s sister, Gutrune. So he +rides off with Gunther, the king, to get Brünnhilda to be the king’s +bride. The scene changes. Brünnhilda sits with the ring. A Valkyrie +comes to her and tells her that Wotan’s spear is broken, and advises +her to give the ring to the Rhine nymphs. Siegfried comes and by +means of the magic helmet turns himself into Gunther, demands the +ring from Brünnhilda, seizes it, and drags her off to sleep with him. + +Act II. By the Rhine. Alberich and Hagen discuss how to get the ring. +Siegfried comes, tells how he has obtained a bride for Gunther and +how he spent the night with her but put a sword between himself and +her. Brünnhilda rides up, recognises the ring on Siegfried’s hand, +and declares that it was he, and not Gunther, who was with her. Hagen +stirs everybody up against Siegfried, and decides to kill him next +day when hunting. + +Act III. Again the nymphs in the Rhine relate what has happened. +Siegfried, who has lost his way, appears. The nymphs ask him for +the ring but he won’t give it up. Hunters appear. Siegfried tells +the story of his life. Hagen then gives him a draught which causes +his memory to return to him. Siegfried relates how he aroused and +obtained Brünnhilda, and everyone is astonished. Hagen stabs him +in the back, and the scene is changed. Gutrune meets the corpse +of Siegfried. Gunther and Hagen quarrel about the ring, and Hagen +kills Gunther. Brünnhilda cries. Hagen wishes to take the ring +from Siegfried’s hand, but the hand of the corpse raises itself +threateningly. Brünnhilda takes the ring from Siegfried’s hand, and +when Siegfried’s corpse is carried to the pyre she gets on to a horse +and leaps into the fire. The Rhine rises, and the waves reach the +pyre. In the river are three nymphs. Hagen throws himself into the +fire to get the ring, but the nymphs seize him and carry him off. One +of them holds the ring; and that is the end of the matter. + +The impression obtainable from my recapitulation is of course +incomplete. But however incomplete it may be it is certainly +infinitely more favourable than the impression which results from +reading the four booklets in which the work is printed. + + + + + PART XIV + + TOLSTOY’S VIEW OF ART + + +The substance of the following article appeared in the _Contemporary +Review_, August 1900, as a reply to critics who had misquoted, +misrepresented, or misunderstood Tolstoy. Their attacks were too +ephemeral for it to be necessary to reproduce the polemical part of +the reply; but, as previously remarked, what is worth preserving +is an explanation of Tolstoy’s position, which as it obtained his +unqualified approval is conclusive on certain matters in dispute. +In order to give the statement in the words Tolstoy endorsed I have +retained some passages which have appeared in previous chapters of +this book, and can only apologize to my readers for these repetitions. + +Tolstoy had great difficulty in presenting his opinions (especially +his religious and philosophic opinions) to the world. Several of +his books were prohibited in Russia. Those printed in Geneva were +carelessly edited, and (missing the attention Tolstoy usually gave to +his proof-sheets) contained errors that tripped up his translators. +Other works of his, permitted in Russia, were tampered with by the +Censor, who struck out what Tolstoy wrote and inserted words he +objected to, as, for instance, was the case in the Russian edition of +_What is Art?_ + +But, for non-Russian readers, the heaviest blow to Tolstoy’s +reputation as a clear and sane thinker was struck, not by the Censor, +but by translators who failed to reproduce his thought. Versions of +some of his most serious works appeared containing much absolute +nonsense. They were issued at a time when readers, surprised that a +novelist should undertake philosophic work, were wondering whether +they ought to regard Tolstoy seriously in his new rôle; and they +caused some to conclude that, as a philosopher, he need not be taken +seriously.[130] + +A man who spoke the truth as he saw it under constant risk of +persecution, whose works were suppressed or mutilated at home and +badly edited abroad, who was translated so that he was made to assert +what he in fact denied, has a special claim to fair treatment at the +hands of reviewers. But this claim was not always recognized. + +His rank among the foremost writers of fiction was not questioned; +but some of his philosophical works treating of human conduct, +activities, institutions, and beliefs, had a different fate. When +_What is Art?_ appeared, it had a mixed reception, though some +leading critics saw its value and one of them hailed it as “the most +important essay in pure criticism of recent years, and destined to +become a classic.” + +Tolstoy had in this book said much that was new, startling, and not +quickly digestible; and he had expressed it so caustically, had +been so severe on critics, specialists, professional artists, and +art-schools, as well as on whole groups of people from spiritualists +to scientists--including fifty or more well-known people then living, +into the bargain--he had, in fact, hit out so freely and so hard that +counter-attacks of considerable asperity were inevitable. In reply to +such attacks the following pages were written. + +No department of science, as Véron justly remarks, has been more +generally abandoned to the dreams of the metaphysicians than esthetic +philosophy. The task Tolstoy undertook was to clear up the “the +frightful obscurity which reigns in this region of speculation.” + +What is Art? Its manifestations are “bounded on one side by the +practically useful and on the other by unsuccessful attempts at +art.” But what working definition of art have we that would enable +us to feel sure that this or that production of human activity is +a work of art? The answer at first seems very simple to those “who +talk without thinking.” They are accustomed to say that “Art is such +activity as produces beauty.” But this only shifts the matter a +step. We have now to ask for a working definition of beauty, and on +careful examination we find that this has nowhere been given. Every +attempt to define beauty _objectively_, as consisting “either in +utility, or in adjustment to a purpose, or in symmetry, or in order, +or in proportion, or in smoothness, or in harmony of the parts, or in +unity amid variety, or in various combinations of these” (p. 161), +has broken down utterly, and we have nothing left but a _subjective_ +definition which amounts to this, that beauty is “that which pleases +us” without evoking in us desire. In other words, “Beauty is simply +a certain kind of disinterested pleasure received by us.” This +definition seems clear enough, but unfortunately it is inexact, and +can be widened to include the pleasure derived from drink, from food, +from touching a delicate skin, and so forth, as is done by Guyau, +Kralik, and other estheticians. + +A yet more serious trouble is, that different things please different +people. Instead of getting a solid basis for a science, we get landed +in confusion arising from the fact that tastes differ. If we use the +word _beauty_ in our definition of art, and if beauty means “that +which pleases,” and if different things please different people--our +definition is useless. One man will say a certain thing is a work of +art because it pleases him, another will reply that it is not a work +of art because he does not like it. + +And this is precisely what has happened and is happening. Is Walt +Whitman a great poet? Yes, says A, he is, because I like his poems +and agree with them. No, says B, he is not, because I don’t like his +poems and disagree with them. + +Thus the science of esthetics has as yet failed to get even a start. +It has not told us what art is, still less has it enabled us to +judge of the quality of art. “So that the whole existing science +of esthetics fails to do what we might expect from it, being a +mental activity calling itself a science: namely, it does not +define the qualities and laws of art, or of the beautiful (if that +be the content of art), or the nature of taste (if taste decides +the question of art and its merit), and then on the basis of such +definitions acknowledge as art those productions which correspond to +these laws, and reject those which do not come under them. But this +science of esthetics consists in first acknowledging a certain set of +productions to be art (because they please us), and then framing such +a theory of art that all these productions which please a certain +circle of people should fit into it” (p. 164). + +Such being the case, reasonable men should be not merely ready +but anxious to avoid the use of the word beauty in framing their +definition of art, and should select words which mean the same thing +to each of us who use them. Yet, strange to say, the estheticians, +the specialists, and the “cultured crowd,” cling tenaciously and even +fanatically to the use of a word they cannot define in a serviceable +manner. They are as angry with anyone who protests against its use +in a scientific definition, as the Scarboro’ roughs[131] are with a +Quaker who says that men ought not to kill one another. + +“As is always the case, the more cloudy and confused the conception +conveyed by a word, with the more _aplomb_ and self-assurance do +people use that word, pretending that what is understood by it is so +simple and clear that it is not worth while even to discuss what it +actually means. This is how matters of orthodox religion are usually +dealt with, and this is how people now deal with the conception of +beauty” (p. 137). + +For his part, Tolstoy prefers to understand, and to let other people +understand, what he means by the words he uses, and he has therefore +framed a definition of art which avoids all obscurity. + +“_Art is a human activity, consisting in this, that one man +consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others +feelings he has lived through, and that other people are infected by +these feelings and also experience them_” (p. 173). + +Art is possible because we share one common human nature. One +touch of nature makes the whole world kin. All who are capable +of experiencing “that simple feeling familiar to the plainest +man and even to a child, that sense of infection with another’s +feeling--compelling us to joy in another’s gladness, to sorrow at +another’s grief, and to mingle souls with another” (p. 273), possess +the mental and emotional telegraph wires along which an artist’s +influence may pass. + +A common crowd may be swayed by an orator, but not by the ablest +mathematical lecturer; for whereas _thoughts_ can only be transferred +to minds sufficiently prepared to receive them, the _feelings_ that +are the birthright of our common humanity are shared by all normal +people. When an orator fails to sway his audience, we say the orator +has failed, not the audience. But when a boy fails to understand the +fifth proposition because he has not understood those that preceded +it, we do not say that Euclid has failed but that the boy has not +understood him. Science is a human activity transmitting thoughts +from man to man: Art is a human activity transmitting feelings. They +have some features in common. Clearness, simplicity, and compression, +are desirable in both, and the same book or the same speech may +contain both science and art. It is desirable to discriminate clearly +between the one and the other, though both alike are “indispensable +means of communication, without which mankind could not exist” (pp. +175 and 321). + +Before passing from definitions to deductions based on them, +reference should be made to the physiological evolutionary definition +of Schiller, Darwin, and Herbert Spencer, which Tolstoy sums up thus: +“Art is an activity arising even in the animal kingdom and ‘springing +from sexual desire and the propensity to play’” (p. 169). This, +though superior to the definitions which depend on the conception of +beauty, is unsatisfactory because, “instead of speaking about the +artistic activity itself, which is the real matter in hand, it treats +of the _derivation_ of art” (p. 169). + +Accepting Tolstoy’s definition of art, we at once see that art covers +a much wider ground than we have been accustomed to suppose. + +“We are accustomed to understand art to be only what we hear and see +in theatres, concerts, and exhibitions; together with buildings, +statues, poems, novels.... But all this is but the smallest part of +the art by which we communicate with each other in life. All human +life is filled with works of art of every kind--from cradle-song, +jest, mimicry, the ornamentation of houses, dress, and utensils, up +to church services, buildings, monuments, and triumphal processions. +It is all artistic activity” (p. 174). + +But we generally use the word in a special and restricted sense to +mean, not all human activity that deliberately and with premeditation +transmits feelings, “but only that part which we for some reason +select from it, and to which we attach special importance” (pp. +174–175). + +Before considering what kind of art deserves to be thus specially +selected for our highest esteem, we must clearly distinguish between +two different things: the _subject-matter_ of art and the _form_ of +art apart from its subject-matter. This distinction is fundamentally +important and, as soon as it is made, the vexed question of the +relation of art to morality solves itself easily and inevitably. + +Let us take art apart from its subject-matter first. + +“There is one indubitable sign distinguishing real art from its +counterfeit--namely, the infectiousness of art. If a man without +exercising effort, and without altering his standpoint, on reading, +hearing, or seeing, another man’s work experiences a mental condition +which unites him with that man and with other people who also partake +of that work, then the object evoking that condition is a work of +art” (p. 274). + +“And not only is infection a sure sign of art, but the degree of +infectiousness is also the sole measure of excellence in art.” + +“_The stronger the infection the better is the art_, as art, speaking +now apart from its subject-matter--that is, not considering the +quality of the feelings it transmits” (p. 275). + +From this point of view, art has really nothing to do with morality. +The feelings transmitted may be good or bad feelings, and may produce +the best or the worst results on those who are influenced by them, +yet in either case the man who transmits them is an artist. + +“The feelings with which the artist infects others may be most +various--very strong or very weak, very important or very +insignificant, very bad or very good: feelings of love for native +land, self-devotion and submission to fate or to God expressed +in a drama, raptures of lovers described in a novel, feelings of +voluptuousness expressed in a picture, courage expressed in a +triumphal march, merriment evoked by a dance, humor evoked by a funny +story, the feeling of quietness transmitted by an evening landscape +or by a lullaby, or the feeling of admiration evoked by a beautiful +arabesque--it is all art” (pp. 172–173). + +If you have not lost the capacity--usually possessed by people +leading a sane and natural life--to share the feelings expressed by +others, you may try the quality of a production first of all by this +internal test: Does it unite you in feeling with its author and with +others who are exposed to its influence? Only if it does this, have +_you_ any right to testify to its being a work of art. + +If you are infected by the work, and are therefore sure that it is +a work of art, the next question is whether it is a weak work of +“exclusive” art, or a great work of “universal” art. It may influence +you--who have, perhaps, been specially trained and accustomed to that +kind of art, or who share the prepossessions of the artist and belong +to his set, class, school, sect, or race,--but is it capable of +influencing men of other classes, races, and ages? Here the primary +internal test is supplemented by an external one. There are works +of “universal” art (using the word, of course, in a comparative and +not in an absolute sense). The _Iliad_, the _Odyssey_, the story +of Joseph, the _Psalms_, the Gospel parables, the story of Sakya +Muni, the hymns of the _Vedas_, the best folk-legends, fairy-tales, +and folk-songs, are understood by all. If only they are adequately +rendered, and are received not superstitiously but with an open mind, +they are “quite comprehensible now to us, educated or uneducated, as +they were comprehensible to the men of those times, long ago, who +were even less educated than our labourers” (p. 226). + +Even a strictly national art, such as Japanese decorative art, may +be admirable and “universal.” “The _feeling_ (of admiration at, and +delight in, the combination of lines and colours) which the artist +has experienced, and with which he infects the spectator” (p. +295), may be so sincere that it acts on men of other races without +demanding from them any laborious preparation before they can enjoy +it. + +When we find ourselves admiring “exclusive art,” we must beware of +flattering ourselves with the supposition that great masses of people +do not like what _we_ consider undoubtedly good--because _they_ are +not sufficiently developed, while _we_ are very superior people. +Perhaps we admire and enjoy these things, not because they are very +good but merely because we have trained ourselves to admire them +and have got into the habit of doing so. But “people may habituate +themselves to anything, even to the very worst things. As people may +habituate themselves to bad food, to spirits, tobacco, and opium, +just in the same way they may habituate themselves to bad art--and +that is exactly what is being done” (p. 224). + +Nor should we let our self-sufficiency blind us to the obvious +lesson of history: “we know that the majority of the productions of +the art of the upper classes, such as various odes, poems, dramas, +cantatas, pastorals, pictures, and so forth, which delighted people +of the upper classes when they were produced, never were afterwards +either understood or valued by the great masses of mankind, but have +remained what they were at first, a mere pastime for the rich people +of their time, for whom alone they ever were of any importance” (pp. +194–5). + +“Art is a human activity,” and, consequently, does not exist for +its own sake, but is valuable or objectionable in proportion to the +benefit or the harm it brings to mankind. Its subject-matter consists +of feelings which are contagious or infectious--that is, which can +spread from man to man. Is it not supremely important _what_ feelings +spread among us? + +From this point of view the connection between morality and art is +intimate and inevitable. It is a fact of human life from which we can +no more escape than we can from gravitation. + +Art unites men; and the better the feelings in which it unites them +the better it will be for humanity. + +But which are the best and highest feelings? How are we to discern +or to define them? They have differed, and men’s definitions of +them have differed, from age to age; but, as Tolstoy explains, each +age has had its dominant view of life, which may be called its +“religious perception.” Humanity progresses, and our view of life, +our religious perception, is in many things different from that, say, +of the ancient Greeks. In relation _not to the forms of art but to +its subject-matter_ it would be a mistake to suppose “that the very +best that can be done by the art of nations after nineteen hundred +years of Christian teaching, is to choose as the ideal of their +life the ideal that was held by a small, semi-savage, slave-holding +people who lived two thousand years ago, who imitated the nude human +body extremely well, and erected buildings pleasant to look at” (pp. +188–189). + +And Tolstoy, having begun by giving us his definition of art, +concludes by giving us a statement of the view of life he has +accepted and which he believes is influencing us all whether we know +it or not. It is, he says, Christ’s teaching in its real--and not in +its customary and perverted--meaning. + +“That meaning has not only become accessible to all men of our times, +but the whole life of man to-day is permeated by the spirit of that +teaching, and consciously or unconsciously is guided by it” (pp. +308–309). + +“The religious perception of our time in its widest and most +practical application is the consciousness that our well-being, both +material and spiritual, individual and collective, temporal and +eternal, lies in the growth of brotherhood among men--in their loving +harmony with one another” (p. 281). + +And whether we accept this view of life or some other, it is certain +that the view we hold will influence our approval or disapproval of +the various feelings transmitted by art. + +Accepting Tolstoy’s standpoint, we should allow the highest honour to +“positive feelings of love to God and one’s neighbour, and negative +feelings of indignation and horror at the violation of love”; but the +realm of subject-matter for good art includes much more than that. + +“The artist of the future will understand that to compose a +fairy-tale, a touching little song, a lullaby or an entertaining +riddle, an amusing jest, or to draw a sketch in such a way that +it will delight dozens of generations or millions of children and +adults, is incomparably more important and more fruitful than to +compose a novel or a symphony, or paint a picture, of the kind +which will divert some members of the wealthy classes for a short +time and then for ever be forgotten. The region of this art of the +simple feelings accessible to all is enormous and it is as yet almost +untouched” (p. 318). + +The artist should know that this art of the simple feelings of common +life, like the highest religious art, tends to unite us all and to +exclude none, as in the example Tolstoy gives on p. 287 of the effect +of music. + +Thus, apart from subject-matter, the best art is that which best +accomplishes its purpose of infecting others with the feelings the +artist wishes to impart. And the best subject-matter is that which, +directly or indirectly, tends to forward brotherly union among all +men. + +The good art of the future should be superior to our present art in +“clearness, beauty, simplicity, and compression,” for one penalty of +forgetting the primary aim of art is that we greatly lose that which +is a natural accompaniment of art--the pleasure given by beauty. We +are like men who, living to eat, eventually lose even the natural +pleasure food affords to those who eat to live. + +Such, in brief outline, are Tolstoy’s essential views of art. Even +so bare and incomplete a recapitulation, stripped as it is of the +convincing arguments, the brilliant examples, and the masterly +support and elucidation which are crammed into the pages of his +remarkable book may suffice to show that it is a work deserving +careful consideration. + +To the above, written soon after _What is Art?_ was first published, +I should like now, in 1924, to add a few words. + +The chief idea in _What is Art?_ besides its definition of art, is +Tolstoy’s insistence on the need to discriminate between the _form_ +and the _content_ of art. For its full assimilation this requires +reflection, which--either because the philosophy of art does not +interest them, or because they are satisfied with previously adopted +opinions they do not wish to disturb--not all are willing to accord +to it. But the test of a great philosophy, I once heard Tolstoy say, +is that the idea it generalizes can be so simply stated that an +intelligent boy of twelve approaching the subject free from prejudice +can understand it in half-an-hour: and I think both Tolstoy’s +definition, and his explanation of the need to consider the form of +art as a matter distinct from our approval and disapproval of the +feeling the artist transmits, will stand that crucial test. They +can be put so simply that an unprejudiced boy of twelve can readily +understand them. + +One must however be on one’s guard against confusing the _subject_ +treated of (a particular event: a murder, a seduction, a marriage--or +an object, such as the sea, the sky, a house, a tiger, or a baby) +with the _subject-matter of feeling_, which is the real content of a +work of art. In Tolstoy’s definition it is a feeling or feelings, +and their transitions, that when expressed by an artist, form the +subject-matter of art. The events treated of--in a book, a play, +a picture, or song--are merely material used in expressing that +feeling, and must not themselves be thought of as the subject-matter. +The affection of a child for its mother or its dog may be the +subject-matter of a work of art, so may an appreciation of the +effect of certain arrangements of colours and shapes, the mirth and +jollity expressed and inspired by a dance-tune or by the movements +of a dance, the feelings of awe produced by the representation of +a terrible storm, or any other possible feelings or transitions of +feeling: the rage of an excited crowd, the triumph of a victorious +nation, the despair of a man ruined or betrayed, or feelings evoked +by the play of light and shade, by the delicate bloom of a flower, +or by the graceful tracery of a tree seen against a winter sky. When +asking oneself whether a certain production is a work of art, one +has to consider whether we feel something the artist has felt and +caused us to share. If one feels that, it is evident that we have +before us a work of art--our own feelings witness to the artist’s +achievement. Sometimes however the pleasure this union of feeling +with the artist--and perhaps with many spectators, auditors or +readers--would naturally produce, is infringed by a consciousness +that one disapproves of, or disagrees with, the feelings that for the +moment have infected us. + +For instance, many Irishmen are born orators, and oratory is an +art. Suppose one went to two great public meetings, addressed by +two really first-rate speakers. Each of these is moved by a genuine +and passionate feeling. Each has the gift of arranging his matter +admirably and expressing it forcibly and eloquently, and possesses an +excellent voice. Each sways his audience to laughter and tears, and +plays on their emotions as on an organ, compelling them to sympathize +with his detestation for what he abhors and his enthusiasm for what +he prizes. We may feel that we have heard great orations admirably +delivered, but the feelings underlying these speeches have clashed +with one another. One of the speakers was moved by ardent desire to +maintain and intensify an age-long struggle, and repudiates with +contumely any idea of union with a section of the population that +he hates and despises. He was genuinely moved by the recollection +of racial wrongs and sincerely devoted to leaders he regarded as +heroes and martyrs; but animosity, hatred, and revenge, possessed his +soul. The other orator was moved by a desire to bind up the nation’s +wounds, to forgive and forget past wrongs, and to see a neighbouring +people become a united and peaceful nation at harmony with itself and +its neighbours. One might sympathize with either tendency, but it is +impossible to sympathize equally with them both, or to close one’s +eyes to the fact that the welfare of human beings will be influenced +by whichever feeling prevails. Tolstoy explains that when we judge +whether a certain production (such as one of these speeches) is a +work of art, we must remember that our approval or disapproval of a +man’s purpose or aspiration must have nothing whatever to do with our +estimation of the excellence of the _form_ in which he presents his +subject-matter. To that extent art “has nothing to do with morality.” +The best and the worst emotions may alike be conveyed with great +artistic power and be great works of art, and that is just why art, +besides being vastly important, can also be very dangerous. + +But when we have seen that a certain production is artistic, and +have even perhaps ourselves been touched by it, the question arises +whether the “content” (the subject-matter of feeling) dealt with +is good, bad, or indifferent. The actions of men flow from their +feelings. Their feelings are formed, nurtured, and swayed, by the +art they enjoy and partake of, so that there was much reason for +Fletcher of Saltoun to say, “Let me make a nation’s songs, and who +will may make its laws.” + +We live in a world in which sane human beings cannot but distinguish +between what appears to them abominable and what appears to them +admirable. When therefore we are moved by our artists we cannot be +indifferent to the effect their works produce. + +If art had nothing to do with the feelings of men it would be an +empty and insignificant amusement; but all that influences man’s +feelings affects his work, his conduct, and the society to which he +belongs. Yet, obviously, to say that the morality of an artist’s aim +decides the artistic merit of his work, and that, for instance, a +novel must be a fine one because it advocates temperance principles, +though people can only be got to read it if they are forced to do so, +would show that the speaker had never thought about the matter, or +that his artistic perceptions were atrophied. + +But we are still not at the end of the matter. Who is to decide what +is good and what is bad in the feeling which forms the subject-matter +of art? Such judgment must vary from age to age, from land to land, +and even from man to man; for while all sane human beings have their +approvals and disapprovals, the outlook on life (or what Tolstoy +calls “the religious perceptions”) guiding such approvals and +disapprovals vary greatly. + +It comes to this, that the subject-matter of feeling transmitted by +artists to those who receive their art is of necessity appraised by +us in accordance with our own outlook on life. Tolstoy rightly points +out this inevitable contact of art with ethics, but his own ethical +standards, his “religious perceptions” are not those generally +accepted among us. A discussion of his ethics would be out of place +here. Elsewhere I have ventured to join issue with him on some +matters, while on others it seems to me that he made straight the +pathway of the Lord. + +Now obviously when--passing from the acknowledgment of various +productions as works of art because their form is adequate and +they achieve their purpose of infecting us with the feelings their +creators had experienced--Tolstoy discusses, as a separate matter, +whether certain feelings these artists transmitted are beneficial or +otherwise, it is inevitable that those who differ from his ethical +views should disagree with his conclusions. But this difference as +to ethics should not hinder an appreciation of the importance of his +understanding of art! He was a great artist, a first-class novelist, +dramatist, and story-writer, besides being an amateur musician, +keenly interested in painting, sculpture, and other forms of art, and +he was also well acquainted with artists of all kinds and with the +whole literature of art. Is it not worth our while to understand his +message and grasp his meaning clearly before attempting to answer him? + +As an example of criticism tending to confuse matters, I will +instance this case: after making the broad distinction between the +form of art and its subject-matter, Tolstoy passes on to the totally +different question of what feelings commended themselves to him. He +says he attaches no special importance to the examples he cites but +offers them merely to elucidate his meaning. Among books expressing +feelings of which he approved, he instances _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, +and immediately certain critics pounced upon this, and say that as +Mrs. Beecher Stowe did not write as well as someone else whom they +mentioned, Tolstoy’s example shows that he was incapable of judging +about art! Such criticism shows a curious incapacity to understand +what is being discussed. Similarly objections to pictures mentioned +by Tolstoy as good in subject-matter--on the ground of alleged +defects in form--miss the point of the discussion. + +When a book deals frankly and plainly with an important subject it is +strange that anyone, instead of seeking the gold in the mine, should +prefer to search for obscurity, contradiction, over-emphasis, or any +ill-advised examples that can be detected; and that some critics +should go the length of asserting that the author meant the opposite +of what he plainly says. + +I do not see why anyone should object to, or disagree with, Tolstoy’s +explanation of art and of its influence on life; nor with his +assertion that when we pass from a consideration of the form of works +of art to a consideration of the value of the feelings they convey, +our appraisement of these latter is inevitably influenced by our +outlook on life. But an important reservation must be made when we +come to his assurance that “the religious perception of our time, +in its widest and most practical application, is the consciousness +that our well-being both material and spiritual, individual and +collective, temporal and eternal, lies in the growth of brotherhood +among all men, in their loving harmony with one another,” and that +“all men of our times already admit that the highest well-being +attainable by men is to be reached by their union with one another.” + +If all men had such a religious perception, there would be a much +greater consensus of opinion concerning the value of feelings +transmitted by art. But it is just here, it seems to me, that the +real clash of opinion and feeling comes in. There are among us many +worshippers of Mars, Mammon, Venus and Bacchus (under whatever +disguises), and though they may not publicly proclaim or explain +their religious perceptions, it is impossible for them honestly to +sympathize with what Tolstoy wishes them to approve of. During the +last thirty years of his life Tolstoy disapproved of patriotism and +of private property. Rudyard Kipling approves of both. Each of these +men was an artist in words. The divergence of their estimates of +what is good and what is bad did not prevent them from producing +works of art; but neither of them could think that all the feelings +with which the other infected his readers were desirable. Before +considering the matter, people are sometimes apt to resent the idea +that ethical standards vary from place to place or from time to +time; or, on realizing that such is the fact, they try to think that +it is possible for a sane man to cease to approve or disapprove of +anything. It does not however need much experience to perceive that +men cannot live in the chaos that results when they have no sort of +chart or guide by which to steer their course through life. In other +words whether a man is a materialist or a spiritualist, and whatever +his aspirations may be, he always, more or less consciously and +definitely, has what Tolstoy calls “a religious perception.” + +In an interesting essay on _Religion and Morality_[132] (1894) +Tolstoy classified existing “religious perceptions” in three groups: +(1) Selfishness--the religion, for instance, of all the babies who +desire as much milk and warmth for themselves as possible, and do +not care what happens to the rest of the world; (2) Patriotism--the +religion of all who make the welfare of their family, clan, group, +or nation (or even, as in the case of the Positivists, the whole of +humanity) the chief aim of their life; and (3) those who recognize +some supreme Lord or Law, whose service transcends any calculable +advantage accruing to themselves or to their group. + +There is truth in that classification, but one need only admit it, +to realize that appreciation of the feelings conveyed by art _must_ +differ among us according to whether we adhere to the first, the +second, or the third of those groups. + +This divergence relating to feelings which are the subject-matter of +art, should not extend to what Tolstoy says about the form of art, or +its interrelation with the rest of life. Whatever God one worships +can be greatly served by means of art. + +In an admirable little article on _How to Read the Gospels_ +(1896)[133] Tolstoy says: + + “To understand Christ’s real teaching the chief thing is not + to interpret the Gospels, but to understand them as they are + written. And therefore, to the question how Christ’s teaching + should be understood, I reply: If you wish to understand + it read the Gospels. Read them, putting aside all foregone + conclusions; read them with the sole desire to understand what + is said there. But read them considerately, reasonably, and + with discernment, and not haphazard or mechanically, as though + all the words were of equal weight. + + “_To understand any book one must choose out the parts that + are quite clear, dividing them from what is obscure or + confused. And from what is clear we must form our idea of the + drift and spirit of the whole work._ Then, on the basis of + what we have understood, we may proceed to make out what is + confused or not quite intelligible. That is how we read all + kinds of books. + + “Therefore we must first of all separate what is quite simple + and intelligible from what is confused and unintelligible and + must afterwards read this clear and intelligible part several + times over, trying fully to assimilate it. Then, helped by the + comprehension of the general meaning, we can try to explain + to ourselves the drift of the parts which seemed involved and + obscure. That was how I read the Gospels, and the meaning of + Christ’s teaching became so clear to me that it was impossible + to have any doubts about it. And I advise everyone who wishes + to understand the true meaning of Christ’s teaching to follow + the same plan.” + +This advice, showing how “all kinds of books” should be read, is +particularly applicable to the reading of Tolstoy’s _What is Art?_ +The views there expressed are those of a man born nearly a century +ago, who differed widely from ourselves in race, nationality, +up-bringing, circumstances, and class,--for he was a Russian nobleman +of the old régime. That some of his feelings and ideas should differ +from our own was inevitable, but the really remarkable thing is that +so much of what he says makes us conscious of oneness with him. He +was accustomed to express himself strongly, and assumed that those +who read his works would wish to understand them and would not +desire to twist his meaning. Those who deal with his work in the way +he advised can certainly obtain a clear view of the subject, as he +understood it. If what he has said is true, in whole or in part, it +is desirable to grasp that truth and, even if he be in error, it is +desirable to understand his meaning before attempting any refutation. + +In _What is Art?_ Tolstoy says: + + “I have accomplished to the best of my ability this work + which has occupied me for fifteen years, on a subject near to + me--that of art.... I began to write on art fifteen years ago + thinking that when once I undertook the task I should be able + to accomplish it without a break. It proved however that my + views on the matter were so far from clear that I could not + arrange them in a way that satisfied me. From that time I have + never ceased to think on the subject, and I have recommenced + writing on it six or seven times; but each time, after writing + a considerable part of it, I have found myself unable to bring + the work to a satisfactory conclusion, and have had to put it + aside.” (p. 321) + +That was written in 1897, and the fifteen years mentioned bring us +nearly back to the time when his _Confession_ was written, and the +statement indicates that all the earlier essays in this book, while +expressing some part of his thought, fail to elucidate the matter as +he desired, and it is only in _What is Art?_ that we must look for +the final conclusions that solved the matter to his satisfaction. + + + + + PART XV + + PREFACE TO POLENZ’S NOVEL “DER BÜTTNERBAUER” + + +W. VON POLENZ was born in 1861 and died in 1903. His novels, _Der +Pfarrer von Breitendorf_ (1893), _Der Büttnerbauer_ (1895), are +descriptions of village life. His _Grabenhäger_, _Thekla Lüdekind_ +and _Liebe ist ewig_ (1900) describe the life of the landowning and +town classes. _Wurzellocker_ (1902) describes a literary society. + + _Note by A. M._ + + + “For you will find, if you think deeply of it, that the chief + of all the curses of this unhappy age is the universal gabble + of its fools, and of the flocks that follow them, rendering + the quiet voices of the wise men of all past time inaudible. + This is, first, the result of the invention of printing, + and of the easy power and extreme pleasure to vain persons + of seeing themselves in print. When it took a twelvemonth’s + hard work to make a single volume legible, men considered + a little the difference between one book and another; but + now, when not only anybody can get themselves made legible + through any quantity of volumes, in a week, but the doing so + becomes a means of living to them, and they can fill their + stomachs with the foolish foam of their lips, the universal + pestilence of falsehood fills the mind of the world as cicadas + do olive-leaves, and the first necessity for our mental + government is to extricate from among the insectile noise, the + few books and words that are Divine.” + Ruskin, in _Fors Clavigera_, Letter 81. + +Last year a friend of mine, in whose taste I have confidence, gave me +a German novel, _Der Büttnerbauer_, by von Polenz to read. I read it +and was astonished that such a work, which appeared a couple of years +ago, was hardly known by anyone. + +This novel is not one of those works of imitation-art that are +produced in such enormous quantities in our time, but a really +artistic production. It is not one of those descriptions of events +and of people, destitute of all interest, which are artificially put +together merely because the author, having learned the technique of +artistic descriptions, wants to write a new novel; nor is it one of +those dissertations on a given theme set in the form of a drama or +novel, which also in our day pass as artistic productions: nor does +it belong to the class of works called “decadent,” which particularly +please the modern public just because, resembling the ravings of a +madman, they present something of the nature of rebuses, the guessing +of which forms a pleasant occupation, besides being considered a sign +of refinement. + +This novel belongs neither to the first, nor to the second, nor to +the third, of these categories, but is a real work of art, in which +the author says what he feels he must say because he loves what he +is speaking about, and says it not by reflections or hazy allegories +but in the one manner by which an artistic content can be conveyed, +by poetic images, not fantastic extraordinary unintelligible images +with no essential inner connexion one with another, but by the +presentation of the most ordinary simple persons and events united +one with another by an inner artistic necessity. + +But not only is this novel a genuine work of art, it is also an +admirable work of art, uniting in a high degree all the three chief +conditions of really good artistic production. + +In the first place, its content is important, relating as it does +to the life of the peasantry--that is, to the majority of mankind, +who stand at the basis of every social structure and in our day, not +only in Germany but in all European countries, are enduring trying +alterations of their ancient, age-long condition. (It is remarkable +that almost simultaneously with _Der Büttnerbauer_ there has appeared +a French novel, Réné Bazin’s _La Terre qui meurt_, which is not at +all bad, though far less artistic.) + +In the second place, this novel is written with great mastery, in +admirable German, particularly forcible when the author makes his +characters speak the coarse peasant-labourer’s Plattdeutsch. + +In the third place, this novel is thoroughly imbued with love of +these people whom the author sets before us. + +In one of the chapters, for instance, there is a description of how +after a night passed in drunkenness with his comrades, the husband, +when it is already morning, returns home and knocks at the door. +The wife looks out of the window and recognizes him; she loads him +with abuse and is purposely slow about letting him in. When at last +she opens the door for him, the husband tumbles in and wants to go +into the large living-room, but the wife does not let him, lest the +children should see their father drunk, and she pushes him back. But +he catches hold of the lintel of the door and struggles with her. +Usually a mild man, he suddenly becomes terribly exasperated (the +cause of his exasperation is that, the day before, she had taken out +of his pocket some money his master had given him, and had hidden it) +and in his rage he flings himself upon her, seizes her by the hair, +and demands his money. + +“I won’t give it up, I won’t give it up for anything!” says she in +reply to his demands, trying to free herself from him. + +Then he, forgetting himself in his anger, strikes her where and as he +can. + +“I’ll die before I’ll give it up!” says she. + +“You won’t give it up!” he answers, knocking her off her feet and +falling on her himself, while continuing to demand his money. Not +receiving a reply he, in his mad drunken anger, wants to throttle +her. But the sight of blood which trickles from under her hair and +flows over her forehead and nose, causes him to stop. He becomes +frightened at what he has done and, letting go of her, staggers and +falls down on his bed. + +The scene is truthful and terrible. But the author loves his +protagonists and adds one small detail which suddenly illuminates +everything with such a vivid ray as compels the reader not only to +pity, but also to love these people, despite their coarseness and +cruelty. The wife who has been beaten comes to herself, rises from +the floor, wipes her bleeding head with the hem of her skirt, feels +her limbs and, opening the door leading to the crying children, +quiets them, and then seeks her husband with her eyes. He is lying on +the bed as he has fallen, but his head has slipped from the pillow. +The wife walks over to him, carefully raises his head on the pillow, +and after that adjusts her dress and picks off some of her hair that +had been pulled out. + +Dozens of pages of discussions would not have said all that is said +by this detail. Here at once the reader is shown the consciousness, +educated by tradition, of conjugal duty and the triumph of a decision +maintained--not to give up the money needed, not for herself but for +the family; here also is the offence, forgiveness of the beating, +and pity, and if not love, at least the memory of love for her +husband, the father of her children. Nor is that all. Such a detail, +illuminating the inner life of this woman and this man, lights up +for the reader the inner life of millions of such husbands and wives +who have lived or are now living, and not only teaches respect and +love for these people who are crushed by toil, but compels us to +consider why and wherefore they, strong in soul and body, with such +possibilities in them of good loving life, are so neglected, crushed, +and ignorant. + +And such truly artistic traits, which are revealed only by love of +what the author describes, are met with in every chapter of this +novel. + +It is undoubtedly a beautiful work of art, as all who read it will +agree. And yet it appeared three years ago, and, though translated +into Russian in the _Messenger of Europe_, has passed unnoticed both +in Russia and in Germany. I have asked several literary Germans +whom I have met recently about this novel--they had heard Polenz’s +name but had not read his book, though they had all read the last +novels of Zola, the last stories by Kipling, and the plays of Ibsen, +d’Annunzio, and even of Maeterlinck. + +Some twenty years ago Matthew Arnold wrote an admirable article +on the purpose of criticism.[134] In his opinion the purpose of +criticism is to find among all that has been written, whenever and +wherever it may be, that which is most important and good, and to +direct the attention of readers to this that is important and good. + +In our time, when readers are deluged with newspapers, periodicals, +books, and by the profusion of advertisements, not only does such +criticism seem to me essential, but the whole future culture of +the educated class of our European world depends on whether such +criticism appears and acquires authority. + +The over-production of any kind of article is harmful; but the +over-production of articles which are not an aim but a means is +particularly harmful when people consider this means to be an aim. + +Horses and carriages as means of conveyance, clothing and houses as +means of protection against changes of weather, good food to maintain +the strength of one’s organism, are very useful. But as soon as +men begin to regard the possession of means as an end in itself, +considering it good to have as many horses, clothes, and houses, and +as much food as possible, such articles become not only useless but +simply harmful. And this has come about with book-production among +the well-to-do circle of people of our European society. Printing, +which is undoubtedly useful for the great masses of uneducated +people, among well-to-do people has long ago become the chief organ +for the dissemination of ignorance and not of enlightenment. + +It is easy to convince oneself of this. Books, periodicals, and +especially newspapers, have become in our time great financial +undertakings for the success of which the largest possible number of +purchasers is required. But the interests and tastes of the largest +number of purchasers are always low and vulgar, and so for the +success of the productions of the press it is necessary that these +productions should correspond to the demands of this great mass of +purchasers, that is, that they should treat of mean interests and +correspond to vulgar tastes. And the press fully satisfies these +demands, having ample opportunity of doing so since among those who +work for the press there are many more with the same mean interests +and coarse tastes as the public than there are men with lofty +interests and refined taste. And since with the diffusion of printing +and the commercial methods applied to newspapers, periodicals, and +books, these people receive good pay for matter that they supply +corresponding to the demands of the masses, there appears that +terrible ever increasing and increasing deluge of printed paper, +which by its quantity alone, not to speak of the harmfulness of its +contents, forms a vast obstacle to enlightenment. + +If in our day a clever young man of the people, wishing to educate +himself, is given access to all books, periodicals, and newspapers, +and the choice of his reading is left to himself, he will, if he +reads for ten years assiduously every day, in all probability read +nothing but stupid and immoral books. It is as improbable that +he will strike on a good book as it would be that he should find +a marked pea in a bushel of peas. What is worst of all is that, +continually reading bad books, he will more and more pervert his +understanding and his taste, so that when he does come on a good work +he will either be quite unable to understand it or will understand it +perversely. + +Besides this, thanks to accident or to masterly advertisement, some +bad works, such, for instance, as _The Christian_ by Hall Caine, a +novel false in its content and inartistic, which has been sold to +the extent of a million copies, obtains, like Odol or Pears’ Soap, a +great notoriety not justified by its merits. And this great publicity +causes an ever greater and greater number of people to read such +books, and the fame of an insignificant, or often harmful, book grows +and grows like a snowball, and in the heads of the great majority of +men an ever greater and greater confusion of ideas forms, also like a +snowball, involving complete incapacity to understand the qualities +of literary productions. And therefore in proportion to the greater +and greater diffusion of newspapers, periodicals, books, and printing +in general, the level of the quality of what is printed falls lower +and lower, and the great mass of the so-called educated public is +ever more and more immersed in the most hopeless, self-satisfied, and +therefore incurable, ignorance. + +Within my own memory, during the last fifty years, this striking +debasement of the taste and common sense of the reading public +has occurred. One may trace this debasement in all branches of +literature, but I will indicate only some notable instances best +known to me. In Russian poetry, for instance, after Púshkin and +Lérmontov (Tyútchev is generally forgotten) poetic fame passes +first to the very doubtful poets, Máykov, Polónski, and Fet, then +to Nekrásov, who was quite destitute of the poetic gift, then to +the artificial and prosaic versifier, Alexéy Tolstóy, then to the +monotonous and weak Nádson, then to the quite ungifted Apúkhtin, and +after that everything becomes confused and versifiers appear whose +name is legion, who do not even know what poetry is, or the meaning +of what they write, or why they write. + +Another astonishing example is that of the English prose writers. +From the great Dickens we descend, first to George Eliot, then to +Thackeray, from Thackeray to Trollope, and then already there begin +the indifferent fabrications of Kipling, Hall Caine, Rider Haggard, +and so forth. The same thing is yet more striking in American +literature. After the great galaxy of Emerson, Thoreau, Lowell, +Whittier and others, suddenly everything crumbles and there appear +beautiful publications with beautiful illustrations, but with stories +and novels it is impossible to read because of their lack of any +content. + +In our time the ignorance of the educated crowd has reached such a +pass that all the really great thinkers, poets, and prose writers, +both of ancient times and of the nineteenth century, are considered +obsolete, and no longer satisfy the lofty and refined demands of +the new men; it is all regarded with contempt or with a smile of +condescension. The immoral, coarse, inflated, disconnected babble of +Nietzsche is recognised as the last word of the philosophy of our +day, and the senseless artificial arrangements of words in various +decadent poems united by measure and rhythm, is regarded as poetry of +the highest order. In all the theatres pieces are given the meaning +of which is unknown to anyone, even to the authors, and novels that +have no content and no artistic merit are printed and circulated by +millions, under the guise of artistic productions. + +“What shall I read to supplement my education?” asks a young man or +girl who has finished his or her studies at the high-school. + +The same question is put by a man of the people who has learned +to read and to understand what he reads, and is seeking true +enlightenment. + +To answer such questions the naïve attempts made to interrogate +prominent men as to which they consider to be the best hundred books +is of course insufficient. + +Nor is the matter helped by the classification existing in our +European society, and tacitly accepted by all, which divides writers +into first, second, and third class, and so on--into those of +genius, those who are very talented, and those simply good. Such a +division, far from helping a true understanding of the excellences of +literature, and the search for what is good amid the sea of what is +bad, still more confuses this aim. To say nothing of the fact that +this division into classes is often incorrect and maintained only +because it was made long ago and is accepted by everybody, such a +division is harmful, because writers acknowledged to be first-class +have written some very bad things, and writers of the lowest class +have produced some excellent things. So that a man who believes +in the division of writers into classes, and thinks everything by +first-class writers to be admirable, and everything by writers of +the lower class or those quite unknown, to be weak, will only become +confused, and deprive himself of much that is useful and truly +enlightening. + +Only real criticism can reply to that most important question of our +day, put by the youth of the educated class who seeks education, and +by the man of the people who seeks enlightenment--not such criticism +as now exists, which sets itself the task of praising such works as +have obtained notoriety, and devising foggy philosophic-esthetic +theories to justify them; and not criticism that makes it its task +more or less wittily to ridicule bad works or works proceeding +from a different camp; still less such criticism as has functioned +and still functions in Russia, and sets itself the aim of deducing +the direction of the movement of our whole society from some types +depicted by certain writers, or in general of finding opportunities +to express particular economic and political opinions under guise of +discussing literary productions. + +To that enormously important question, “What, of all that has been +written, is one to read?” only real criticism can furnish a reply: +criticism which, as Matthew Arnold says, sets itself the task of +bringing to the front and pointing out to people all that is best +both in former and in contemporary writers. + +On whether such disinterested criticism, which understands and loves +art and is independent of any party, makes its appearance or not, and +on whether its authority becomes sufficiently established for it to +be stronger than mercenary advertisement, depends, in my opinion, the +decision of the question whether the last rays of enlightenment are +to perish in our so-called educated European society without having +reached the masses of the people, or whether they will revive, as +they did in the Middle Ages, and reach the great mass of the people +who are now without any enlightenment. + +The fact that the mass of the public do not know of this admirable +novel of Polenz’s any more than they do of many other admirable works +which are drowned in the sea of printed rubbish, while senseless, +insignificant, and even simply nasty, literary productions are +discussed from every aspect, invariably praised, and sold by millions +of copies, has evoked in me these thoughts, and I avail myself of +the opportunity, which will hardly present itself to me again, of +expressing them, though it be but briefly. + +_1902._ + + + + + PART XVI + + AN AFTERWORD, BY TOLSTOY, TO CHEKHOV’S STORY, “DARLING” + + +There is profound meaning in the story in the Book of Numbers, which +tells how Balak, king of the Moabites, sent for Balaam to curse the +people of Israel who had come to his borders. Balak promised Balaam +many gifts for his service; and Balaam, being tempted, went to Balak, +but was stopped on the way by an angel who was seen by his ass but +whom Balaam did not see. In spite of this Balaam went on to Balak and +went with him up a mountain, where an altar had been prepared with +calves and lambs slaughtered in readiness for the imprecation. Balak +waited for the curse to be pronounced, but instead of cursing them +Balaam blessed the people of Israel. + +_Ch. XXIII, v. 11._ “And Balak said unto Balaam, What hast thou done +unto me? I took thee to curse mine enemies, and, behold, thou hast +blessed them altogether. + +_v. 12._ “And he answered and said, Must I not take heed to speak +that which the Lord putteth in my mouth? + +_v. 13._ “And Balak said unto him, Come with me unto another place +... and curse me them from thence.” + +And he took him to another place, where also altars had been prepared. + +But again Balaam, instead of cursing, blessed them. + +And so it was a third time. + +_Chapter XXIV, v. 10._ “And Balak’s anger was kindled against Balaam, +and he smote his hands together; and Balak said unto Balaam, I called +thee to curse mine enemies, and thou hast blessed them these three +times. Therefore now flee thou to thy place: I thought to promote +thee unto great honour; and, lo, the Lord hath kept thee back from +honour.” And so Balaam departed without receiving the gifts, because +instead of cursing Balak’s enemies he had blessed them. + +What happened to Balaam very often happens to true poets and artists. +Tempted by Balak’s promises of popularity, or by false views +suggested to them, the poet does not even see the angel that bars his +way whom the ass sees, and he wishes to curse but yet he blesses. + +This is just what happened with the true poet and artist Chékhov when +he wrote his charming story, _Darling_. + +The author evidently wanted to laugh at this pitiful creature--as he +judged her with his intellect, not with his heart--this “Darling,” +who, after sharing Kúkin’s troubles about his theatre, and then +immersing herself in the interests of the timber business, under the +influence of the veterinary surgeon considers the struggle against +bovine tuberculosis to be the most important matter in the world, and +is finally absorbed in questions of grammar and the interests of the +little school-boy in the big cap. Kúkin’s name is ridiculous, and +so even is his illness and the telegram announcing his death. The +timber-dealer with his sedateness is ridiculous, and the veterinary +surgeon and the boy are ridiculous; but the soul of “Darling,” with +her capacity to devote herself with her whole being to the one she +loves, is not ridiculous but wonderful and holy. + +I think that in the mind though not in the heart of the author when +he wrote _Darling_, there was a dim idea of the new woman, of her +equality of rights with man; of woman, developed, learned, working +independently, as well as man if not better, for the benefit of +society; of the woman who has raised and insists upon the woman +question; and in beginning to write _Darling_ he wanted to show what +woman ought not to be. The Balak of public opinion invited Chékhov +to curse the weak, submissive, undeveloped woman, devoted to man, and +Chékhov ascended the mountain, and the calves and sheep were laid +upon the altar, but when he began to speak, the author blessed what +he had meant to curse. I, at any rate, despite the wonderful gay +humour of the whole work, cannot read without tears some passages of +this beautiful story. I am touched by the description of the complete +devotion with which she loved Kúkin and all that he cared for, and +also the timber-dealer, and also the veterinary surgeon, and yet more +by her sufferings when she was left alone and had no one to love, and +by the account of how finally with all the strength of her womanly +and motherly feeling (which she had never had the opportunity to +expend on children of her own) she devoted her unbounded love to the +future man, the school-boy in the big cap. + +The author makes her love the ridiculous Kúkin, the insignificant +timber-dealer, and the unpleasant veterinary surgeon; but love is not +less sacred whether its object be a Kúkin or a Spinoza, a Pascal or +a Schiller, whether its object changes as rapidly as in the case of +_Darling_, or remains the same for a whole lifetime. + +I happened long ago to read in the _Nóvoe Vrémya_ an excellent +feuilleton by M. Ata about women. In this feuilleton the author +expressed a remarkably wise and profound thought. “Women,” he says, +“try to prove to us that they can do everything we men can do. I not +only do not dispute this, but am ready to agree that women can do all +that men do and perhaps even do it better, but the trouble is that +men cannot do anything even approximately approaching what women can +accomplish.” + +Yes, that is certainly so, and it is true not only of the bearing, +nursing, and early education of children, but men cannot do what is +loftiest, best, and brings man nearest to God--the work of loving, +of complete devotion to the beloved, which has been so well and +naturally done, and is done, and will be done, by good women. What +would become of the world, what would become of us men, if women had +not that faculty and did not exercise it? Without women doctors, +women telegraphists, women lawyers and scientists and authoresses, +we might get on, but without mothers, helpers, friends, comforters, +who love in man all that is best in him--without such women it +would be hard to live in the world. Christ would be without Mary or +Magdalene, Francis of Assisi would have lacked Claire, there would +have been no wives of the Decembrists in their exile, nor would the +Doukhobors have had their wives, who did not restrain their husbands +but supported them in their martyrdom for truth. There would not have +been those thousands and thousands of unknown women--the very best +(as the unknown generally are)--comforters of the drunken, the weak, +and the dissolute, who more than anyone else need the consolation of +love. In that love, whether directed to Kúkin or to Christ, is the +chief, grand strength of women, irreplaceable by anything else. + +What a wonderful misconception is the whole so-called woman’s +question, which has obsessed (as is natural with every empty idea) +the majority of women and even of men! + +“Woman wants to improve herself!” What can be more legitimate or more +just than that? + +But the business of a woman by her very vocation is different from +a man’s. And therefore the ideal of perfection for a woman cannot +be the same as the ideal for a man. Let us grant that we do not +know in what that ideal consists, but in any case it is certainly +not the ideal of perfection for a man. And yet to the attainment +of that masculine ideal all the absurd and unwholesome activity of +the fashionable woman’s movement, which now so confuses women, is +directed. + +I am afraid that Chékhov when writing _Darling_ was under the +influence of this misunderstanding. + +He, like Balaam, intended to curse, but the God of poetry forbade +him to do so and commanded him to bless, and he blessed, and +involuntarily clothed that sweet creature in such a wonderful +radiance that she will always remain a type of what woman can be in +order to be happy herself and to cause the happiness of those with +whom her fate is united. + +This story is so excellent because its effect was unintentional. + +I learned to ride a bicycle in the great Moscow riding-school, +in which army-divisions are reviewed. At the other end of the +riding-school a lady was learning to ride. I thought of how to avoid +incommoding that lady and began looking at her. And, looking at +her, I began involuntarily to draw nearer and nearer to her, and +although she, noticing the danger, hastened to get out of the way, +I rode against her and upset her, that is to say, I did exactly the +opposite of what I wished to do, simply because I had concentrated my +attention upon her. + +The same thing has happened with Chékhov, but in an inverse sense: he +wanted to knock down “Darling,” and directing the close attention of +a poet upon her, he has exalted her. + + + + + PART XVII + + SHAKESPEARE AND THE DRAMA + + + I + +An article by Ernest Howard Crosby[135] on Shakespeare’s attitude +towards the people has suggested to me the idea of expressing the +opinion I formed long ago about Shakespeare’s works, an opinion quite +contrary to that established throughout the European world. Recalling +the struggle with doubts, the pretences, and the efforts to attune +myself to Shakespeare, that I went through owing to my complete +disagreement with the general adulation, and supposing that many +people have experienced and are experiencing the same perplexity, +I think it may be of some use definitely and frankly to express +this disagreement of mine with the opinion held by the majority, +especially as the conclusions I came to on examining the causes of +my disagreement are, it seems to me, not devoid of interest and +significance. + +My disagreement with the established opinion about Shakespeare is not +the result of a casual mood or of a lighthearted attitude towards +the subject, but it is the result of repeated and strenuous efforts, +extending over many years, to harmonise my views with the opinions +about Shakespeare accepted throughout the whole educated Christian +world. + +I remember the astonishment I felt when I first read Shakespeare. I +had expected to receive a great esthetic pleasure, but on reading, +one after another, the works regarded as his best, _King Lear_, +_Romeo and Juliet_, _Hamlet_, and _Macbeth_, not only did I not +experience pleasure but I felt an insuperable repulsion and tedium, +and a doubt whether I lacked sense, since I considered works +insignificant and simply bad, which are regarded as the summit of +perfection by the whole educated world; or whether the importance +that educated world attributed to Shakespeare’s works lacks sense. My +perplexity was increased by the fact that I have always keenly felt +the beauties of poetry in all its forms: why then did Shakespeare’s +works, recognised by the whole world as works of artistic genius, not +only fail to please me, but even seem detestable? I long distrusted +my judgment, and to check my conclusions, during fifty years I +repeatedly set to work to read Shakespeare in all possible forms--in +Russian, in English, and in German in Schlegel’s translation, as +I was advised to. I read the tragedies, comedies, and historical +plays, several times over, and I invariably experienced the same +feelings--repulsion, weariness, and bewilderment. Now, before writing +this article, as an old man of 75,[136] wishing once more to check my +conclusions, I have again read the whole of Shakespeare, including +the historical plays, the _Henrys_, _Troilus and Cressida_, _The +Tempest_, and _Cymbeline_, etc., and have experienced the same +feeling still more strongly, no longer with perplexity but with a +firm indubitable conviction that the undisputed fame Shakespeare +enjoys as a great genius, which makes writers of our time imitate him +and readers and spectators, distorting their esthetic and ethical +sense, seek non-existent qualities in him, is a great evil--as every +falsehood is. + +Although I know that the majority of people have such faith in +Shakespeare’s greatness that on reading this opinion of mine they +will not even admit the possibility of its being correct, and will +not pay any attention to it, I shall nevertheless try as best I can +to show why I think Shakespeare cannot be admitted to be either a +great writer of genius, or even an average one. + +For this purpose I will take one of the most admired of Shakespeare’s +dramas--_King Lear_, in enthusiastic praise of which most of the +critics agree. + +“The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas of +Shakespeare,” says Dr. Johnson. “There is perhaps no play which keeps +the attention so strongly fixed, which so much agitates our passions +and interests our curiosity.” + +“We wish that we could pass this play over and say nothing about +it,” says Hazlitt. “All that we can say must fall far short of the +subject, or even of what we ourselves conceive of it. To attempt to +give a description of the play itself or of its effects upon the mind +is mere impertinence; yet we must say something. It is then the best +of Shakespeare’s plays, for it is the one in which he was most in +earnest.” + +“If the originality of invention did not so much stamp almost +every play of Shakespeare,” says Hallam, “that to name one as the +most original seems a disparagement to others, we might say that +this great prerogative of genius was exercised above all in Lear. +It diverges more from the model of regular tragedy than _Macbeth_ +or _Othello_, or even more than _Hamlet_, but the fable is better +constructed than in the last of these and it displays full as much of +the almost superhuman inspiration of the poet as the other two.” + +“King Lear may be recognised as the perfect model of the dramatic art +of the whole world,” says Shelley. + +“I am not minded to say much of Shakespeare’s Arthur”; says +Swinburne. “There are one or two figures in the world of his work of +which there are no words that would be fit or good to say. Another +of these is Cordelia. The place they have in our lives and thoughts +is not one for talk. The niche set apart for them to inhabit in our +secret hearts is not penetrable by the lights and noises of common +day. There are chapels in the cathedral of man’s highest art, as in +that of his inmost life, not made to be set open to the eyes and feet +of the world. Love and Death and Memory keep charge for us in silence +of some beloved names. It is the crowning glory of genius, the final +miracle and transcendent gift of poetry that it can add to the number +of these and engrave on the very heart of our remembrance fresh names +and memories of its own creation.” + +“Lear, c’est l’occasion de Cordelia,” says Victor Hugo. “La maternité +de la fille sur le père; sujet profonde; la maternité vénérable entre +toutes, si admirablement traduite par la légend de cette romaine, +nourrice, au fond d’un cachot, de son père veillard. La jeune +mammelle près de la barbe blanche, il n’est point de spectacle plus +sacré. Cette mammelle filiale c’est Cordelia. + +“Une fois cette figure rêvée et trouvée Shakespeare a créé son +drame.... Shakespeare, portant Cordelia dans sa pensée, a créé cette +tragédie comme un dieu, qui ayant une aurore à placer, ferait tout +exprès un monde pour l’y mettre.”[137] + +“In _Lear_ Shakespeare’s vision sounded the abyss of horror to its +very depths, and his spirit showed neither fear, nor giddiness, nor +faintness at the sight,” says Brandes. “On the threshold of this +work, a feeling of awe comes over one, as on the threshold of the +Sistine Chapel, with its ceiling-frescoes by Michael Angelo, only +that the suffering here is far more intense, the wail wilder, the +harmonies of beauty more definitely shattered by the discords of +despair.” + +Such are the judgments of the critics on this drama, and therefore, +I think I am justified in choosing it as an example of Shakespeare’s +best plays. + +I will try as impartially as possible to give the contents of the +play, and then show why it is not the height of perfection, as it is +said to be by the learned critics, but is something quite different. + + + II + +The tragedy of Lear begins with a scene in which two courtiers, +Kent and Gloucester, are talking. Kent, pointing to a young man who +is present, asks Gloucester whether that is his son. Gloucester +says that he has often blushed to acknowledge the young man as his +son, but has now ceased to do so. Kent says: “I cannot conceive +you.” Then Gloucester, in the presence of his son, says: “Sir, +this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew round-wombed, +and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband +for her bed....” He goes on to say that he had another son who was +legitimate, but “though this knave came somewhat saucily before he +was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his +making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.” + +Such is the introduction. Not to speak of the vulgarity of these +words of Gloucester, they are also out of place in the mouth of a +man whom it is intended to represent as a noble character. It is +impossible to agree with the opinion of some critics that these +words are put into Gloucester’s mouth to indicate the contempt for +illegitimacy from which Edmund suffered. Were that so, it would in +the first place have been necessary to make the father express the +contempt felt by people in general, and secondly Edmund, in his +monologue about the injustice of those who despise him for his birth, +should have referred to his father’s words. But this is not done, +and therefore these words of Gloucester’s at the very beginning of +the piece, were merely for the purpose of informing the public in +an amusing way of the fact that Gloucester has a legitimate and an +illegitimate son. + +After this trumpets are blown, King Lear enters with his daughters +and sons-in-law and makes a speech about being aged and wishing +to stand aside from affairs and divide his kingdom between his +daughters. In order to know how much he should give to each daughter, +he announces that to the daughter who tells him she loves him most +he will give most. The eldest daughter, Goneril, says that there +are no words to express her love, that she loves him “dearer than +eyesight, space, and liberty,” and she loves him so much that it +“makes her breath poor.” King Lear immediately allots on the map to +this daughter her share, with fields, woods, rivers and meadows, and +puts the same question to his second daughter. The second daughter, +Regan, says that her sister has correctly expressed her own feelings, +but insufficiently. She, Regan, loves her father so that everything +is abhorrent to her except his love. The king rewards this daughter +also, and asks his youngest, favourite daughter, in whom, according +to his expression, “the wine of France and milk of Burgundy strive +to be interess’d”--that is, who is courted by the King of France and +the Duke of Burgundy--asks Cordelia how she loves him. Cordelia, who +personifies all the virtues as the two elder sisters personify all +the vices, says quite inappropriately, as if on purpose to vex her +father, that though she loves and honours him and is grateful to him, +yet, if she marries, her love will not all belong to him, but she +will love her husband also. + +On hearing these words the king is beside himself, and immediately +curses his favourite daughter with most terrible and strange +maledictions, saying, for instance, that he will love a man who +eats his own children as much as he now loves her who was once his +daughter. + + The barbarous Scythian, + Or he that makes his generation messes + To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom + Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d, + As thou, my sometime daughter. + +The courtier, Kent, takes Cordelia’s part, and, wishing to bring the +king to reason, upbraids him with his injustice and speaks reasonably +about the evil of flattery. Lear, without attending to Kent, banishes +him under threat of death, and calling to him Cordelia’s two suitors, +the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy, proposes to each in turn +to take Cordelia without a dowry. The Duke of Burgundy says plainly +that he will not take Cordelia without a dowry, but the King of +France takes her without dowry, and leads her away. After this the +elder sisters, there and then conversing with one another, prepare to +offend their father who had endowed them. So ends the first scene. + +Not to mention the inflated, characterless style in which Lear--like +all Shakespeare’s kings--talks, the reader or spectator cannot +believe that a king, however old and stupid, could believe the words +of the wicked daughters with whom he had lived all their lives, and +not trust his favourite daughter, but curse and banish her; therefore +the reader or spectator cannot share the feeling of the persons who +take part in this unnatural scene. + +Scene II begins with Edmund, Gloucester’s illegitimate son, +soliloquising on the injustice of men who concede rights and respect +to a legitimate son but deny them to an illegitimate son, and he +determines to ruin Edgar and usurp his place. For this purpose he +forges a letter to himself, as from Edgar, in which the latter +is made to appear to wish to kill his father. Having waited till +Gloucester appears, Edmund, as if against his own desire, shows him +this letter, and the father immediately believes that his son Edgar, +whom he tenderly loves, wishes to kill him. The father goes away, +Edgar enters, and Edmund suggests to him that his father for some +reason wishes to kill him. Edgar also at once believes him, and flees +from his father. + +The relations between Gloucester and his two sons and the feelings +of these characters, are as unnatural as Lear’s relation to his +daughters, if not more so; and therefore it is even more difficult +for the spectator to put himself into the mental condition of +Gloucester and his sons and to sympathise with them, than it was in +regard to Lear and his daughters. + +In Scene IV the banished Kent, disguised, so that Lear does not +recognise him, presents himself to the king who is now staying with +Goneril. Lear asks who he is, to which Kent, one does not know why, +replies in a jocular tone quite inappropriate to his position: “A +very honest-hearted fellow and as poor as the King.” “If thou be’st +as poor for a subject as he’s for a King, thou art poor enough,” +replies Lear. “How old art thou?” “Not so young, sir, to love a woman +for singing, nor so old as to dote on her for anything,” to which the +King replies that if he likes him not worse after dinner, he will let +him remain in his service. + +This talk fits in neither with Lear’s position nor with Kent’s +relation to him, and is evidently put into their mouths only because +the author thought it witty and amusing. + +Goneril’s steward appears and is rude to Lear, for which Kent trips +him up. The King, who still does not recognise Kent, gives him +money for this, and takes him into his service. After this the fool +appears, and a talk begins between the fool and the King, quite out +of accord with the situation, leading to nothing, prolonged, and +intended to be amusing. Thus for instance the fool says, “Give me an +egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.” The King asks what crowns they +shall be. “Why, after I have cut the egg i’the middle and eat up the +meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’the +middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back +o’er the dirt; thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou +gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him +be whipped that first finds it so.” + +In this manner prolonged conversations go on, producing in the +spectator or reader a sense of wearisome discomfort such as one +experiences when listening to dull jokes. + +This conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Goneril. She +demands that her father should diminish his retinue: instead of a +hundred courtiers he should be satisfied with fifty. On hearing this +proposal Lear is seized with terrible, unnatural rage, and asks: + + Does any here know me? This is not Lear! + Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus? Where are his eyes? + Either his notion weakens, his discernings + Are lethargied. Ha! Waking? ’tis not so, + Who is it that can tell me who I am? + +and so forth. + +Meanwhile the fool unceasingly interpolates his humourless jokes. +Goneril’s husband appears and wishes to appease Lear, but Lear curses +Goneril, invoking sterility upon her, or the birth of such a child as +would repay with ridicule and contempt her maternal cares, and would +thereby show her all the horror and suffering caused by a child’s +ingratitude. + +These words, which express a genuine feeling, might have been +touching had only this been said, but they are lost among long +high-flown speeches Lear continually utters quite inappropriately. +Now he calls down blasts and fogs on his daughter’s head, now desires +that curses should “pierce every sense about thee,” or addressing +his own eyes, says that if they weep he will pluck them out and cast +them, with the waters that they lose, “to temper clay.” + +After this, Lear sends Kent, whom he still does not recognise, to his +other daughter, and notwithstanding the despair he has just expressed +he talks with the fool and incites him to jests. The jests continue +to be mirthless, and besides the unpleasant feeling akin to shame +that one feels at unsuccessful witticisms, they are so long-drawn-out +as to be wearisome. So for instance the fool asks the King, “Canst +thou tell why one’s nose stands i’ the middle of one’s face?” Lear +says he does not know. + +“Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side one’s nose: that what a man +cannot smell out he may spy into.” + +“Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?” the fool asks. + +“No.” + +“Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.” + +“Why?” + +“Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and +leave his horns without a case.” + +“Be my horses ready?” asks Lear. + +“Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no +more than seven is a pretty reason.” + +“Because they are not eight?” says Lear. + +“Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good fool,” says the fool, and so +forth. + +After this long scene a gentleman comes and announces that the horses +are ready. The fool says: + + She that’s a maid now and laughs at my departure, + Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter, + +and goes off. + +Scene I of Act II begins with the villain Edmund persuading his +brother, when his father enters, to pretend that they are fighting +with their swords. Edgar agrees, though it is quite incomprehensible +why he should do so. The father finds them fighting. Edgar runs away +and Edmund scratches his own arm to draw blood, and persuades his +father that Edgar was using charms to kill his father and had wanted +Edmund to help him, but that he had refused to do so and Edgar had +then thrown himself upon him and wounded him in the arm. Gloucester +believes everything, curses Edgar, and transfers all the rights of +his elder and legitimate son to the illegitimate Edmund. The Duke of +Cornwall, hearing of this, also rewards Edmund. + +In Scene II before Gloucester’s castle, Lear’s new servant Kent, +still unrecognised by Lear, begins without any reason to abuse +Oswald (Goneril’s steward), calling him “a knave, a rascal, an eater +of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, +hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; ... the son and heir +of a mongrel bitch,” and so on. Then drawing his sword he demands +that Oswald should fight him, saying that he will make of him a “sop +o’ the moonshine,” words no commentator has been able to explain, +and when he is stopped, he continues to give vent to the strangest +abuse, saying, for instance, that he, Oswald, has been made by a +tailor, because “a stone-cutter, or a painter, could not have made +him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade.” He also +says that, if he is allowed, he will tread this unbolted villain into +mortar, and daub the wall of a privy with him. + +And in this way Kent, whom nobody recognises,--though both the king +and the Duke of Cornwall, as well as Gloucester who is present, +should know him well,--continues to brawl, in the character of a new +servant of Lear’s, until he is seized and put in the stocks. + +Scene III takes place on a heath. Edgar, flying from his father’s +pursuit, hides himself in a tree, and he tells the audience what +kinds of lunatics there are, beggars who go about naked, thrust pins +and wooden pricks into their bodies, and scream with wild voices and +enforce charity, and he says that he intends to play the part of +such a lunatic in order to escape from the pursuit. Having told the +audience this he goes off. + +Scene IV is again before Gloucester’s castle. Lear and the fool +enter. Lear sees Kent in the stocks and, still not recognising him, +is inflamed with anger against those who have dared so to treat his +messenger, and he calls for the Duke and Regan. The fool goes on +with his queer sayings. Lear with difficulty restrains his anger. +The Duke and Regan enter. Lear complains of Goneril, but Regan +justifies her sister. Lear curses Goneril and, when Regan tells +him he had better go back to her sister, he is indignant and says: +“Ask her forgiveness?” and goes on his knees, showing how improper +it would be for him abjectly to beg food and clothing as charity +from his own daughter, and he curses Goneril with the most terrible +curses, and asks who has dared to put his messenger in the stocks. +Before Regan can answer Goneril arrives. Lear becomes yet more angry +and again curses Goneril, and when he is told that the Duke had +ordered the stocks he says nothing, for at this moment Regan tells +him that she cannot receive him now and that he had better return +with Goneril, and in a month’s time she will herself receive him but +not with a hundred but with only fifty followers. Lear again curses +Goneril and does not want to go with her, still hoping that Regan +will receive him with all his hundred followers, but Regan says she +will only accept him with twenty-five, and then Lear decides to go +back with Goneril who allows fifty. Then, when Goneril says that +even twenty-five are too many, Lear utters a long discourse about +the superfluous and sufficient being conditional conceptions, and +says that if a man is allowed only as much as is necessary he is no +different from a beast. And here Lear, or rather the actor who plays +Lear, addresses himself to a finely-dressed woman in the audience, +and says that she too does not need her finery, which does not keep +her warm. After this he becomes madly angry, says that he will do +something terrible to be revenged upon his daughters but will not +weep, and so he departs. The noise of a storm that is commencing is +heard. + +Such is the second Act, full of unnatural occurrences, and still more +unnatural speeches not flowing from the speaker’s circumstances, and +finishing with the scene between Lear and his daughters which might +be powerful if it were not overloaded with speeches most naïvely +absurd and unnatural and quite inappropriate moreover, put in Lear’s +mouth. Exceedingly touching would be Lear’s vacillations between +pride, anger, and hope of concessions from his daughters, were they +not spoilt by these verbose absurdities which he utters about being +ready to divorce Regan’s dead mother should Regan not be glad to see +him, or about evoking “fen-sucked fogs” to infect his daughter, or +about the heavens being obliged to protect old men as they themselves +are old, and much else. + +Act III begins with thunder, lightning, and storm--a special kind of +storm such as there never was before, as one of the characters in the +play says. On the heath a gentleman tells Kent that Lear, expelled by +his daughters from their houses, is wandering about the heath alone, +tearing his hair and throwing it to the winds, and that only the fool +is with him. Kent tells the gentleman that the Dukes have quarrelled, +and that a French army has landed at Dover, and having communicated +this, he despatches the gentleman to Dover to meet Cordelia. + +Scene II of Act III also takes place on the heath. Lear walks about +the heath and utters words intended to express despair: he wishes +the winds to blow so hard that they (the winds) should crack their +cheeks, and that the rain should drench everything, and that the +lightning should singe his white head and thunder strike the earth +flat and destroy all the germs “that make ingrateful man!” The fool +keeps uttering yet more senseless words. Kent enters. Lear says that, +for some reason, in this storm all criminals shall be discovered +and exposed. Kent, still not recognised by Lear, persuades Lear to +take shelter in a hovel. The fool thereupon utters a prophecy quite +unrelated to the situation, and they all go off. + +Scene III is again transferred to Gloucester’s castle. Gloucester +tells Edmund that the French king has already landed with an army and +intends to help Lear. On learning this, Edmund decides to accuse his +father of treason in order to supplant him. + +Scene IV is again on the heath in front of the hovel. Kent invites +Lear to enter the hovel, but Lear replies that he has no reason +to shelter himself from the storm, that he does not feel it as +the tempest in his mind, aroused by his daughter’s ingratitude, +overpowers all else. This true feeling, if expressed in simple words, +might evoke sympathy, but amid his inflated and incessant ravings it +is hard to notice it and it loses its significance. + +The hovel to which Lear is led turns out to be the same that Edgar +has entered disguised as a madman, that is to say, without clothes. +Edgar comes out of the hovel and, though they all know him, nobody +recognises him any more than they recognise Kent, and Edgar, Lear, +and the fool, begin to talk nonsense which continues with intervals +for six pages. In the midst of this scene Gloucester enters (who also +fails to recognise either Kent or his own son Edgar), and tells them +how his son Edgar wished to kill him. + +This scene is again interrupted by one in Gloucester’s castle, during +which Edmund betrays his father and the Duke declares he will be +revenged on Gloucester. The scene again shifts to Lear. Kent, Edgar, +Gloucester, Lear, and the fool, are in a farm-house and are talking. +Edgar says: “Frateretto calls me and tells me, Nero is an angler in +the lake of darkness....” The fool says: “Nuncle, tell me, whether a +madman be a gentleman, or a yeoman?” Lear, who is out of his mind, +says that a madman is a king. The fool says: “No, he’s a yeoman, +that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad yeoman, that sees +his son a gentleman before him.” Lear cries out: “To have a thousand +with red burning spits come hissing in upon them.” And Edgar shrieks +that the foul fiend bites his back. Then the fool utters an adage +that one cannot trust “the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a +boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.” Then Lear imagines that he is trying +his daughters. “Most learned justicer,” says he addressing the naked +Edgar. “Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!” To this +Edgar says: + + Look, where he stands and glares! + Wantonest thou eyes at trial, madam? + Come o’er the bourn, Bessy, to me! + +and the fool sings: + + Her boat hath a leak, + And she must not speak + Why she dares not come over to thee. + +Edgar again says something, and Kent begs Lear to lie down, but Lear +continues his imaginary trial. + + Bring in the evidence. + Thou robed man of justice, take thy place; (_to Edgar_) + And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, (_to the fool_) + Bench by his side. You are of the commission, (_to Kent_) + Sit you too. + +“Pur! the cat is grey,” cries Edgar. + +“Arraign her first; ’t is Goneril,” says Lear. “I here take my oath +before this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father.” + + _Fool_: Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril? + (_addressing a joint-stool_) + + _Lear_: And here’s another.... Stop her there! Arms, arms, + sword, fire! Corruption in the place! False justicer, + why hast thou let her ’scape? + +and so on. + +This raving ends by Lear falling asleep, and Gloucester persuading +Kent, still without recognising him, to take the King to Dover. Kent +and the fool carry Lear off. + +The scene changes to Gloucester’s castle. Gloucester himself is +accused of treason, and is brought in and bound. The Duke of Cornwall +tears out one of his eyes and stamps on it. Regan says that one eye +is still whole and that this healthy eye is laughing at the other +eye, and urges the Duke to crush it too. The Duke wishes to do so, +but for some reason one of the servants suddenly takes Gloucester’s +part and wounds the Duke. Regan kills the servant. The servant dies +and tells Gloucester that he has still one eye to see that the +evil-doer is punished. The Duke says: “Lest it see more, prevent it: +out, vile jelly!” and tears out Gloucester’s other eye and throws +it on the floor. Here Regan mentions that Edmund has denounced his +father, and Gloucester suddenly understands that he has been deceived +and that Edgar did not wish to kill him. + +This ends the third Act. Act IV is again in the open country. Edgar, +still in the guise of a maniac, talks in artificial language about +the perversities of fate and the advantages of a humble lot. Then, +curiously enough, to the very spot on the open heath where he is +comes his father, blind Gloucester, led by an old man, and he too +talks about the perversities of fate in that curious Shakespearean +language the chief peculiarity of which is that the thoughts arise +either from the sound of the words, or by contrast. He tells the old +man who leads him to leave him. The old man says that without eyes +one cannot go alone, because one cannot _see_ the way. Gloucester +says: + +“I have no way, and therefore want no _eyes_.” + +And he argues that he stumbled when he _saw_ and that our defects +often save us. + +“Ah! dear son Edgar,” adds he, + + The food of thy abused father’s wrath. + Might I but live to _see_ thee in my touch, + I’d say I had eyes again! + +Edgar, naked, in the character of a lunatic, hears this, but does not +disclose himself; he takes the place of the old man who had acted as +guide, and talks with his father, who does not recognise his voice +and believes him to be a madman. Gloucester takes the opportunity to +utter a witticism about “when madmen lead the blind,” and insists +on driving away the old man, obviously not from motives which might +be natural to him at that moment, but merely, when left alone with +Edgar, to enact an imaginary leap over the cliff. Edgar, though he +has only just seen his blinded father and learned that he repents +of having driven him away, utters quite unnecessary sayings, which +Shakespeare might know, having read them in Harsnet’s book,[138] but +which Edgar had no means of becoming acquainted with, and which, +above all, it is quite unnatural for him to utter in his then +condition. He says: + +“Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once: of lust, as Obidicut; +Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; +and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses +chamber-maids and waiting-women.” + +On hearing these words, Gloucester gives Edgar his purse saying: + + That I am wretched + Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still! + Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man + That braves your ordinance, that will not see + Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; + So distribution should undo excess, + And each man have enough. + +Having uttered these strange words, the blind Gloucester demands that +Edgar should lead him to a cliff that he does not himself know, but +that hangs over the sea, and they depart. + +Scene II of Act IV takes place before the Duke of Albany’s palace. +Goneril is not only cruel but also dissolute. She despises her +husband, and discloses her love to the villain. Edmund, who has +obtained his father’s title of Gloucester. Edmund goes away, and a +conversation takes place between Goneril and her husband. The Duke +of Albany, the only character who shows human feelings, has already +grown dissatisfied with his wife’s treatment of her father and now +definitely takes Lear’s part, but he expresses himself in words which +destroy one’s belief in his feelings. He says that a bear would lick +Lear’s reverence, and that if the heavens do not send their visible +spirits to tame these vile offences, humanity must prey on itself +like monsters, and so forth. + +Goneril does not listen to him, and he then begins to denounce her. + +He says: + + See thyself, devil! + Proper deformity seems not in the fiend + So horrid, as in woman. + +“O vain fool!” says Goneril. + + Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame, + Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness + To let these hands obey my blood, + They are apt enough to dislocate and tear + Thy flesh and bones:--Howe’er thou art a fiend, + A woman’s shape doth shield thee, + +continues the Duke. + +After this a messenger enters and announces that the Duke of +Cornwall, wounded by a servant while he was tearing out Gloucester’s +eyes, has died. Goneril is glad, but already anticipates with fear +that Regan, being now a widow, will snatch Edmund from her. This ends +the second scene. + +Scene III of Act IV represents the French camp. From a conversation +between Kent and a gentleman, the reader or spectator learns that the +King of France is not in the camp and that Cordelia has received a +letter from Kent and is greatly grieved by what she learns about her +father. The gentleman says that her face reminded one of sunshine and +rain. + + Her smiles and tears + Were like a better day: Those happy smilets, + That play’d on her ripe lip, seem’d not to know + What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, + As pearls from diamonds dropp’d, + +and so forth. The gentleman says that Cordelia desires to see her +father, but Kent says that Lear is ashamed to see the daughter he has +treated so badly. + +In Scene IV Cordelia, talking with a physician, tells him that Lear +has been seen, and that he is quite mad, wearing on his head a wreath +of various weeds and roaming about, and that she has sent soldiers to +find him, and she adds the wish that all secret medicinal virtues of +the earth may spring to him in her tears, and so forth. + +She is told that the forces of the Dukes are approaching; but she is +only concerned about her father, and goes off. + +In Scene V of Act IV, which is in Gloucester’s castle, Regan talks +with Oswald, Goneril’s steward, who is carrying a letter from Goneril +to Edmund, and tells him that she also loves Edmund and that as she +is a widow it is better for her to marry him than for Goneril to do +so, and she asks Oswald to persuade her sister of this. Moreover she +tells him that it was very unwise to put out Gloucester’s eyes and +yet to let him live, and therefore she advises Oswald, if he meets +Gloucester, to kill him, and promises him a great reward if he does +so. + +In Scene VI Gloucester again appears with his unrecognised son Edgar, +who, now dressed as a peasant, is leading his father to the cliff. +Gloucester is walking along on level ground, but Edgar assures him +that they are with difficulty ascending a steep hill. Gloucester +believes this. Edgar tells his father that the noise of the sea +is audible; Gloucester believes this also. Edgar stops on a level +place and assures his father that he has ascended the cliff and that +below him is a terrible abyss, and he leaves him alone. Gloucester, +addressing the gods, says that he shakes off his affliction as he +could not bear it longer without condemning them, the gods, and +having said this he leaps on the level ground and falls, imagining +that he has jumped over the cliff. Edgar thereupon utters to himself +a yet more confused phrase: + + And yet I know not how conceit may rob + The treasury of life, when life itself + Yields to the theft; had he been where he thought, + By this had thought been past, + +and he goes up to Gloucester pretending to be again a different man, +and expresses astonishment at the latter not having been killed by +his fall from such a dreadful height. Gloucester believes that he +has fallen, and prepares to die, but he feels that he is alive, and +begins to doubt having fallen. Then Edgar assures him that he really +did jump from a terrible height, and says that the man who was with +him at the top was a fiend, for he had eyes like two full moons, and +a thousand noses, and wavy horns. + +Gloucester believes this, and is persuaded that his despair was +caused by the devil, and therefore decides that he will despair no +longer but will quietly await death. Just then Lear enters, for some +reason all covered with wild flowers. He has gone mad, and utters +speeches yet more meaningless than before. He talks about coining +money, about a bow, calls for a clothier’s yard, then he cries out +that he sees a mouse which he wishes to entice with a piece of +cheese, and then he suddenly asks the password of Edgar, who at once +replies with the words, “Sweet Marjoram.” Lear says, “Pass!” and +the blind Gloucester, who did not recognise his son’s or Kent’s, +recognises the King’s voice. + +Then the King, after his disconnected utterances, suddenly begins +to speak ironically about flatterers who said “ay and no” like the +theologians and assured him that he could do everything, but when +he got into a storm without shelter, he saw that this was not true; +and then he goes on to say that as all creatures are wanton, and +as Gloucester’s bastard son was kinder to his father than his own +daughters had been to him (though Lear, according to the course of +the play, could know nothing of Edmund’s treatment of Gloucester), +therefore let copulation thrive, especially as he, a King, lacks +soldiers. And thereupon he addresses an imaginary, hypocritically +virtuous lady who acts the prude while at the same time, like an +animal in heat, she is addicted to lust. All women “but to the girdle +do the gods inherit. Beneath is all the fiend’s ...” and saying this +Lear screams and spits with horror. This monologue is evidently meant +to be addressed by actor to audience, and probably produces an effect +on the stage, but is quite uncalled for in the mouth of Lear--as is +his desire to wipe his hand because it “smells of mortality” when +Gloucester wishes to kiss it. Then Gloucester’s blindness is referred +to, which gives an opportunity for a play of words on eyes and +Cupid’s blindness, and for Lear to say that Gloucester has “no eyes +in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a _heavy_ +case, your purse in a _light_.” Then Lear declaims a monologue on the +injustice of legal judgment, which is quite out of place in his mouth +seeing that he is insane. Then a gentleman enters with attendants +sent by Cordelia to fetch her father. Lear continues to behave madly +and runs away. The gentleman sent to fetch Lear does not run after +him but continues to tell Edgar lengthily about the position of the +French and the British armies. + +Oswald enters and, seeing Gloucester and wishing to obtain the reward +promised by Regan, attacks him; but Edgar, with his stave, kills +Oswald, who when dying gives Edgar (the man who has killed him) +Goneril’s letter to Edmund, the delivery of which will earn a reward. +In this letter Goneril promises to kill her husband and marry Edmund. +Edgar drags out Oswald’s body by the legs, and then returns and leads +his father away. + +Scene VII of Act IV takes place in a tent in the French camp. Lear +is asleep on a bed. Cordelia enters with Kent, still in disguise. +Lear is awakened by music and, seeing Cordelia, does not believe she +is alive but thinks her an apparition, and does not believe that he +is himself alive. Cordelia assures him that she is his daughter, +and begs him to bless her. He goes on his knees before her, begs +forgiveness, admits himself to be old and foolish, and says he is +ready to take poison, which he thinks she probably has prepared for +him, as he is persuaded that she must hate him. + + For your sisters + Have, as I do remember, done me wrong; + You have some cause, they have not. + +Then little by little he comes to his senses and ceases to rave. His +daughter suggests that he should take a little walk. He consents and +says: + + You must bear with me: + Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish. + +They go off. The gentleman and Kent, who remain on the scene, talk in +order to explain to the audience that Edmund is at the head of the +forces and that a battle must soon begin between Lear’s defenders and +his enemies. So Act IV ends. + +In this Fourth Act the scene between Lear and his daughter might have +been touching had it not been preceded in three previous acts by the +tedious monotonous ravings of Lear, and also had it been the final +scene expressing his feelings, but it is not the last. + +In Act V Lear’s former cold pompous artificial ravings are repeated, +destroying the impression the preceding scene might have produced. + +Scene I of Act V shows us Edmund and Regan (who is jealous of her +sister and offers herself to Edmund). Then Goneril comes on with her +husband and soldiers. The Duke of Albany, though he pities Lear, +considers it his duty to fight against the French who have invaded +his country, and so prepares himself for battle. + +Then Edgar enters, still disguised, and hands the Duke of Albany the +letter, and says that if the Duke wins the battle he should let a +herald sound a trumpet, and then (this is 800 years B. C.) a champion +will appear who will prove that the contents of the letter are true. + +In Scene II Edgar enters leading his father, whom he seats by a +tree, and himself goes off. The sounds of a battle are heard, Edgar +runs back and says that the battle is lost; Lear and Cordelia +are prisoners. Gloucester is again in despair. Edgar, still not +disclosing himself to his father, tells him that he should not +despair, and Gloucester at once agrees with him. + +Scene III opens with a triumphal progress of Edmund the victor. Lear +and Cordelia are prisoners. Lear, though he is now no longer insane, +still utters the same sort of senseless, inappropriate words, as, for +instance, that in prison with Cordelia, + + We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage, + When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down, + And ask of thee forgiveness. + +(This kneeling down comes three times over.) He also says that when +they are in prison they will wear out poor rogues and “sects of great +ones that ebb and flow by the moon,” that he and she are sacrifices +upon which “the gods throw incense,” that “he that parts them shall +bring a brand from heaven, and fire us hence like foxes” and that + + The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell, + Ere they shall make us weep, + +and so forth. + +Edmund orders Lear and his daughter to be led away to prison, and +having ordered a captain to do them some hurt, asks him whether he +will fulfil it. The captain replies “I cannot draw a cart, nor eat +dried oats; but if it be man’s work I will do it.” The Duke of +Albany, Goneril, and Regan enter. The Duke wishes to take Lear’s +part, but Edmund opposes this. The sisters intervene and begin to +abuse each other, being jealous of Edmund. Here everything becomes +so confused that it is difficult to follow the action. The Duke of +Albany wants to arrest Edmund, and tells Regan that Edmund had long +ago entered into guilty relations with his wife and that therefore +Regan must give up her claim on Edmund, and if she wishes to marry +should marry him, the Duke of Albany. + +Having said this, the Duke challenges Edmund and orders the trumpet +to be sounded, and if no one appears intends himself to fight him. + +At this point Regan, whom Goneril has evidently poisoned, writhes +with pain. Trumpets are sounded and Edgar enters with a visor which +conceals his face, and without giving his name challenges Edmund. +Edgar abuses Edmund; Edmund casts back all the abuse on Edgar’s head. +They fight and Edmund falls. Goneril is in despair. + +The Duke of Albany shows Goneril her letter. Goneril goes off. + +Edmund while dying recognises that his opponent is his brother. Edgar +raises his visor and moralises to the effect that for having an +illegitimate son, Edmund, his father has paid with the loss of his +sight. After this Edgar tells the Duke of Albany of his adventures +and that he has only now, just before coming to this combat, +disclosed himself to his father, and his father could not bear it +and died of excitement. Edmund, who is not yet dead, asks what else +happened. + +Then Edgar relates that while he was sitting by his father’s body +a man came, embraced him closely, cried out as if he would burst +heaven, threw himself on his father’s corpse, and told a most piteous +tale about Lear and himself, and having told it “the strings of +life began to crack,” but just then the trumpet sounded twice and +he, Edgar, left him “tranced.” And this was Kent. Before Edgar +had finished telling this story a gentleman runs in with a bloody +knife, shouting, “Help!” To the question “Who has been killed?” the +gentleman says that Goneril is dead, who had poisoned her sister. +She had confessed this. Kent enters, and at this moment the bodies +of Regan and Goneril are brought in. Edmund thereupon says that +evidently the sisters loved him greatly, as the one had poisoned +the other and then killed herself for his sake. At the same time he +confesses that he had given orders to kill Lear and hang Cordelia in +prison, under the pretence that she had committed suicide; but that +he now wishes to prevent this, and having said so, he dies and is +carried out. + +After this Lear enters with Cordelia’s dead body in his arms (though +he is over eighty years of age and ill). And again there begin his +terrible ravings which make one feel as ashamed as one does when +listening to unsuccessful jokes. Lear demands that they should all +howl, and alternately believes that Cordelia is dead and that she is +alive. He says: + + Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so + That heaven’s vault should crack. + +Then he recounts how he has killed the slave who hanged Cordelia. +Next he says that his eyes see badly, and thereupon recognises Kent +whom all along he had not recognised. + +The Duke of Albany says that he resigns his power as long as Lear +lives, and that he will reward Edgar and Kent and all who have been +true to him. At that moment news is brought that Edmund has died; +and Lear, continuing his ravings, begs that they will undo one of +his buttons, the same request he made when he was roaming about the +heath. He expresses his thanks for this, tells them all to look +somewhere, and with these words he dies. + +In conclusion the Duke of Albany, who remains alive, says: + + The weight of this sad time we must obey; + Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. + The oldest hath borne most: we that are young + Shall never see so much, nor live so long. + +All go off to the sound of a dead march. This ends Act V of the play. + + + III + +Such is this celebrated play. Absurd as it may appear in this +rendering (which I have tried to make as impartial as possible), +I can confidently say that it is yet more absurd in the original. +To any man of our time, were he not under the hypnotic influence +of the suggestion that this play is the height of perfection, it +would be enough to read it to the end, had he patience to do so, to +convince himself that far from being the height of perfection it is +a very poor, carelessly constructed work which, if it may have been +of interest to a certain public of its own day, can among us evoke +nothing but aversion and weariness. And any man of our day free +from such suggestion would receive just the same impression from +the other much praised dramas of Shakespeare, not to speak of the +absurd dramatised tales, _Pericles_, _Twelfth Night_, _The Tempest_, +_Cymbeline_, and _Troilus and Cressida_. + +But such free-minded people, not pre-disposed to Shakespeare worship, +are no longer to be found in our time and in our Christian society. +Into every man of our society and time, from an early period of his +conscious life, has been instilled the idea that Shakespeare is a +poetic and dramatic genius and that all his works are the height of +perfection. And therefore, superfluous as it would seem, I will +try to indicate in the play of _King Lear_ which I have chosen, the +defects characteristic of all Shakespeare’s tragedies and comedies, +as a result of which they not only fail to furnish models of dramatic +art but fail to satisfy the most elementary and generally recognised +requirements of art. + +According to the laws laid down by those very critics who extol +Shakespeare, the conditions of every tragedy are that the persons +who appear should, as a result of their own characters, actions, and +the natural movement of events, be brought into conditions in which, +finding themselves in opposition to the world around them, they +should struggle with it and in that struggle display their inherent +qualities. + +In the tragedy of _King Lear_ the persons represented are indeed +externally placed in opposition to the surrounding world and struggle +against it. But the struggle does not result from a natural course +of events and from their own characters, but is quite arbitrarily +arranged by the author, and therefore cannot produce on the reader +that illusion which constitutes the chief condition of art. Lear +is under no necessity, and has no reason, to resign his power. And +having lived all their lives with his daughters he also has no +reason to believe the words of the two elder, and not to believe the +truthful statement of the youngest; yet on this the whole tragedy of +his position is built. + +Equally unnatural is the secondary and very similar plot: the +relation of Gloucester to his sons. The position of Gloucester +and Edgar arises from the fact that Gloucester, just like Lear, +immediately believes the very grossest deception, and does not even +try to ask the son who had been deceived, whether the accusation +against him is true, but curses him and drives him away. + +The fact that the relation of Lear to his daughters is just the same +as that of Gloucester to his sons, makes one feel even more strongly +that they are both arbitrarily invented and do not flow from the +characters or the natural course of events. Equally unnatural and +obviously invented is the fact that all through the play Lear fails +to recognise his old courtier, Kent; and so the relations of Lear and +Kent fail to evoke the sympathy of reader or hearer. This applies +in an even greater degree to the position of Edgar, whom nobody +recognises, who acts as guide to his blind father and persuades him +that he has leapt from a cliff when Gloucester has really jumped on +level ground. + +These positions in which the characters are quite arbitrarily placed +are so unnatural that the reader or spectator is unable either to +sympathise with their sufferings or even to be interested in what he +reads or hears. That in the first place. + +Secondly, there is the fact that both in this and in Shakespeare’s +other dramas all the people live, think, speak, and act, quite out +of accord with the given period and place. The action of _King Lear_ +takes place 800 years B. C., and yet the characters in it are placed +in conditions possible only in the Middle Ages: Kings, dukes, armies, +illegitimate children, gentlemen, courtiers, doctors, farmers, +officers, soldiers, knights in armour, and so on, appear in it. +Perhaps such anachronisms (of which all Shakespeare’s plays are full) +did not infringe the possibility of illusion in the 16th century and +the beginning of the 17th, but in our time it is no longer possible +to interest oneself in the development of events one knows could not +have occurred in the conditions the author describes in detail. + +The artificiality of the positions, which do not arise from a natural +course of events and from the characters of the people engaged, and +their incompatibility with the period and the place, is further +increased by the coarse embellishments Shakespeare continually makes +use of in passages meant to be specially touching. The extraordinary +storm during which Lear roams about the heath, or the weeds which +for some reason he puts on his head, as Ophelia does in _Hamlet_, +or Edgar’s attire--all these effects, far from strengthening the +impression, produce a contrary effect. “_Man sieht die Absicht und +man wird verstimmt_”[139] as Goethe says. It often happens--as for +instance with such obviously intentional effects as the dragging out +of half-a-dozen corpses by the legs, with which Shakespeare often +ends his tragedies--that instead of feeling fear and pity one feels +the absurdity of the thing. + + + IV + +But not only are the characters in Shakespeare’s plays placed in +tragic positions which are quite impossible, do not result from +the course of events, and are inappropriate to the period and the +place, but they also behave in a way not in accord with their own +definite characters and that is quite arbitrary. It is customary +to assert that in Shakespeare’s dramas character is particularly +well expressed, and that with all his vividness his people are as +many-sided as real people, and that while exhibiting the nature of a +certain given individual they also show the nature of man in general. +It is customary to say that Shakespeare’s delineation of character is +the height of perfection. This is asserted with great confidence and +repeated by everyone as an indisputable verity, but much as I have +tried to find confirmation of this in Shakespeare’s dramas, I have +always found the reverse. + +From the very beginning of reading any of Shakespeare’s plays I was +at once convinced that it was perfectly evident that he is lacking +in the chief, if not the sole, means of portraying character, which +is individuality of language--that each person should speak in a way +suitable to his own character. That is lacking in Shakespeare. All +his characters speak, not a language of their own but always one and +the same Shakespearean, affected, unnatural language, which not only +could they not speak, but which no real people could ever have spoken +anywhere. + +No real people could speak, or could have spoken, as Lear +does--saying that, “I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb” if +Regan did not receive him, or telling the winds to “crack your +cheeks,” or bidding “the wind blow the earth into the sea,” or “swell +the curl’d waters ’bove the main,” as the gentleman describes what +Lear said to the storm, or that it is easier to bear one’s griefs +and “the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip, when grief hath mates, +and bearing fellowship” (“bearing” meaning suffering), that Lear is +“childed, as I father’d,” as Edgar says, and so forth--unnatural +expressions such as overload the speeches of the people in all +Shakespeare’s dramas. + +But it is not only that the characters all talk as no real people +ever talked or could talk; they are also all afflicted by a common +intemperance of language. + +In love, preparing for death, fighting or dying, they all talk at +great length and unexpectedly about quite irrelevant matters, guided +more by the sound of the words and by puns than by the thoughts. + +And they all talk alike. Lear raves just as Edgar does when feigning +madness. Kent and the fool both speak alike. The words of one person +can be put into the mouth of another, and by the character of the +speech it is impossible to know who is speaking. If there is a +difference in the speech of Shakespeare’s characters, it is only that +Shakespeare makes different speeches for his characters, and not that +they speak differently. + +Thus Shakespeare always speaks for his kings in one and the same +inflated, empty language. Similarly all his women who are intended +to be poetic, speak the same pseudo-sentimental Shakespearean +language: Juliet, Desdemona, Cordelia, and Mariana. In just the +same way also it is Shakespeare who always speaks for his villains: +Richard, Edmund, Iago, and Macbeth--expressing for them those +malignant feelings which villains never express. And yet more +identical is the talk of his madmen, with their terrible words, and +the speeches of his fools with their mirthless witticisms. + +So that the individual speech of living people--that individual +speech which in drama is the chief means of presenting character--is +lacking in Shakespeare. (If gesture is also a means of expressing +character, as in the ballet, it is only a subsidiary means.) If the +characters utter whatever comes to hand and as it comes to hand and +all in one and the same way, as in Shakespeare, even the effect +of gesture is lost; and therefore whatever blind worshippers of +Shakespeare may say, Shakespeare does not show us characters. + +Those persons who in his dramas stand out as characters, are +characters borrowed by him from earlier works which served as the +bases of his plays, and they are chiefly depicted, not in the +dramatic manner which consists of making each person speak in his +own diction, but in the epic manner, by one person describing the +qualities of another. + +The excellence of Shakespeare’s depiction of character is asserted +chiefly on the ground of the characters of Lear, Cordelia, Othello, +Desdemona, Falstaff, and Hamlet. But these characters, like all the +others, instead of belonging to Shakespeare, are taken by him from +previous dramas, chronicles, and romances. And these characters were +not merely not strengthened by him, but for the most part weakened +and spoilt. This is very evident in the drama of King Lear which we +are considering, and which was taken by Shakespeare from the play of +_King Leir_ by an unknown author. The characters of this drama, such +as Lear himself and in particular Cordelia, were not only not created +by Shakespeare, but have been strikingly weakened by him and deprived +of personality, as compared with the older play. + +In the older play Leir resigns his power because, having become a +widower, he thinks only of saving his soul. He asks his daughters +about their love for him in order, by means of a cunning device, to +keep his youngest and favourite daughter with him on his island. +The two eldest are betrothed, while the youngest does not wish to +contract a loveless marriage with any of the neighbouring suitors +Leir offers her, and he is afraid she may marry some distant +potentate. + +The device he has planned, as he explains to his courtier Perillus +(Shakespeare’s Kent), is this: that when Cordelia tells him that she +loves him more than anyone, or as much as her elder sisters do, he +will say that in proof of her love she must marry a prince he will +indicate on his island. + +All these motives of Lear’s conduct are lacking in Shakespeare’s +play. Then, when (according to the older play) Leir asks his +daughters about their love for him, Cordelia does not reply (as +Shakespeare has it) that she will not give her father all her love +but will also love her husband if she marries--to say which is quite +unnatural--but simply says that she cannot express her love in words +but hopes her actions will prove it. Goneril and Regan make remarks +to the effect that Cordelia’s answer is not an answer, and that their +father cannot quietly accept such indifference. So that in the older +play there is an explanation, lacking in Shakespeare, of Leir’s anger +at the youngest daughter’s reply. Leir is vexed at the non-success +of his cunning device, and the venomous words of his elder daughters +add to his irritation. After the division of his kingdom between +the two eldest daughters in the older play comes a scene between +Cordelia and the King of Gaul which, instead of the impersonal +Shakespearean Cordelia, presents us with a very definite and +attractive character in the truthful, tender, self-denying youngest +daughter. While Cordelia, not repining at being deprived of a share +in the inheritance, sits grieving that she has lost her father’s love +and looking forward to earning her bread by her own toil, the King +of Gaul enters, who in the disguise of a pilgrim wishes to choose a +bride from among Leir’s daughters. He asks Cordelia the cause of her +grief. She tells him her woe. He, having fallen in love with her, in +his pilgrim guise woos her for the King of Gaul, but Cordelia says +she will only marry a man she loves. Then the pilgrim offers her +his hand and heart, and Cordelia confesses that she loves him and, +notwithstanding the poverty and privation that she thinks awaits her, +agrees to marry him. Then the pilgrim discloses to her that he is +himself the King of Gaul, and Cordelia marries him. + +Instead of this scene Lear, according to Shakespeare, proposes to +Cordelia’s two suitors to take her without dowry, and one cynically +refuses, while the other takes her without our knowing why. + +After this in the older play, as in Shakespeare, Leir undergoes +insults from Goneril to whose house he has gone, but he bears these +insults in a very different way from that represented by Shakespeare: +he feels that by his conduct to Cordelia he has deserved them, and +he meekly submits. As in Shakespeare so also in the older play, the +courtier, Perillus (Kent) who has taken Cordelia’s part and has +therefore been punished, comes to Leir, only not disguised, but +simply as a faithful servant who does not abandon his King in a +moment of need, and assures him of his love. Leir says to him what +in Shakespeare Lear says to Cordelia in the last scene--that if his +daughters whom he has benefited hate him, surely one to whom he has +done evil cannot love him. But Perillus (Kent) assures the King of +his love, and Leir, pacified goes on to Regan. In the older play +there are no tempests or tearing out of grey hairs, but there is a +weakened old Leir, overpowered by grief and humbled, and driven out +by his second daughter also, who even wishes to kill him. Turned out +by his eldest daughters, Leir in the older play, as a last resource, +goes with Perillus to Cordelia. Instead of the unnatural expulsion +of Leir during a tempest and his roaming about the heath, in the +old play Leir with Perillus during their journey to France very +naturally come to the last degree of want. They sell their clothes +to pay for the sea-crossing, and exhausted by cold and hunger they +approach Cordelia’s house in fishermen’s garb. Here again, instead +of the unnatural conjoint ravings of the fool, Lear, and Edgar, +as presented by Shakespeare, we have in the older play a natural +scene of the meeting between the daughter and father. Cordelia--who +notwithstanding her happiness has all the time been grieving about +her father and praying God to forgive her sisters who have done him +so much wrong--meets him, now in the last stage of want, and wishes +immediately to disclose herself to him, but her husband advises her +not to do so for fear of agitating the weak old man. She agrees and +takes Leir into her house, and without revealing herself to him takes +care of him. Leir revives little by little, and then the daughter +asks him who he is, and how he lived formerly. If, says Leir, + + ... from the first I should relate the cause, + I would make a heart of adamant to weep. + And thou, poor soul, + Kind-hearted as thou art, + Dost weep already ere I do begin. + +Cordelia replies: + + For God’s love tell it, and when you have done, + I’ll tell the reason why I weep so soon. + +And Leir relates all he has suffered from his elder daughters, and +says that he now wishes to find shelter with the one who would be +right should she condemn him to death. “If, however,” he says, “she +will receive me with love, it will be God’s and her work, and not +my merit!” To this Cordelia replies, “Oh, I know for certain that +thy daughter will lovingly receive thee!” “How canst thou know this +without knowing her?” says Leir. “I know,” says Cordelia, “because +not far from here, I had a father who acted towards me as badly as +thou hast acted towards her, yet if I were only to see his white +head, I would creep to meet him on my knees.” “No, this cannot be,” +says Leir, “for there are no children in the world so cruel as mine.” +“Do not condemn all for the sins of some,” says Cordelia, falling +on her knees. “Look here, dear father,” she says, “look at me: I am +thy loving daughter.” The father recognises her and says: “It is not +for thee, but for me to beg thy pardon on my knees for all my sins +towards thee.” + +Is there anything approaching this charming scene in Shakespeare’s +drama? + +Strange as the opinion may appear to Shakespeare’s devotees, the +whole of this older play is in all respects beyond compare better +than Shakespeare’s adaptation. It is so, first because in it those +superfluous characters--the villain Edmund and the unnatural +Gloucester and Edgar, who only distract one’s attention--do not +appear. Secondly, it is free from the perfectly false “effects” of +Lear’s roaming about on the heath, his talks with the fool, and +all those impossible disguises, non-recognitions, and wholesale +deaths--above all because in this play there is the simple, natural, +and deeply touching character of Leir, and the yet more touching +and clearly defined character of Cordelia, which are lacking in +Shakespeare. And also because there is in the older drama, instead of +Shakespeare’s daubed scene of Lear’s meeting with Cordelia and her +unnecessary murder, the exquisite scene of Leir’s meeting with +Cordelia, which is unequalled by anything in Shakespeare’s drama. + +The older play also terminates more naturally and more in accord with +the spectators’ moral demands than does Shakespeare’s, namely, by the +King of the Gauls conquering the husbands of the elder sisters, and +Cordelia not perishing, but replacing Leir in his former position. + +This is the position as regards the drama we are examining, borrowed +from the old play _King Leir_. + +It is the same with _Othello_, which is taken from an Italian story, +and it is the same again with the famous _Hamlet_. The same may +be said of Antony, Brutus, Cleopatra, Shylock, Richard, and all +Shakespeare’s characters; they are all taken from antecedent works. +Shakespeare, taking the characters already given in previous plays, +stories, chronicles, or in Plutarch’s _Lives_, not only fails to make +them more true to life and more vivid, as his adulators assert, but +on the contrary always weakens them and often quite destroys them, +as in _King Leir_: making his characters commit actions unnatural +to them, and making them, above all, talk in a way natural neither +to them nor to any human being. So in _Othello_, though this is--we +will not say the best, but the least bad--the least overloaded with +pompous verbosity, of all Shakespeare’s dramas, the characters of +Othello, Iago, Cassio, Emilia are far less natural and alive in +Shakespeare than in the Italian romance. In Shakespeare Othello +suffers from epilepsy, of which he has an attack on the stage. +Afterwards in Shakespeare the murder of Desdemona is preceded by +a strange vow uttered by Othello on his knees, and besides this, +Othello in Shakespeare’s play is a negro and not a Moor. All this +is unusual, inflated, unnatural, and infringes the unity of the +character. And there is none of all this in the romance. In the +romance also the causes of Othello’s jealousy are more naturally +presented than in Shakespeare. In the romance Cassio, knowing whose +the handkerchief is, goes to Desdemona to return it, but when +approaching the back door of Desdemona’s house he sees Othello coming +and runs away from him. Othello perceives Cassio running away, and +this it is that chiefly confirms his suspicion. This is omitted in +Shakespeare, and yet this casual incident explains Othello’s jealousy +more than anything else. In Shakespeare this jealousy is based +entirely on Iago’s machinations, which are always successful, and +on his crafty speeches, which Othello blindly believes. Othello’s +monologue over the sleeping Desdemona, to the effect that he wishes +that she when killed should look as she is when alive, and that he +will love her when she is dead and now wishes to inhale her “balmy +breath” and so forth, is quite impossible. A man who is preparing to +murder someone he loves cannot utter such phrases, and still less +after the murder can he say that the sun and the moon ought now to be +eclipsed and the globe to yawn, nor can he, whatever kind of a nigger +he may be, address devils, inviting them to roast him in sulphur, and +so forth. And finally, however effective may be his suicide (which +does not occur in the romance) it quite destroys the conception of +his firm character. If he really suffers from grief and remorse then, +when intending to kill himself, he would not utter phrases about his +own services, about a pearl, about his eyes dropping tears “_as fast +as the Arabian trees their medicinable gum_,” and still less could +he talk about the way a Turk scolded a Venetian, and how “_thus_” he +punished him for it! So that despite the powerful movement of feeling +in Othello, when under the influence of Iago’s hints jealousy rises +in him, and afterwards in his scene with Desdemona, one’s conception +of Othello’s character is constantly infringed by false pathos and by +the unnatural speeches he utters. + +So it is with the chief character--Othello. But notwithstanding the +disadvantageous alterations it has undergone in comparison with +the character from which he is taken in the romance, Othello still +remains a character. But all the other personages have been quite +spoilt by Shakespeare. + +Iago in Shakespeare’s play is a complete villain, a deceiver, a +thief, and avaricious; he robs Roderigo, succeeds in all sorts of +impossible designs, and therefore is a quite unreal person. In +Shakespeare the motive of his villainy is, first, that he is offended +at Othello not having given him a place he desired; secondly, that +he suspects Othello of an intrigue with his wife; and thirdly that, +as he says, he feels a strange sort of love for Desdemona. There +are many motives, but they are all vague. In the romance there is +one motive, and it is simple and clear: Iago’s passionate love for +Desdemona, changing into hatred of her and of Othello after she had +preferred the Moor to him and had definitely repulsed him. Yet more +unnatural is the quite unnecessary figure of Roderigo, whom Iago +deceives and robs, promising him Desdemona’s love and obliging him to +do as he is ordered: to make Cassio drunk, to provoke him, and then +to kill him. Emilia, who utters anything it occurs to the author to +put into her mouth, bears not even the slightest resemblance to a +real person. + +“But Falstaff, the wonderful Falstaff!” Shakespeare’s eulogists +will say. “It is impossible to assert that he is not a live person, +and that, having been taken out of an anonymous comedy, he has been +weakened.” + +Falstaff, like all Shakespeare’s characters, was taken from a play by +an unknown author, written about a real person, a Sir John Oldcastle, +who was the friend of some Duke. This Oldcastle had once been accused +of heresy, but had been saved by his friend the Duke. But afterwards +he was condemned and burnt at the stake for his religious beliefs, +which clashed with Catholicism. To please the Roman Catholic public +an unknown author wrote a play about Oldcastle, ridiculing this +martyr for his faith and exhibiting him as a worthless man, a boon +companion of the Duke; and from this play Shakespeare took not only +the character of Falstaff but also his own humorous attitude towards +him. In the first plays of Shakespeare’s in which this character +appears he was called Oldcastle; but afterwards, when under Elizabeth +Protestantism had again triumphed, it was awkward to mock at this +martyr of the struggle with Catholicism, and besides, Oldcastle’s +relatives had protested, and Shakespeare changed the name from +Oldcastle to Falstaff--also an historical character, notorious for +having run away at the battle of Agincourt. + +Falstaff is really a thoroughly natural and characteristic +personage, almost the only natural and characteristic one depicted +by Shakespeare. And he is natural and characteristic because, of +all Shakespeare’s characters, he alone speaks in a way proper to +himself. He speaks in a manner proper to himself because he talks +just that Shakespearean language, filled with jests that lack humour +and unamusing puns, which, while unnatural to all Shakespeare’s +other characters, is quite in harmony with the boastful, distorted, +perverted character of the drunken Falstaff. That is the only reason +why this figure really presents a definite character. Unfortunately +the artistic effect of the character is spoilt by the fact that it +is so repulsive in its gluttony, drunkenness, debauchery, rascality, +mendacity, and cowardice, that it is difficult to share the feeling +of merry humour Shakespeare adopts towards it. Such is the case with +Falstaff. + +But in none of Shakespeare’s figures is, I will not say his inability +but his complete indifference, to giving his people characters so +strikingly noticeable as in the case of _Hamlet_, and with no other +of Shakespeare’s works is the blind worship of Shakespeare so +strikingly noticeable--that unreasoning hypnotism which does not even +admit the thought that any production of his can be other than a work +of genius, or that any leading character in a drama of his can fail +to be the expression of a new and profoundly conceived character. + +Shakespeare takes the ancient story--not at all bad of its +kind--relating: _avec quelle ruse Amlet qui depuis fût Roy de +Dannemarch, vengea la mort de son père Horwendille, occis par Fengon, +son frère, et autre occurrence de son histoire_, or a drama that was +written on the same theme fifteen years before him; and he writes his +play on this subject introducing inappropriately (as he constantly +does) into the mouth of the chief character all such thoughts of his +own as seem to him worthy of attention. Putting these thoughts into +his hero’s mouth: about life (the grave-diggers); about death (“To +be or not to be”); those he had expressed in his sixty-sixth sonnet +about the theatre and about women--he did not at all concern himself +as to the circumstances under which these speeches are delivered, and +it naturally results that the person uttering these various thoughts +becomes a mere phonograph of Shakespeare, deprived of any character +of his own; and his actions and words do not agree. + +In the legend Hamlet’s personality is quite intelligible: he is +revolted by the conduct of his uncle and his mother, wishes to be +revenged on them, but fears that his uncle may kill him as he had +killed his father, and therefore pretends to be mad, wishing to wait +and observe all that was going on at court. But his uncle and his +mother, being afraid of him, wish to find out whether he is feigning, +or is really mad, and send a girl he loves to him. He keeps up his +rôle, and afterwards sees his mother alone, kills a courtier who was +eavesdropping, and convicts his mother of her sin. Then he is sent to +England. He intercepts letters, returns from England, and revenges +himself on his enemies, burning them all. + +This is all intelligible and flows from Hamlet’s character and +position. But Shakespeare, by putting into Hamlet’s mouth speeches he +wished to publish and making him perform actions he needed to secure +effective scenes, destroys all that forms Hamlet’s character in the +legend. Throughout the whole tragedy Hamlet does not do what he +might wish to do, but what is needed for the author’s plans: now he +is frightened by his father’s ghost, and now he begins to chaff it, +calling it “old mole”; now he loves Ophelia, now he teases her, and +so on. There is no possibility of finding any explanation of Hamlet’s +actions and speeches, and therefore no possibility of attributing any +character to him. + +But as it is accepted that Shakespeare, the genius, could write +nothing bad, learned men devote all the power of their minds to +discovering extraordinary beauties in what is an obvious and glaring +defect--particularly obvious in Hamlet--namely, that the chief person +in the play has no character at all. And, lo and behold, profound +critics announce that in this drama, in the person of Hamlet, is +most powerfully presented a perfectly new and profound character, +consisting in this, that the person has no character; and that in +this absence of character lies an achievement of genius--the creation +of a profound character! And having decided this, the learned critics +write volumes upon volumes, until the laudations and explanations +of the grandeur and importance of depicting the character of a man +without a character fill whole libraries. It is true that some +critics timidly express the thought that there is something strange +about this person, and that Hamlet is an unsolved riddle; but no one +ventures to say, as in Hans Andersen’s story, that the king is naked; +that it is clear as day that Shakespeare was unable, and did not +even wish, to give Hamlet any character and did not even understand +that this was necessary! And learned critics continue to study and +praise this enigmatical production, which reminds one of the famous +inscribed stone found by Pickwick at a cottage doorstep,--which +divided the scientific world into two hostile camps. + +So that neither the character of Lear, nor of Othello, nor of +Falstaff, and still less of Hamlet, at all confirms the existing +opinion that Shakespeare’s strength lies in the delineation of +character. + +If in Shakespeare’s plays some figures are met with that have +characteristic traits (mostly secondary figures as Polonius in +_Hamlet_, and Portia in _The Merchant of Venice_) these few life-like +figures--among the five hundred or more secondary figures, and with +the complete absence of character in the principal figures--are far +from proving that the excellence of Shakespeare’s dramas lies in the +presentation of character. + +That a great mastery in the presentation of character is attributed +to Shakespeare arises from his really possessing a peculiarity +which, when helped out by the play of good actors, may appear to +superficial observers to be a capacity to manage scenes in which a +movement of feeling is expressed. However arbitrary the positions in +which he puts his characters, however unnatural to them the language +he makes them speak, however lacking in individuality they may be, +the movement of feeling itself, its increase and change and the +combination of many contrary feelings, are often expressed correctly +and powerfully in some of Shakespeare’s scenes. And this, when +performed by good actors, evokes, if but for a while, sympathy for +the persons represented. + +Shakespeare, himself an actor and a clever man, knew not only by +speeches but by exclamations, gestures, and the repetition of words, +how to express the state of mind and changes of feeling occurring +in the persons represented. So that in many places Shakespeare’s +characters instead of speaking, merely exclaim, or weep, or in +the midst of a monologue indicate the pain of their position by +gesture (as when Lear asks to have a button undone), or at a moment +of strong excitement they repeat a question several times and cause +a word to be repeated which strikes them, as is done by Othello, +Macduff, Cleopatra, and others. Similar clever methods of expressing +a movement of feeling--giving good actors a chance to show their +powers--have often been taken by many critics for the expression of +character. But however strongly the play of feeling may be expressed +in one scene, a single scene cannot give the character of a person, +when, after the appropriate exclamations or gesture, that person +begins to talk lengthily not in a natural manner proper to him, but +according to the author’s whim--uttering things unnecessary and not +in harmony with his character. + + + V + +“Well, but the profound utterances and sayings delivered by +Shakespeare’s characters?” Shakespeare’s eulogists will exclaim. +“Lear’s monologue on punishment, Kent’s on vengeance, Edgar’s on his +former life, Gloucester’s reflections on the perversity of fate, and +in other dramas the famous monologues of Hamlet, Antony and others?” + +Thoughts and sayings may be appreciated, I reply, in prose works, +in essays, in collections of aphorisms, but not in artistic +dramatic works the aim of which is to elicit sympathy with what is +represented. And therefore the monologues and sayings of Shakespeare, +even if they contained many very profound and fresh thoughts, which +is not the case, cannot constitute the excellence of an artistic and +poetic work. On the contrary, these speeches, uttered in unnatural +conditions, can only spoil artistic works. + +An artistic poetic work, especially a drama, should first of all +evoke in reader or spectator the illusion that what the persons +represented are living through and experiencing, is being lived +through and experienced by himself. And for this purpose it is not +more important for the dramatist to know precisely what he should +make his acting characters do and say, than it is to know what he +should not make them say and do so as not to infringe the reader’s +or spectator’s illusion. However eloquent and profound they may +be, speeches put into the mouths of acting characters if they are +superfluous and do not accord with the situation and the characters, +infringe the main condition of dramatic work--the illusion causing +the reader or spectator to experience the feelings of the persons +represented. One may without infringing the illusion leave much +unsaid: the reader or spectator will himself supply what is needed +and sometimes as a result of this his illusion is even increased; but +to say what is superfluous is like jerking and scattering a statue +made up of small pieces, or taking the lamp out of a magic lantern. +The reader’s or spectator’s attention is distracted, the reader sees +the author, the spectator sees the actor, the illusion is lost, and +to recreate it is sometimes impossible. And therefore without a sense +of proportion there cannot be an artist, especially a dramatist. And +Shakespeare is entirely devoid of this feeling. + +Shakespeare’s characters continually do and say what is not merely +unnatural to them but quite unnecessary. I will not cite examples +of this, for I think that a man who does not himself perceive this +striking defect in all Shakespeare’s dramas will not be convinced +by any possible examples or proofs. It is sufficient to read _King +Lear_ alone, with the madness, the murders, the plucking out of eyes, +Gloucester’s jump, the poisonings, and the torrents of abuse--not to +mention _Pericles_, _A Winter’s Tale_--or _The Tempest_, to convince +oneself of this. Only a man quite devoid of the sense of proportion +and taste could produce the types of _Titus Andronicus_ and _Troilus +and Cressida_, and so mercilessly distort the old drama of _King +Leir_. + +Gervinus tries to prove that Shakespeare possessed a feeling of +beauty, _Schönheit’s Sinn_, but all Gervinus’s proofs only show +that he himself, Gervinus, completely lacked it. In Shakespeare +everything is exaggerated: the actions are exaggerated, so are their +consequences, the speeches of the characters are exaggerated, and +therefore at every step the possibility of artistic impression is +infringed. + +Whatever people may say, however they may be enraptured by +Shakespeare’s works, whatever merits they may attribute to them, it +is certain that he was not an artist, and that his works are not +artistic productions. Without a sense of proportion there never was +or could be an artist, just as without a sense of rhythm there cannot +be a musician. And Shakespeare may be anything you like--only not an +artist. + +“But one must not forget the times in which Shakespeare wrote,” says +his belauders. “It was a time of cruel and coarse manners, a time +of the then fashionable euphuism, that is, an artificial manner of +speech--a time of forms of life strange to us, and therefore to judge +Shakespeare one must keep in view the times when he wrote. In Homer, +as in Shakespeare, there is much that is strange to us, but this does +not prevent our valuing the beauties of Homer,” say the belauders. +But when one compares Shakespeare with Homer, as Gervinus does, the +infinite distance separating true poetry from its imitation emerges +with special vividness. However distant Homer is from us, we can +without the slightest effort transport ourselves into the life he +describes. And we are thus transported chiefly because, however alien +to us may be the events Homer describes, he believes in what he says +and speaks seriously of what he is describing, and therefore he never +exaggerates and the sense of measure never deserts him. And therefore +it happens that, not to speak of the wonderfully distinct, life-like, +and excellent characters of Achilles, Hector, Priam, Odysseus, and +the eternally touching scenes of Hector’s farewell, of Priam’s +embassy, of the return of Odysseus, and so forth, the whole of the +_Iliad_ and particularly the _Odyssey_, is as naturally close to us +all as if we had lived and were now living among the gods and heroes. +But it is not so with Shakespeare. From his first words exaggeration +is seen: exaggeration of events, exaggeration of feeling, and +exaggeration of expressions. It is at once evident that he does +not believe in what he is saying, that he doesn’t need it, that he +is inventing the occurrences he describes, is indifferent to his +characters, and has devised them merely for the stage, and therefore +makes them do and say what may strike his public; and so we do not +believe either in the events, or in the actions, or in the sufferings +of his characters. Nothing so clearly shows the complete absence of +esthetic feeling in Shakespeare, as a comparison between him and +Homer. The works which we call the works of Homer, are artistic, +poetic, original works, lived through by their author or authors. + +But Shakespeare’s works are compositions devised for a particular +purpose and having absolutely nothing in common with art or poetry. + + + VI + +But perhaps the loftiness of Shakespeare’s conception of life +is such as, even though he does not satisfy the demands of +esthetics, discloses to us so new and important a view of life +that in consideration of its value all his artistic defects become +unnoticeable. This is indeed what some belauders of Shakespeare say. +Gervinus plainly says that besides Shakespeare’s significance in the +sphere of dramatic poetry, in which in his opinion he is the equal +of “Homer in the sphere of the epic; Shakespeare being the greatest +judge of the human soul, is a teacher of most indisputable ethical +authority, and the most select leader in the world and in life.” + +In what then does this indubitable authority of the most select +teacher in the world and in life consist? Gervinus devotes the +concluding chapter of his second volume (some fifty pages) to an +explanation of this. + +The ethical authority of this supreme teacher of life, in the opinion +of Gervinus, consists in the following: “Shakespeare’s moral view +starts from the simple point,” says Gervinus, “that man is born with +powers of activity,” and therefore, first of all, says Gervinus, +Shakespeare regarded it as “an obligation to use our inherent power +of action.” (As if it were possible for man not to act!)[140] + +“_Die thatkräftigen Männer, Fortinbras, Bolingbroke, Alcibiades, +Octavius spielen hier die gegensätzlichen Rollen gegen die +verschiedenen Thatlosen; nicht ihre Charaktere verdienen ihnen +Allen ihr Glück und Gedeihen etwa durch eine grosse Ueberlegenheit +ihre Natur, sondern trotz ihrer geringern Anlage stellt sich +ihre Thatkraft an sich über die Unthätigkeit der Anderen hinaus, +gleichviel aus wie schöner Quelle diese Passivität, aus wie +schlechter jene Thatigkeit fliesse._”[141] + +That is to say, that active people like Fortinbras, Bolingbroke, +Alcibiades and Octavius, Gervinus informs us, are contrasted by +Shakespeare with various characters who do not display energetic +activity. And, according to Shakespeare, happiness and success are +attained by people who possess this active character, not at all as +a result of their superiority of nature. On the contrary, in spite +of their inferior talents, their energy in itself always gives them +the advantage over the inactive people, no matter whether their +inactivity results from excellent impulses, or the activity of the +others from base ones. Activity is good, inactivity is evil. Activity +transforms evil into good, says Shakespeare, according to Gervinus. +“Shakespeare prefers the principle of Alexander to that of Diogenes,” +says Gervinus. In other words, according to him, Shakespeare prefers +death and murder from ambition, to self-restraint and wisdom.[142] + +According to Gervinus, Shakespeare considers that humanity should +not set itself ideals, but that all that is necessary is healthy +activity, and a golden mean in everything. Indeed Shakespeare is so +imbued with this wise moderation that, in the words of Gervinus, +he even allows himself to deny Christian morality, which makes +exaggerated demands on human nature. “How thoroughly penetrated +Shakespeare was with this principle of wise moderation,” says +Gervinus, “is shewn perhaps most strongly in this, that he ventured +even to oppose Christian laws which demand an overstraining of +human nature; for he approved not that the limits of duty should be +extended beyond the intention of nature. He taught therefore the +wise and human medium between the Christian and heathen precepts” +(p. 917)--a reasonable mean, natural to man, between Christian and +pagan injunctions--on the one hand, love of one’s enemies, and on the +other, hatred of them! + +“That it is possible to do too much in good things, is an express +doctrine of Shakespeare, both in word and example.... Thus excessive +liberality ruins Timon, whilst moderate generosity keeps Antonio in +honour; the genuine ambition which makes Henry V great overthrows +Percy, in whom it rises too high. Exaggerated virtue brings Angelo +to ruin; and when in those near him the excess of punishment proves +harmful and cannot hinder sin, then mercy, the most Godlike gift +that man possesses, is also exhibited in its excess, as the producer +of sin.” + +Shakespeare, says Gervinus, taught that one _may do too much good_. +He teaches, says Gervinus, “that morality, like politics, is a matter +so complicated with relations, conditions of life, and motives, that +it is impossible to bring it to final principles” (p. 918). + +“In Shakespeare’s opinion (and here also he is one with Bacon and +Aristotle) there is no positive law of religion or morals which could +form a rule of moral action in precepts ever binding and suitable for +all cases.” + +Gervinus most clearly expresses Shakespeare’s whole moral theory by +saying that Shakespeare does not write for those classes for whom +definite religious principles and laws are suitable (that is to say, +for 999 out of 1000 of mankind), but for the cultivated, who have +made their own a healthy tact in life and such an instinctive feeling +as, united with conscience reason and will, can direct them to worthy +aims of life. But even for these fortunate ones, in the opinion of +Gervinus, this teaching may be dangerous if it is taken incompletely. +It must be taken whole. “There are classes,” says Gervinus, “whose +morality is best provided for by the positive letter of religion and +law; but for such as these Shakespeare’s writings are in themselves +inaccessible; they are only readable and comprehensible to the +cultivated, of whom it can be required that they should appropriate +to themselves the healthy measure of life, and that self-reliance +in which the guiding and inherent powers of conscience and reason, +united with the will, are, when consciously apprehended, worthy aims +of life” (p. 919). “But even for the cultivated also, Shakespeare’s +doctrine may not always be without danger.... The condition on which +his doctrine is entirely harmless is this, that it should be fully +and completely received and without any expurging and separating. +Then it is not only without danger, but it is also more unmistakable +and more infallible, and therefore more worthy of our confidence, +than any system of morality can be,” (p. 919). + +And in order to accept it all, one should understand that according +to his teaching it is insane and harmful for an individual to rise +against, or “disregard the bonds of religion and the state” (p. 921). +For Shakespeare would abhor a free and independent personality who +strong in spirit should oppose any law in politics or morals and +should disregard the union of the state and religion “which has kept +society together for centuries” (p. 921). “For in his opinion the +practical wisdom of man would have no higher aim than to carry into +society the utmost possible nature and freedom, but for that very +reason, and that he might maintain sacred and inviolable the natural +laws of society, he would respect existing forms, yet at the same +time penetrate into their rational substance with sound criticism, +not forgetting nature in civilization, nor, equally, civilization +in nature.” Property, the family, the state, are sacred. But the +aspiration to recognize the equality of man, is insane. “It’s +realization would bring the greatest harm to humanity” (p. 925). + +“No man has fought more strongly against rank and class prejudices, +than Shakespeare, but how could his liberal principles have been +pleased with the doctrines of those who would have done away with +the prejudices of the rich and cultivated, only to replace them +with the interests and prejudices of the poor and uncultivated? How +would this man, who allures so eloquently to the course of honour, +have approved, if in annulling rank, degrees of merit, distinction, +we extinguish every impulse to greatness, and by the removal of +all degrees, ‘shake the ladder to all high designs’? If indeed +no surreptitious honour and false power were longer to oppress +mankind, how would the poet have acknowledged the most fearful force +of all, the power of barbarity? In consequence of these modern +doctrines of equality, he would have apprehended that everything +would resolve itself into power; or if this were not the final lot +which awaited mankind from these aspirations after equality, if love +between nationalities and endless peace were not that ‘nothing’ of +impossibility, as Alonso expresses it in the _Tempest_, but could be +an actual fruit of these efforts after equality, then the poet would +have believed with this time the old age and decrepitude of the world +to have arrived, in which it were worthless to the active to live” +(p. 925). + +Such is Shakespeare’s view of life as explained by his greatest +exponent and admirer. Another of the recent belauders of Shakespeare, +Brandes, adds the following: + +“No one, of course, can preserve his life quite pure from injustice, +from deception, and from doing harm to others, but injustice and +deception are not always vices, and even the harm done to other +people is not always a vice: it is often only a necessity, a +legitimate weapon, a right. At bottom, Shakespeare had always held +that there were no such things as unconditional duties and absolute +prohibitions. He had never, for example, questioned Hamlet’s right +to kill the King, scarcely even his right to run his sword through +Polonius. Nevertheless he had hitherto been unable to conquer a +feeling of indignation and disgust when he saw around him nothing +but breaches of the simplest moral laws. Now, on the other hand, the +dim divinations of his earlier years crystallised in his mind into +a coherent body of thought: no commandment is unconditional; it is +not in the observance or non-observance of an external fiat that +the merits of an action, to say nothing of a character, consists: +everything depends upon the volitional substance into which the +individual, as a responsible agent, transmits the formal imperative +at the moment of decision.”[143] + +In other words Shakespeare now sees clearly that the morality of +the aim is the only true, the only possible one; so that, according +to Brandes, Shakespeare’s fundamental principle, for which he is +extolled, is that _the end justifies the means_. Action at all costs, +the absence of all ideals, moderation in everything, the maintenance +of established forms of life, and the maxim that “the end justifies +the means.” + +If one adds to this a Chauvinistic English patriotism, expressed +in all his historical plays: a patriotism according to which the +English throne is something sacred, the English always defeat the +French, slaughtering thousands and losing only scores, Jeanne d’Arc +is a witch, Hector and all the Trojans--from whom the English are +descended--are heroes while the Greeks are cowards and traitors, and +so forth: this is the view of life of the wisest teacher of life +according to his greatest admirer. And anyone who reads attentively +the works of Shakespeare cannot but acknowledge that the attribution +of this view of life to Shakespeare by those who praise him is +perfectly correct. + +The value of every poetical work depends on three qualities: + +1) The content of the work: the more important the content, that is +to say, the more important it is for the life of man, the greater is +the work. + +2) The external beauty achieved by the technical methods proper to +the particular kind of art. Thus in dramatic art the technical method +will be: that the characters should have a true individuality of +their own, a natural and at the same time a touching plot, a correct +presentation on the stage of the manifestation and development of +feelings, and a sense of proportion in all that is presented. + +3) Sincerity, that is to say that the author should himself vividly +feel what he expresses. Without this condition there can be no work +of art, as the essence of art consists in the infection of the +contemplator of a work by the author’s feeling. If the author has +not felt what he is expressing, the recipient cannot become infected +by the author’s feeling, he does not experience any feeling, and the +production cannot be classed as a work of art. + +The content of Shakespeare’s plays, as is seen by the explanations +of his greatest admirers, is the lowest, most vulgar view of life, +which regards the external elevation of the great ones of the earth +as a genuine superiority; despises the crowd, that is to say, the +working classes; and repudiates not only religious, but even any +humanitarian, efforts directed towards the alteration of the existing +order of society. + +The second condition is also absent in Shakespeare except in his +handling of scenes in which a movement of feelings is expressed. +There is in his works a lack of naturalness in the situations, the +characters lack individuality of speech, and a sense of proportion is +also wanting, without which such works cannot be artistic. + +The third and chief condition--sincerity--is totally absent in +all Shakespeare’s works. One sees in all of them an intentional +artificiality; it is obvious that he is not in earnest but is playing +with words. + + + VII + +The works of Shakespeare do not meet the demands of every art, and +besides that their tendency is very low and immoral. What then is the +meaning of the immense fame these works have enjoyed for more than a +hundred years? + +To reply to this question seems the more difficult because if the +works of Shakespeare had any kind of excellence, the achievement +which has produced the exaggerated praise lavished upon them, would +at least be to some extent intelligible. But here two extremes +meet: works which are beneath criticism, insignificant, empty, and +immoral--and insensate, universal laudation, proclaiming these works +to be above everything that has ever been produced by man. + +How is this to be explained? + +Many times during my life I have had occasion to discuss Shakespeare +with his admirers, not only with people little sensitive to poetry, +but also with those who felt poetic beauty keenly, such as Turgénev, +Fet,[144] and others, and each time I have encountered one and +the same attitude towards my disagreement with the belaudment of +Shakespeare. + +I was not answered when I pointed out Shakespeare’s defects; they +only pitied me for my want of comprehension and urged on me the +necessity of acknowledging the extraordinary supernatural grandeur +of Shakespeare. They did not explain to me in what the beauties of +Shakespeare consist, but were merely indefinitely and exaggeratedly +enthusiastic about the whole of Shakespeare, extolling some favourite +passages: the undoing of Lear’s button, Falstaff’s lying, Lady +Macbeth’s spot which would not wash out, Hamlet’s address to the +ghost of his father, the “forty thousand brothers,” “none does +offend, none, I say none,” and so forth. + +“Open Shakespeare,” I used to say to these admirers of his, “where +you will or as may chance, and you will see that you will never +find ten consecutive lines that are comprehensible, natural, +characteristic of the person who utters them, and productive of an +artistic impression.” (Anyone may make this experiment.) And the +belauders of Shakespeare opened pages in Shakespeare’s dramas by +chance, or at their own choice, and without paying any attention +to the reasons I adduced as to why the ten lines selected did not +meet the most elementary demands of esthetics or good sense, praised +the very things that appeared to me absurd, unintelligible, and +inartistic. + +So that in general in response to my endeavours to obtain from +the worshippers of Shakespeare an explanation of his greatness, I +encountered precisely the attitude I have usually met with, and +still meet, from the defenders of any dogmas accepted not on the +basis of reason but in mere credulity. And just this attitude of the +belauders of Shakespeare towards him--an attitude which may be met +with in all the indefinite, misty articles about Shakespeare, and in +conversations about him, gave me the key to an understanding of the +cause of Shakespeare’s fame. There is only one explanation of this +astonishing fame: it is one of those epidemic suggestions to which +people always have been and are liable. Such irrational suggestion +has always existed, and does exist in all spheres of life. Glaring +examples of such suggestion, considerable in scope and deceptiveness, +were the mediæval Crusades, which influenced not only adults but +also children, and many other epidemic suggestions astonishing in +their senselessness, such as the belief in witches, in the utility +of torture for the discovery of truth, the search for the elixir of +life, for the philosopher’s stone, and the passion for tulips valued +at several thousand guilders a bulb, which overran Holland. There +always have been and always are such irrational suggestions in all +spheres of human life--religious, philosophic, economic, scientific, +artistic, and in literature generally, and people only see clearly +the insanity of such suggestions after they are freed from them. But +as long as they are under their influence these suggestions appear +to them such undoubted truths that they do not consider it necessary +or possible to reason about them. Since the development of the +printing-press these epidemics have become particularly striking. + +Since the development of the press it has come about that as soon +as, from accidental circumstances, something obtains a special +significance, the organs of the press immediately announce this +significance. And as soon as the press has put forward the importance +of the matter, the public directs yet more attention to it. The +hypnotization of the public incites the press to regard the thing +more attentively and in greater detail. The interest of the public is +still further increased, and the organs of the press, competing one +with another, respond to the public demand. + +The public becomes yet more interested, and the press attributes +yet more importance to the matter; so that this importance, growing +ever greater and greater like a snowball, obtains a quite unnatural +appreciation, and this appreciation, exaggerated even to absurdity, +maintains itself as long as the outlook on life of the leaders of +the press and of the public remains the same. There are in our day +innumerable examples of such a misunderstanding of the importance +of the most insignificant occurrences, occasioned by the mutual +reaction of press and public. A striking example of this was the +excitement which seized the whole world over the Dreyfus affair. +A suspicion arose that some captain on the French staff had been +guilty of treason. Whether because this captain was a Jew, or from +some special internal party disagreements in French society, this +event, which resembled others that continually occur without arousing +anyone’s attention and without interesting the whole world or even +the French military, was given a somewhat prominent position by the +press. The public paid attention to it. The organs of the press, +vying with one another, began to describe, to analyse, to discuss the +event, the public became yet more interested, the press responded +to the demands of the public, and the snowball began to grow and +grow, and grew before our eyes to such an extent that there was not +a family which had not its disputes about _l’affaire_. So that Caran +d’Ache’s caricature, which depicted first a peaceful family that had +decided not to discuss the Dreyfus affair any more, and then the +same family represented as angry furies fighting one another, quite +correctly depicted the relation of the whole reading world to the +Dreyfus question. Men of other nationalities who could not have any +real interest in the question whether a French officer had or had not +been a traitor--men moreover who could not know how the affair was +going--all divided for or against Dreyfus, some asserting his guilt +with assurance, others denying it with equal certainty. + +It was only after some years that people began to awaken from the +“suggestion” and to understand that they could not possibly know +whether he was guilty or innocent, and that each one of them had +a thousand matters nearer and more interesting to him than the +Dreyfus affair. Such infatuations occur in all spheres, but they +are specially noticeable in the sphere of literature, for the press +naturally occupies itself most of all with the affairs of the press, +and these are particularly powerful in our day when the press has +obtained such an unnatural development. It continually happens that +people suddenly begin to devote exaggerated praise to some very +insignificant works, and then if these works do not correspond to the +prevailing view of life suddenly become perfectly indifferent to them +and forget both the works themselves and their own previous attitude +towards them. + +So within my recollection, in the eighteen-forties, there occurred in +the artistic sphere the exaltation and laudation of Eugène Sue and +George Sand; in the social sphere, of Fourier; in the philosophic +sphere, of Comte and Hegel; and in the scientific sphere, of Darwin. + +Sue is quite forgotten, George Sand is being forgotten and replaced +by the writings of Zola and the Decadents, Baudelaire, Verlaine, +Maeterlinck and others. Fourier, with his phalansteries, is quite +forgotten, and has been replaced by Karl Marx. Hegel, who justified +the existing order, and Comte, who denied the necessity of religious +activity in humanity, and Darwin, with his law of struggle for +existence, still maintain their places, but are beginning to be +neglected and replaced by the teachings of Nietzsche, which though +perfectly absurd, unthought-out, obscure, and bad in their content, +correspond better to the present-day outlook on life. Thus it +sometimes happens that artistic, philosophic, and literary crazes in +general, arise, fall rapidly, and are forgotten. + +But it also happens that such crazes, having arisen in consequence of +special causes accidentally favouring their establishment, correspond +so well to the view of life diffused in society and especially in +literary circles, that they maintain their place for a very long +time. Even in Roman times it was remarked that books have their fate, +and often a very strange one: failure in spite of high qualities, +and enormous undeserved success in spite of insignificance. And a +proverb was made: _Pro captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli_, that +is, that the fate of books depends on the understanding of those who +read them. Such was the correspondence of Shakespeare’s work to the +view of life of the people among whom his fame arose. And this fame +has been maintained, and is still maintained, because the works of +Shakespeare continue to correspond to the view of life of those who +maintain this fame. + +Until the end of the 18th century Shakespeare not only had no +particular fame in England, but was estimated less than his +contemporaries: Ben Jonson, Fletcher, Beaumont, and others. His fame +began in Germany, and from there passed to England. This happened +for the following reason: + +Art, especially dramatic art which demands for its realisation +extensive preparations, expenditure, and labour, was always +religious, that is to say, its object was to evoke in man a clearer +conception of that relation of man to God attained at the time by the +advanced members of the society in which the art was produced. + +So it should be by the nature of the matter, and so it always had +been among all nations: among the Egyptians, Hindoos, Chinese, +and Greeks--from the earliest time that we have knowledge of the +life of man. And it has always happened that, with the coarsening +of religious forms, art had more and more diverged from this +original aim (which had caused it to be recognised as an important +matter--almost an act of worship) and instead of the service of +religion, it adopted instead of religious aims worldly aims for the +satisfaction of the demands of the crowd, or of the great ones of the +earth, that is to say, aims of recreation and amusement. + +This deflection of art from its true and high vocation occurred +everywhere, and it occurred in Christendom. + +The first manifestation of Christian art was in the worship of God in +the temples: the performance of Mass and, in general, of the liturgy. +When in course of time the forms of this art of divine worship +became insufficient, the Mysteries were produced, depicting those +events regarded as most important in the Christian religious view +of life. Afterwards, when in the 13th and 14th centuries the centre +of gravity of Christian teaching was more and more transferred from +the worship of Jesus as God, to the explanation of his teaching and +its fulfilment, the form of the Mysteries, which depicted external +Christian events, became insufficient and new forms were demanded; +and as an expression of this tendency appeared the Moralities, +dramatic representations in which the characters personified the +Christian virtues and the opposite vices. + +But allegories by their very nature, as art of a lower order, could +not replace the former religious drama, and no new form of dramatic +art corresponding to the conception of Christianity as a teaching +of life had yet been found. And dramatic art, lacking a religious +basis, began in all Christian countries more and more to deviate from +its purpose, and instead of a service of God became a service of +the crowd (I mean by “crowd” not merely the common people, but the +majority of immoral or non-moral people indifferent to the higher +problems of human life). This deviation was helped on by the fact +that just at that time the Greek thinkers, poets, and dramatists, +with whom the Christian world had not hitherto been acquainted, were +re-discovered and favourably accepted. And therefore, not having +yet had time to work out for themselves a clear and satisfactory +form of dramatic art suitable to the new conception entertained of +Christianity as a teaching of life, and at the same time recognising +the previous Mysteries and Moralities as insufficient, the writers of +the 15th and 16th centuries, in their search for a new form, began +to imitate the newly discovered Greek models, which were attractive +by their elegance and novelty. And as it was chiefly the great ones +of the earth who could avail themselves of the drama--the kings, +princes, and courtiers--the least religious people, not merely quite +indifferent to questions of religion but for the most part thoroughly +depraved--it followed that to satisfy the demands of its public the +drama of the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries was chiefly a spectacle +intended for depraved kings and for the upper classes. Such was the +drama of Spain, England, Italy, and France. + +The plays of that time, chiefly composed in all these countries +according to ancient Greek models, from poems, legends, and +biographies, naturally reflected the national characters. In Italy +what was chiefly elaborated were comedies with amusing scenes and +characters. In Spain the worldly drama flourished, with complicated +plots and ancient historical heroes. The peculiarity of English drama +was the coarse effects produced by murders, executions, and battles +on the stage, and popular comic interludes. Neither the Italian, nor +the Spanish, nor the English, drama had European fame, and each of +them enjoyed success only in its own country. General fame, thanks +to the elegance of its language and the talent of its writers, was +enjoyed only by the French drama, which was distinguished by strict +adherence to the Greek models, and especially to the law of the three +Unities. + +So matters continued till the end of the 18th century, but at +the end of that century this is what happened: in Germany which +lacked even mediocre dramatists, (though there had been a weak and +little known writer, Hans Sachs), all educated people, including +Frederick the Great, bowed down before the French pseudo-classical +drama. And yet at that very time there appeared in Germany a +circle of educated and talented writers and poets who, feeling +the falsity and coldness of the French drama, sought a newer and +freer dramatic form. The members of this group, like all the upper +classes of the Christian world at that time, were under the charm +and influence of the Greek classics and, being utterly indifferent +to religious questions, thought that if the Greek drama depicting +the calamities, sufferings, and struggles of its heroes supplied +the best model for the drama, then for drama in the Christian world +such representation of the sufferings and struggles of heroes would +also be a sufficient subject, if only one rejected the narrow +demands of pseudo-classicism. These men, not understanding that the +sufferings and strife of their heroes had a religious significance +for the Greeks, imagined that it was only necessary to reject the +inconvenient law of the three Unities, and without containing any +religious element corresponding to the beliefs of their own time, +the representation of various incidents in the lives of historic +personages, and of strong human passions in general would afford a +sufficient basis for the drama. Just such a drama existed at that +time among the kindred English people and, becoming acquainted with +it, the Germans decided that just such should be the drama of the new +period. + +The masterly development of the scenes, which constitutes +Shakespeare’s speciality, caused them to select Shakespeare’s dramas +from among all other English plays which were not in the least +inferior, but often superior, to Shakespeare’s. + +At the head of the circle stood Goethe, who was then the dictator of +public opinion on esthetic questions. And he it was--partly from a +wish to destroy the fascination of the false French art, partly from +a wish to give freer scope to his own dramatic activity, but chiefly +because his view of life agreed with Shakespeare’s--he it was who +acclaimed Shakespeare a great poet. When that falsehood had been +proclaimed on Goethe’s authority, all those esthetic critics who did +not understand art threw themselves upon it like crows upon carrion, +and began to search Shakespeare for non-existent beauties, and to +extol them. These men, German esthetic critics--for the most part +utterly devoid of esthetic feeling, ignorant of that simple direct +artistic impression which for men with a feeling for art clearly +distinguishes artistic impression from all other, but believing the +authority that had proclaimed Shakespeare as a great poet--began to +belaud the whole of Shakespeare indiscriminately, selecting passages +especially which struck them by their effects or expressed thoughts +corresponding to their own view of life, imagining that such effects +and such thoughts constitute the essence of what is called art. + +These men acted as blind men would if they tried by touch to select +diamonds out of a heap of stones they fingered. As the blind man, +long sorting out the many little stones, could finally come to no +other conclusion than that all the stones were precious and the +smoothest were especially precious, so the esthetic critics, deprived +of artistic feeling, could come to no other result about Shakespeare. +To make their praise of the whole of Shakespeare more convincing +they composed an esthetic theory, according to which a definite +religious view of life is not at all necessary for the creation of +works of art in general, or for the drama in particular; that for +the inner content of a play it is quite enough to depict passions +and human characters, that not only is no religious illumination of +the matter presented required, but that art ought to be objective, +that is to say, it should depict occurrences quite independently of +any valuation of what is good or bad. And as this theory was educed +from Shakespeare, it naturally happened that the works of Shakespeare +corresponded to this theory, and were therefore the height of +perfection. + +And these were the people chiefly responsible for Shakespeare’s fame. + +Chiefly in consequence of their writings, the inter-action of +writers and the public came about which found expression, and is +still expressed, by the insensate belaudment of Shakespeare without +any rational basis. These esthetic critics wrote profound treatises +about Shakespeare (eleven thousand volumes have been written about +him, and a whole science of Shakespeareology has been formulated); +the public became more and more interested, and the learned critics +explained more and more, that is to say, they added to the confusion +and belaudment. + +So that the first cause of Shakespeare’s fame was that the Germans +wanted to oppose something freer and more alive to the French drama +of which they were tired, and which was really dull and cold. The +second cause was that the young German writers required a model for +their own dramas. The third and chief cause was the activity of the +learned and zealous esthetic German critics who lacked esthetic +feeling and formulated the theory of objective art, that is to say, +deliberately repudiated the religious essence of the drama. + +“But,” I shall be asked, “what do you mean by the words ‘religious +essence of the drama’? Is not what you demand for the drama +religious instruction, didactics: what is called a tendency--which +is incompatible with true art?” By “the religious essence of art,” +I reply, I mean not an external inculcation of any religious truth +in artistic guise, and not an allegorical representation of those +truths, but the expression of a definite view of life corresponding +to the highest religious understanding of a given period: an outlook +which, serving as the impelling motive for the composition of the +drama, permeates the whole work though the author is unconscious of +it. So it has always been with true art, and so it is with every true +artist in general and with dramatists especially. Hence, as happened +when the drama was a serious thing, and as should be according +to the essence of the matter, he alone can write a drama who has +something to say to men--something highly important for them--about +man’s relation to God, to the universe, to all that is infinite and +unending. + +But when, thanks to the German theories about objective art, an idea +had been established that, for drama, this is not wanted at all, +then a writer like Shakespeare who in his own soul had not formed +religious convictions corresponding to his period, and who had even +no convictions at all, but piled up in his plays all possible events, +horrors, fooleries, discussions, and effects, could evidently be +accepted as the greatest of dramatic geniuses. + +But all these are external reasons: the fundamental inner cause of +Shakespeare’s fame was, and is, that his plays fitted _pro captu +lectoris_, that is to say responded to the irreligious and immoral +attitude of the upper classes of our world. + + + VIII + +A series of accidents brought it about that Goethe at the beginning +of the last century, being the dictator of philosophic thought and +esthetic laws, praised Shakespeare; the esthetic critics caught up +that praise and began to write their long foggy erudite articles, and +the great European public began to be enchanted by Shakespeare. The +critics, responding to this public interest, laboriously vied with +one another in writing fresh and fresh articles about Shakespeare, +and readers and spectators were still further confirmed in their +enthusiasm, and Shakespeare’s fame kept growing and growing like +a snowball, until in our time it has attained a degree of insane +laudation that obviously rests on no other basis than suggestion. + +“There is no one even approximately equal to Shakespeare either among +ancient or modern writers.” “Poetic truth is the most brilliant gem +in the crown of Shakespeare’s service.” “Shakespeare is the greatest +moralist of all times.” “Shakespeare displays such diversity and such +objectivity as place him beyond the limits of time and nationality.” +“Shakespeare is the greatest genius that has hitherto existed.” +“For the creation of tragedies, comedies, historical plays, idylls, +idyllic comedies, esthetic idylls, for representation itself as +also for incidental verses, he is the only man. He not only wields +unlimited power over our laughter and our tears, over all phases +of passion, humour, thought and observation, but he commands an +unlimited realm of imagination, full of fancy of a terrifying and +amazing character, and he possesses penetration in the world of +invention and of reality, and over all this there reigns one and the +same truthfulness to character and to nature, and the same spirit of +humanity.” + +“To Shakespeare the epithet of great applies naturally; and if +one adds that independently of his greatness he has also become +the reformer of all literature, and moreover has expressed in +his works not only the phenomena of the life of his time, but +also from thoughts and views that in his day existed only in germ +has prophetically foreseen the direction which the social spirit +would take in the future (of which we see an amazing example in +Hamlet)--one may say without hesitation that Shakespeare was not only +a great, but the greatest of all poets that ever existed, and that in +the sphere of poetic creation the only rival that equals him is life +itself, which in his productions he depicted with such perfection.” + +The obvious exaggeration of this appraisement is a most convincing +proof that it is not the outcome of sane thought, but of suggestion. +The more insignificant, the lower, the emptier, a phenomenon is, +once it becomes the object of suggestion, the more supernatural and +exaggerated is the importance attributed to it. The Pope is not only +holy, but most holy, and so forth. So Shakespeare is not only a good +writer, but the greatest genius, the eternal teacher of mankind. + +Suggestion is always a deceit, and every deceit is an evil. And +really the suggestion that Shakespeare’s works are great works +of genius, presenting the climax both of esthetic and ethical +perfection, has caused and is causing great injury to men. + +This injury is two-fold: first, the fall of the drama and the +substitution of an empty immoral amusement for that important organ +of progress, and secondly, by the direct degradation of men by +presenting them with false models for imitation. + +The life of humanity only approaches perfection by the elucidation +of religious consciousness (the only principle securely uniting men +one with another). The elucidation of the religious consciousness of +man is accomplished through all sides of man’s spiritual activity. +One side of that activity is art. One part of art, and almost the +most important, is the drama. + +And therefore the drama, to deserve the importance attributed to +it, should serve the elucidation of religious consciousness. Such +the drama always was, and such it was in the Christian world. But +with the appearance of Protestantism in its broadest sense--that is +to say, the appearance of a new understanding of Christianity as a +teaching of life--dramatic art did not find a form corresponding to +this new understanding of religion, and the men of the Renaissance +period were carried away by the imitation of classical art. This was +most natural, but the attraction should have passed, and art should +have found, as it is now beginning to find, a new form corresponding +to the altered understanding of Christianity. + +But the finding of this new form was hindered by the teaching, which +arose among German writers at the end of the 18th and beginning of +the 19th centuries, of the so-called objectivity of art--that is +to say, the indifference of art to good or evil--together with an +exaggerated praise of Shakespeare’s dramas, which partly corresponded +to the esthetic theory of the Germans and partly served as material +for it. Had there not been this exaggerated praise of Shakespeare’s +dramas, accepted as the most perfect models of drama, people of the +18th and 19th centuries and of our own, would have had to understand +that the drama, to have a right to exist and be regarded as a serious +matter, ought to serve, as always was, and cannot but be, the case, +the elucidation of religious consciousness. And having understood +this they would have sought a new form of drama corresponding to +their religious perception. + +But when it was decided that Shakespeare’s drama is the summit of +perfection, and that people ought to write as he did without any +religious or even any moral content--all the dramatists, imitating +him, began to compose plays lacking content, like the plays of +Goethe, Schiller, Hugo, and, among us Russians, Púshkin, and the +historical plays of Ostróvski, Alexéy Tolstóy, and the innumerable +other more or less well-known dramatic works which fill all the +theatres and are continually produced by anyone to whom the thought +and desire to write plays occur. + +Only thanks to such a mean petty understanding of the importance of +the drama do there appear among us that endless series of dramatic +works presenting the actions, situations, characters, and moods of +people, not only devoid of any spiritual content but even lacking any +human sense. And let not the reader suppose that I exclude from this +estimate of contemporary drama the pieces I myself have incidentally +written for the theatre. I recognise them, just like all the rest, to +be lacking in that religious content which should form the basis of +the future drama. + +So that the drama, the most important sphere of art, has become in +our time merely an empty and immoral amusement for the empty and +immoral crowd. What is worst of all is that to the art of the drama, +which has fallen as low as it was possible to fall, people continue +to attribute an elevated significance, unnatural to it. + +Dramatists, actors, theatrical managers, the press--the latter most +seriously publishing reports of theatres, operas, and so forth--all +feel assured that they are doing something very useful and important. + +The drama in our time is like a great man fallen to the lowest stage +of degradation, who yet continues to pride himself on his past, +of which nothing now remains. And the public of our time is like +those who pitilessly get amusement out of this once great man, now +descended to the lowest depths. + +Such is one harmful effect of the epidemic suggestion of the +greatness of Shakespeare. Another harmful effect of that bepraisement +is the setting up of a false model for men’s imitation. + +If people now wrote of Shakespeare that, for his time, he was a +great writer, he managed verse well enough, was a clever actor and +a good stage-manager, even if their valuation were inexact and +somewhat exaggerated, provided it was moderate, people of the younger +generations might remain free from the Shakespearean influence. But +when to every young man entering on life in our time are presented +as models of moral perfection, not the religious and moral teachers +of mankind, but first of all Shakespeare, about whom it is decided +and transmitted by learned men from generation to generation as an +irrefragable truth that he is the greatest of poets and the greatest +of teachers of life, a young man cannot remain free from this harmful +influence. + +On reading or hearing Shakespeare the question for a young man is +no longer whether Shakespeare is good or bad, but only to discover +wherein lies that extraordinary esthetic and ethical beauty of which +he has received the suggestion from learned men whom he respects, but +which he neither sees nor feels. And forcing himself, and perverting +his esthetic and ethical feeling, he tries to make himself agree +with the prevailing opinion. He no longer trusts himself, but trusts +to what learned people, respected by him, have said (I myself have +experienced all this). Reading the critical analyses of the plays, +and the extracts from books with explanatory commentaries, it begins +to seem to him that he feels something like an artistic impression, +and the longer this continues the more is his esthetic and ethical +feeling perverted. He already ceases to discriminate independently +and clearly between what is truly artistic, and the artificial +imitation of art. + +But above all, having assimilated that immoral view of life +which permeates all Shakespeare’s works he loses the capacity to +distinguish between good and evil. And the error of extolling an +insignificant, inartistic, and not only non-moral but plainly immoral +writer, accomplishes its pernicious work. + +That is why I think that the sooner people emancipate themselves +from this false worship of Shakespeare the better it will be--first +because people when they are freed from this falsehood will come to +understand that a drama which has no religious basis is not only not +an important or good thing, as is now supposed, but is a most trivial +and contemptible affair. And having understood this they will have +to search for and work out a new form of modern drama--a drama which +will serve for the elucidation and confirmation in man of the highest +degree of religious consciousness. And secondly, because people, +when themselves set free from this hypnotic state, will understand +that the insignificant and immoral works of Shakespeare and his +imitators, aiming only at distracting and amusing the spectators, +cannot possibly serve to teach the meaning of life, but that, as long +as there is no real religious drama, guidance for life must be looked +for from other sources. + + + + + PART XVIII + + A TALK ON THE DRAMA. + + Reported by I. Teneromo, _ca._ 1907 + + +I recently had the opportunity of talking with Leo Tolstoy about the +theatre. + +“What dramas, what heartrending dramas, are being enacted before our +eyes: national dramas, class dramas, caste dramas! And the individual +drama! Has there ever been a time so full of terrible suffering, +of mutual destruction? Only think what has passed before us during +these last four years of horror! What a din of battle, what a storm +of insurrection, what shrieks of massacres with their heaps of +mutilated bodies in the streets, in the fields, and at the bottom of +the sea! And now that the noise is past, how many secret executions, +secret suicides, and how much secret madness! And in spite of such +a plenitude of subjects the stage is impoverished. We have no +tragedies, no moving drama, not even a healthy amusing repertoire, no +humor.... + +“It is as though life and the drama were made of one piece of dough, +and if more is allotted to the one, there remains less for the other. +The well-spring of plays for the stage has dried up, and there is +only the dull sticky liquid of adaptations left at the bottom. + +“Oh, those adaptations! Of course, what will not hunger drive one +to invent? But the idea of adaptation is a perfectly childish one. +To take a novel, or a story, and rearrange it as a play is like +what children do when they cut a figure out of a picture along the +outline, stick it to a bit of cardboard, fix it on a stand, and are +quite delighted. It stands up, therefore it is a statue! A novel or +a story is pictorial work: in it the master works with his brush, +putting on dabs of paint, producing backgrounds, shadows, half-tones. +A play is sculptor’s work. One has to work with a chisel: not to put +on dabs of paint but to cut out in relief. + +“I first understood the wide difference between a novel and a play +when I sat down to write my _Power of Darkness_. At first I set to +work using a novelist’s usual methods, to which I was accustomed. But +after the first few pages I found that they were not the right thing +here. For instance, on the stage it is impossible to prepare for +the important moments lived through by the hero, impossible to make +him think and call up memories, or to throw light on his character +by referring back to the past: it all comes out dull, forced, and +unreal. A ready-formed state of mind, ready-formed resolutions, must +be presented to the public. Only soul-images like these--sculptured +in relief and in mutual collision--agitate and touch the onlooker. + +“It is true I myself could not resist it, and put into _The Power of +Darkness_ a few monologues; but while doing so I felt it was not the +right thing.” + + The above is taken from _The Life of Tolstoy_, Vol. II, by + Aylmer Maude. + + _c. 1917._ + + + + + PART XIX + + TWO KINDS OF MENTAL ACTIVITY + + (The following article was written by Tolstoy to serve as + an introduction to a collection of thoughts, aphorisms, and + maxims by La Bruyère, La Rochefoucauld, Vauvenargues, and + Montesquieu, which a friend of Tolstoy’s had translated into + Russian.) + + +The activity of human reason directed to the elucidation of the laws +that govern human life has always manifested itself in two different +ways. Some thinkers have tried to systematize all the phenomena and +laws of human life into definite connection with one another. Such +were the originators of all the systems of philosophy, from Aristotle +to Spinoza and Hegel. + +Others have helped the elucidation of the laws of human life not by +elaborating shapely systems but by detached observations and apt +expressions indicating the eternal laws that rule our life. Such were +the sages of the ancient world who formed collections of aphorisms, +the Christian mystic writers, and especially the French writers of +the XVIth, XVIIth and XVIIIth centuries, who brought this style of +writing to the highest degree of perfection. + +Such are the thoughts and maxims of La Rochefoucauld, La Bruyère, +Pascal, Montesquieu and Vauvenargues, not to mention the wonderful +Montaigne, whose writings partly belong to this class. + +If we compare all knowledge of the laws of human life to a ball +continually enlarged by fresh acquisitions, then thinkers of the +first, systematic class should be likened to men who try to enfold +the ball with more or less solid and thick stuff in order to enlarge +it equally all over. Thinkers of the second category are like men +who, disregarding inequalities in the increase of the surface of +different parts of the ball, enlarge it, not all over but at various +points of the radii along which their thoughts naturally travel, +generally outreaching the thinkers of the first kind and furnishing +future systematizers with material to work upon. + +The advantages on the side of thinkers of the first category +are: coherence, completeness, and symmetry in their doctrines. +The disadvantages are: artificiality in their structure, forced +connection of the parts, often evident deviations from truth to +secure coherence of the whole teaching, and (resulting from this) +frequent obscurity and mistiness in the manner of exposition. + +The advantages on the side of the second category of thinkers +are: directness, sincerity, novelty, boldness, and, as it were, +an impulsiveness in their thoughts, a freedom from shackles, and +a corresponding vigour of expression. Their disadvantages are: +fragmentariness and sometimes external inconsistency--though this +latter is usually more apparent than real. + +Their greatest advantage however is that whereas works of the first +class--philosophic systems--often repel by their pedantry or, if +they do not repel, weaken the mind of the reader by subduing him +and depriving him of independence, books of the second class always +attract by their sincerity, elegance, and brevity of expression. +Above all, they do not crush the independent activity of the mind +but, on the contrary, evoke it by obliging the reader either to +deduce further conclusions from what he has read or sometimes, when +he quite disagrees with the author, to contest his positions and thus +arrive at new and unexpected conclusions. + +Of this kind are the detached thoughts both of ancient and modern +writers generally, and such are the thoughts of the French writers +whose maxims are collected in the work before us. + +_1908._ + + + + + PART XX + + PREFACE TO N. ORLOV’S ALBUM OF “RUSSIAN PEASANTS” + + Tolstoy willingly called attention to pictures, as well as to + stories, of which he approved; and he was particularly ready + to do so if the artists’ subject was one that might interest + the peasants, for whom he considered that artists have done + too little. + + Work such as Orlóv’s (himself of peasant origin) which, by + the disapproval it showed of the Government’s treatment of + the peasants, involved risk to the artist, was specially + calculated to attract his sympathy. + + “Be not afraid of them which kill the body, but are not able + to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy + both soul and body.” (Matt. X. 28.) + + +The publication of Orlóv’s pictures in album form is an excellent +thing. Orlóv is my favourite artist because the subject of his +pictures is my favourite subject--the Russian people: the real +Russian peasant-people, not that people which vanquished Napoleon +and conquered and subdued other nations, not that people which +unfortunately has so quickly learnt to make machines, railways, and +revolutions as well as Parliaments with all conceivable sub-divisions +of parties and tendencies, but that meek, hard-working, Christian, +gentle, much-enduring people which has reared and bears on its +shoulders all those who now torture and diligently corrupt it. + +And what Orlóv and I love in these people is one and the same +thing: namely, the meek, patient peasant-soul, enlightened by true +Christianity, which promises so much to those who can understand it. + +In all Orlóv’s pictures I see that soul, which like the soul of a +child retains all possibilities and above all the possibility +(while avoiding the depravity of western civilization) of following +the Christian path which alone can lead Christendom out of that +enchanted circle of sufferings in which, with torment to themselves, +men now incessantly revolve. + +Here in a smoky hut on a bed of straw lies a dying woman. A burning +taper has, according to custom, been placed in her hands which are +already growing cold. Near her, in solemn submissive calm, stands +her husband; and by his side, in a coarse smock (her only garment), +stands their eldest daughter, a thin little girl, crying. Beside a +rude cradle, hanging from the ceiling, the grandmother soothes a +crying infant. Neighbours stand talking near the door. + +This picture evokes in me a wonderful and elevating feeling of tender +pity and also, strange as it may seem to say so, a feeling of envy of +that holy poverty and of the attitude towards it here revealed. + +The same elevating feeling of consciousness of the vast spiritual +strength of the people to whom not by my life but by my race I +have the good fortune to belong, is produced in me by two other +pictures of similar character, which always move me profoundly--_The +Emigrants_ and _The Soldier’s Return_. + +Apart from the fact that the departure of the emigrants, who are +saying good-bye to those they are leaving behind, is important in +its subject-matter (showing us as it does in vivid images what, in +spite of the difficulties placed in their way by the Government and +the landowners, the Russian people are accomplishing: populating and +cultivating enormous tracts of country), this picture is rendered +particularly touching not merely by the wonderful old man in the +foreground, but by all the figures, full of movement and life, +excited by the thoughts of departure or doubtful at being left behind. + +_The Soldier’s Return_ is a picture I am particularly fond of. +Having pined for years far from home in hard army service uncongenial +to his soul, Pahóm or Sídor, a dutiful son, a loving husband and a +good worker, has at last struggled back to liberty and home. And what +does he find there? He has already heard the news before he reached +his hut. During his absence his Matrëna has had a baby. + +This is their first meeting: the wife kneels before her husband, +and the child--the evidence of her fault--is also there. The +mother-in-law is egging on her son (woman’s way) and telling how she +had said, “Mind, Matrëna, your husband will return....” But the old +father, still filled with that Christian spirit of forgiveness and +love by which the best representatives of the Russian people have +lived and still live, interrupts the old woman’s shrill speech and +reminds them of that which settles all accounts and wipes out all +offences and all anger: he reminds them of God--and all reckonings +are at an end, all tangles straightened out. + +However painful it may be to the son, however hurt he may feel, +however he may have wished to avenge his shame on his wife, he is his +father’s son and the same divine spirit lives in him: the spirit of +mercy, forgiveness and love; and this spirit--so alien to the uniform +he wears--awakes within him, and he waves his hand and experiences +the touching joy of forgiveness. “God will forgive you! Rise, +Matrëna, that will do!” + +The other six pictures are equally important and beautiful. I have +separated these six from the three first only because, besides the +traits common to them all, in these six are vividly depicted the +temptations and depraving influences against which the Christian soul +of the Russian people has to contend and does contend, and by which +it has not been subdued. + +These pictures are peculiarly attractive in that they depict the +struggle without deciding whose the victory will be. Will the whole +people follow the path of spiritual and mental depravity along +which the so-called educated classes, wishing to make it like +themselves, invite it, or will it hold to the Christian principles by +which it has lived, and, in a vast majority of cases, still lives? + + [Illustration: “THE RETURN FROM WORK” + _The Tax Collector in a Peasant’s Hut_ + _By N. Orlóv_] + +(_See illustration facing this page._) A picture of this kind is the +one in which a village Elder--who has come to collect taxes from a +poor man just returned from wage-work carried on far from home--is +standing over the man awaiting an answer. Only the old father gives +that answer, regardless of all consideration of the needs of the +Government, speaking of God, and the sin of exploiting a worker +barely able to support his family. Very pathetic in this picture, +besides the master of the house, are the mistress who stands by +the table on which she has just spread a meal, from which everyone +has been torn away, and the child who gazes perplexed and full of +sympathy at his excited grandfather. + +Of similar kind are the remaining pictures of the series, which +depict a struggle between good and evil in which men of the people, +partly or completely depraved, side with evil. + +Such is the picture _Arrears of Taxes_, depicting the sale of a poor +widow’s cow--the support of her children. A rich peasant money-lender +is buying, and the District Elder is selling, the cow, while the +Village Elder notes down the transaction. + +Similar pictures are the one, full of matter, in which a poor widow +who lives by the illicit sale of vodka (thereby diminishing the State +revenue) is caught in the act; and _No. 7_ (_see next page_), which +depicts the consecration of one of the vodka-shops which are now +(1908) a Government monopoly. This picture is specially remarkable +for its technique, for the delicacy and exactitude with which the +ideas are expressed, and for the accuracy of its types. + +Yet another such picture is the one with the revolting theme, +_Corporal Punishment_. + +Besides a true portrayal of the still unperverted Russians, which +is the chief subject of the whole series, in all these last six +pictures, types are shown of that already depraved part of the nation +which wishes, for its own profit, to pervert its still unperverted +brothers. + +The Village Elder who is collecting taxes from the man whose payments +are in arrear has not yet broken all links uniting him to his +fellows, and evidently suffers for his fellow-man as well as from his +own participation in the cause of that suffering. + +But the over-fed District Elder in the picture in which the cow is +being taken, no longer feels any remorse at fulfilling his cruel +duty, and the usurer buying the cow has no consideration for anything +but his own profit. In the picture of the illicit vodka-seller, +the policeman and the District Elder and the clerk are performing +their task unabashed, and they even admire the cleverness of the +man in disguise who has trapped the vodka-seller. Only the old man, +a representative of the soul of the Russian people, disturbs the +general complacency by his bold words. + +In the picture of _The Monopoly_, besides the fat publican grieved +at the loss of his business, the peasant crossing himself before +the icon with evident hypocrisy is very striking, and so is the +tattered fellow who has pushed inopportunely in at the door of the +institution which has brought him to his present condition, and has +so successfully corrupted--and continues for the State’s profit to +corrupt--a large part of the population. + +Again in the picture of _Corporal Punishment_, all those present, +except the old man who is praying for the sins of men, and the little +boy aghast at man’s cruelty, have reached the point at which they can +regard their shameful deeds as necessary duties. + + [Illustration: “THE MONOPOLY” + _The Consecration of a State Vodka Shop_ + _By N. Orlóv_] + +The last picture, expressing all that is said in the final six of +the series, is particularly powerful and dreadful in that it shows in +the simplest and most comprehensible way what lies at the bottom of +the demoralization to which the people are subjected, and the chief +danger that faces them. + +“Go, go! God will help you!” says the girl, refusing to give to the +beggar. “You see, his Reverence is here!” + +Yes, it is a terrible picture! + +The strength of a nation lies in the degree of truth in that +religious understanding of the laws of life which guides its actions. +I say the degree of truth, for a complete understanding of God is +never possible to man. Man can but draw ever nearer and nearer to +the one and the other. And the greatest amount of true religious +understanding of life in our days has been and still is to be found +among the illiterate, wise and holy Russian peasant-population. +And in all kinds of ways: by Law Courts, taxation, conscription, +and alcoholic poisoning for revenue’s sake, they are surrounded by +terrible temptations, and the most awful of these is the religious +fraud which claims greater importance for the Church and its +ministers than for mercy and brotherly love. + +All this is presented in Orlóv’s pictures, and so I think that I am +not wrong in loving them. + +These pictures show us the danger now menacing the spiritual life +of the Russian people. And to realize a danger that was not noticed +before is a step towards averting it. + +_1908._ + + + + + APPENDIX + + DARLING + + _By Antón Chékhov_ + + +Olenka, the daughter of a retired civil servant, Plemyánnikov, sat +musing in her back porch. It was hot, the flies were pertinaciously +teasing, and it was pleasant to reflect that it would soon be +evening. Dark rain-clouds were coming up from the east and bringing +with them an occasional whiff of moisture. + +In the middle of the courtyard Kúkin, who lived in a small house +in the same courtyard and was manager and proprietor of the Tivoli +Gardens, stood looking at the sky. + +“Again!” he exclaimed despairingly. “It’s going to rain again! Rain +every day, every day, as though to spite me. One might as well hang +oneself! It’s ruination! Fearful losses every day!” + +He raised and clasped his hands in despair, and turning to Olenka +continued: + +“There, Olenka Semënovna, that’s the life we lead. It’s enough to +make one cry. One works, tries hard, wears oneself out, gets no sleep +at night, and racks one’s brains what to do for the best--and what’s +the result? On the one hand there’s the ignorant boorish public! I +give them the very best operetta, a fairy-like masque, splendid comic +singers, but is that what they want? Do you suppose they understand +anything of all that? What they want is what is given in a booth at +a fair! Trash, is what they demand! On the other hand, look at the +weather! Rain almost every evening. As it started on the 10th May, so +it went on the whole of May and June. It’s simply awful! The public +don’t come, but I have to pay the rent and the artistes!” + +Next evening the clouds again began to gather, and Kúkin said with an +hysterical laugh: + +“Well, what of it? Rain away! Let it flood the whole garden with +me in it! Let me have no luck in this world or the next! Let the +artistes take proceedings against me! What is a trial? Even if I go +as a convict to Siberia! Or to the scaffold! Ha, ha, ha!” + +The next day it was the same again. + +Olenka listened to Kúkin silently and seriously, and sometimes +tears came into her eyes. In the end Kúkin’s misfortunes touched +her and she came to love him. He was short and lean, with a sallow +complexion, twists of hair were curled on his temples, he spoke in +a thin tenor voice, and when he spoke his mouth twisted, and his +face always expressed despair, but still he aroused in her a real +and profound affection. She always loved someone and could not +exist without it. Formerly she had loved her papa, who now sat in +an armchair in a dark room, ill, and breathing with difficulty; she +loved her aunt, who sometimes--once in two years--came from Byansk; +and before that, when she was at the secondary school, she had loved +her French master. She was a quiet, soft-hearted, compassionate young +woman, with a mild tender look in her eyes and very good health. +At the sight of her plump rosy cheeks, her soft white neck with a +dark little mole on it, and the kind naïve smile which appeared on +her face when she listened to anything pleasant, men thought, “Yes, +she’s all right,” and smiled too, and lady-visitors could not refrain +from suddenly seizing her hand in the middle of a conversation and +exclaiming with a gush of delight: “You darling!” + +The house in which she had lived since her birth and which had been +left her in her father’s will, was on the outskirts of the town in +the Gipsy Suburb, not far from the Tivoli Gardens. In the evenings +and at night she could hear the band playing and rockets going off +with a bang in the Gardens, and it seemed to her that Kúkin was +fighting his fate and taking his chief foe, the indifferent public, +by assault: her heart melted tenderly, she had no wish to sleep, +and when he returned home towards morning she tapped softly at her +bedroom window and, letting him see only her face and one shoulder +through the curtains, gave him a friendly smile. + +He proposed, and they were married. And when he had a good view of +her neck and her plump healthy shoulders, he threw up and clasped his +hands and said: “Darling!” + +He was happy but, as it rained on their wedding day and the whole of +the following night, the despairing expression never left his face. + +After the wedding they lived happily together. She sat in his +booking-office, saw that the Tivoli Gardens were in order, entered up +the accounts and paid the salaries; and her rosy cheeks, her sweet +naïve smile, shining like a halo, appeared now at the window of the +booking-office, now behind the scenes, now at the refreshment-bar. +And she began to tell her acquaintances that the theatre was the +most remarkable, most important, and most necessary thing in the +world--that only at the theatre could one obtain true pleasure and +become cultivated and humane. + +“But do you think the public understands that?” she said. “They want +a common booth! Yesterday we put on ‘Faust Inside Out,’ and almost +all the boxes were empty, but if Vánichka and I were to give some +common trash, believe me the theatre would be packed. To-morrow +Vánichka and I are giving ‘Orpheus in Hell’; mind you come!” And +what Kúkin said about the theatre and the actors she repeated; she +despised the public as he did, for their indifference to art and +their ignorance; she took part in the rehearsals, corrected the +actors, kept an eye on the behaviour of the musicians, and when the +local paper criticised their theatre unfavourably she cried, and +afterwards went to the newspaper office for explanations. + +The actors were fond of her and called her “Vánichka and I,” and “the +Darling.” She was sorry for them and used to lend them small sums, +and if it happened that they did not pay her, she cried in secret, +but made no complaint to her husband. + +And in the winter they got on quite well. They took a theatre in the +town for the whole winter and sub-let it for short periods, now to an +Ukrainian troupe, now to a conjuror, now to a local dramatic company. +Olenka grew plumper and was all beaming with pleasure, but Kúkin +grew thinner and sallower and complained of terrible losses, though +business had not been bad all winter. He used to cough at night, +and she gave him raspberry or lime-blossom tea, rubbed him with +eau-de-Cologne, and wrapped him up in her soft shawls. + +“What a splendid dear you are!” she said, quite sincerely, smoothing +his hair. “What a good-looking pet you are!” + +In Lent he went to Moscow to gather a troupe, and without him she +could not sleep, but sat by the window looking at the stars. She +compared herself, at the time, to the hens who keep awake all night +and are restless when the cock is not in the hen-house. Kúkin was +detained in Moscow and wrote that he would return for Easter, and his +letters already contained arrangements about the Tivoli Gardens. But +on the Monday in Passion Week, late in the evening, an ominous knock +was suddenly heard at the gate; someone was hammering at the gate as +if on a barrel: boom, boom, boom! The sleepy cook, splashing with her +bare feet through the puddles, ran to open the gate. + +“Open for goodness’ sake!” said someone in a thick bass voice. +“There’s a telegram for you!” + +Olenka had received telegrams from her husband before, but this time +for some reason she grew quite faint. She opened the telegram with +trembling hands, and read as follows: + +“Iván Kúkin passed away to-day suddenly pasway awaiting instructions +fuferal Tuesday.” + +It was typed “fuferal” in the telegram, and there was also the +incomprehensible word ‘pasway.’ The signature was that of the manager +of an operatic troupe. + +“My precious!” sobbed Olenka. “Vánichka, my dearest, my precious. Why +did I ever meet you? Why did I ever know and love you? Whom have I +left? Why have you deserted your poor, unfortunate Olenka?” + +Kúkin was buried on Tuesday in the Vagánkov cemetery in Moscow. +Olenka returned home on Wednesday and as soon as she entered her +house she fell on her bed and sobbed so loud that she could be heard +in the street and in the neighbouring houses. + +“The darling!” said the neighbours, as they crossed themselves. +“Darling Olga Semënovna, how she does take on!” + +Three months later Olenka was returning from Mass, melancholy and +in deep mourning. It happened that a neighbour, Vasíli Andréich +Pusloválov, who was also returning from church, walked beside her. He +was manager of the merchant Babakáev’s timber-yard. He wore a straw +hat, a white waistcoat and a gold watch-chain, and looked more like a +squire than a tradesman. + +“Everything has its own order, Olga Semënovna,” he said gravely, in a +tone of sympathy, “and if any one of those near us dies, it must be +that God willed it so, and so we must not forget ourselves but must +bear it submissively.” + +Having accompanied Olenka to the gate he took his leave of her and +went on. All day after that she seemed to hear his dignified voice, +and whenever she closed her eyes she saw his dark beard. He pleased +her very much. And apparently she had also made an impression on +him, for shortly afterwards an elderly lady with whom she was but +slightly acquainted came to drink coffee with her, and as soon as she +was seated at the table began to talk about Pustoválov and say what +a good and reliable man he was, whom anyone would be glad to marry. +Three days after that, Pustoválov himself came to call on her; he did +not stay long, not more than ten minutes, and did not say much, but +Olenka fell in love with him, so much in love that as if she were +in a fever she did not sleep all night, and in the morning she sent +for the elderly lady. The match was soon arranged, and then came the +wedding. + +Pustoválov and Olenka lived happily after their marriage. He was +usually in the timber-yard till dinner and then went out on business, +and Olenka took his place and sat in the office till the evening, +writing out accounts and despatching goods. + +“Now timber rises twenty per cent in price every year,” she said +to customers and acquaintances. “Just think, we used to sell local +timber, but now Vánichka has to go to Mogilév province every year to +buy timber. And the freights!” she went on, covering both her cheeks +with her hands in horror, “what freights!” + +She felt as if she had dealt in timber quite a long time; that the +most important and most necessary thing in life was timber; and there +was something intimate and touching to her in the words: “balk, +joist, pole, plank, scantling, batten, beam....” + +At night when she slept, she dreamed of whole mountains of planks +and boards, and long unending rows of carts conveying timber to +distant places beyond the town. She dreamed of how a whole regiment +of twenty-eight foot, nine-inch beams was marching on end to attack +the timber-yard; joists, beams and boards knocked against one another +with a resounding crash of dry wood, all falling down and rising +again, piling themselves on one another. Olenka cried out in her +sleep and Pustoválov said tenderly: “Olenka, what’s the matter, +darling? Cross yourself!” + +Her husband’s thoughts were hers too. If he thought the room too hot, +or business slack, she thought so too. Her husband did not care for +any entertainments and stayed at home on holidays, and so did she. + +“You are always at home or in the office,” her acquaintances said to +her. “You should go to the theatre, darling, or the circus.” + +“Vánichka and I have no time to go to theatres,” she answered +sedately. “We are hard-working people and have no time for trifling. +What good are those theatres?” + +On Saturdays Pustoválov and she went to evening service, on holidays +to early service, and they returned from church side by side with +a softened expression on their faces, both diffusing an agreeable +perfume, and her silk dress rustling pleasantly. At home they had tea +with fancy bread and different kinds of jam, and then cake. Every +day at noon an appetising smell of beet-root soup and roast mutton +or duck, or on fast days of fish, was noticeable in their yard and +in the street outside, and one could not pass their gate without +beginning to feel an appetite. In the office a samovar was always +boiling, and customers were treated to tea and biscuits. Once a week +the couple went to the baths and returned from there together, both +red in the face. + +“Yes, we get on all right,” Olenka used to say. “Thank heaven! God +grant everyone a life such as Vánichka’s and mine.” + +When Pustoválov went to the Mogilév province to buy timber she was +much depressed and lay awake at night, crying. Sometimes in the +evening the regimental veterinary surgeon, Smírnin, who rented their +lodge, used to come to see her. He would tell her some news, or play +cards with her, and that distracted her a little. She was specially +interested in what he told her of his own family life: he was married +and had a boy, but was separated from his wife because she had been +unfaithful to him, and now he hated her but sent her forty roubles +a month for his son’s maintenance. As she listened to this Olenka +sighed, shook her head, and felt sorry for him. + +“Well, God be with you,” she would say when he took his leave, and +as she lighted him with a candle to the staircase. “Thank you for +sharing my dullness. May the Queen of Heaven grant you good health!” + +She always expressed herself thus sedately and sagaciously, imitating +her husband, and when the veterinary surgeon was already disappearing +beyond the door below, she would call after him: + +“Do you know, Vladímir Platónych, you should make it up with your +wife. Forgive her, if only for your son’s sake! The little boy no +doubt understands.” + +And when Pustoválov returned she told him in a low voice about the +veterinary surgeon and his unhappy family life, and they both sighed, +shook their heads, and spoke of the boy who no doubt pined for his +father, and then, by some strange sequence of ideas, they went up to +the icons, bowed to the ground, and prayed that God would send them +children. + +So the Pustoválovs lived quietly and peaceably in love and full +accord for six years. But then one winter Pustoválov at the +timber-yard went out without his cap, after drinking hot tea, to send +off some timber, and caught cold and fell ill. He was treated by the +best doctors, but got worse, and died after four months’ illness. And +Olenka was again a widow. + +“Whom have I now that you have forsaken me, my precious?” she +sobbed, after she had buried her husband. “How am I to live without +you, grief-stricken and wretched! Pity me, good people, utterly +forlorn....” + +She wore a black dress with weepers, gave up hats and gloves for +good, and hardly ever went out except to go to church and to her +husband’s grave, and at home she lived like a nun. It was only after +six months had passed that she left off the weepers and opened the +shutters of the windows. She was sometimes seen going to market with +her cook to buy provisions, but how she now lived, and what went on +in her house, could only be conjectured. People made conjectures, for +instance, from seeing her drinking tea in her little garden with the +veterinary surgeon, who read the newspaper aloud to her, and also +from the fact that, meeting a lady she knew at the post-office, she +had said to her: + +“There is no regular veterinary inspection in our town, and therefore +there is much illness. One is always hearing of people falling ill +from the milk, and being infected by cows and horses. The health of +domestic animals should really be looked after as carefully as the +health of human beings.” + +She repeated the veterinary’s thoughts and was now of his opinion +about everything. It was clear that she could not live a year without +some attachment and had found her new happiness in the lodge of her +own house. + +Another would have been censured for this, but no one could think ill +of Olenka; everything she did was so natural. The veterinary surgeon +and she never spoke to anybody about the change in their relations +to one another, and they tried to conceal it, but did not succeed in +this, for Olenka could have no secrets. When visitors, his comrades +in the service, came to see him, she while pouring out the tea or +serving supper would begin to speak about cattle-plague, or bovine +tuberculosis and municipal slaughter-houses, while he would become +dreadfully confused, and after the visitors had gone would seize her +hand and hiss angrily: + +“Didn’t I ask you not to speak of what you don’t understand? When we +veterinaries talk among ourselves, please don’t join in. It’s really +annoying!” + +And she would look at him with amazement and agitation and would ask: + +“Volódichka dear, what am I to speak about?” + +And she would embrace him and with tears in her eyes entreat him not +to be angry, and they would both be happy. + +That happiness however did not last long. The veterinary left with +his regiment and left for good, as the regiment was ordered to some +very distant place, perhaps to Siberia. And Olenka was left alone. + +She was entirely alone now. Her father had died long ago, and his +armchair lay covered with dust and with a leg broken off, in the +garret. She grew thinner and paler and people she met in the street +no longer looked at her as they used to do; it was evident that her +best years were over and left behind, and that a new unknown life was +beginning about which it was better not to think. In the evenings she +sat in her porch and could hear the music playing and the rockets +bursting in the Tivoli Gardens, but they did not now awaken any +thought in her. She looked indifferently at her empty yard, thought +of nothing, wished for nothing, and afterwards when night came on +she went to sleep, and saw in her dreams the empty yard. She ate and +drank as if unwillingly. + +But the principal thing and the worst of all was that she no longer +had any opinions whatever. She saw the objects around her, and +understood all that took place, but could form no opinions and did +not know what to speak about. And how awful it is not to have any +opinions! One sees, for instance, how a bottle is standing, or rain +falling, or a peasant is driving his cart, but what the bottle, or +rain, or peasant, is for, what sense there is in them, you can’t +say--not even if someone gave you a thousand roubles to do so. + +While she had Kúkin, Pustoválov, and afterwards the veterinary +surgeon Olenka was able to explain everything and express her +opinions about anything you liked; but now there was the same void +in her mind and heart as in her yard. And it was harsh and bitter as +wormwood in the mouth. + +The town was gradually expanding on all sides; the Gipsy Suburb was +now called a street, and where the Tivoli Gardens and the timber-yard +had been, houses had sprung up, and several side streets had formed. +How fast time flies! Olenka’s house had grown dingy, the roof had +rusted, the outhouse had a slant to one side, and the whole yard was +overgrown with docks and stinging nettles. Olenka herself had grown +elderly and plain; in summer she sat in the porch, and her soul as +before was empty, oppressed, and savoured of wormwood; in winter +she sat at a window looking at the snow. When there was a scent of +spring, or the wind brought the sound of the church bells, a flood +of memories from the past would well up, her heart would contract +with tender emotion and tears would flow freely from her eyes, but +this was only for a moment, then again emptiness returned and she did +not know why she lived. Brýska, her black cat, would rub against her +softly and purr, but these feline caresses did not touch Olenka. Were +they what she needed? She wanted a love that would absorb her whole +being, her whole soul and reason, would give her ideas and a purpose +in life, and would warm her ageing blood. And she brushed away black +Brýska, and told her crossly: + +“Get away ... you’ve no business here!” + +And so she went on day after day, year after year, without a single +joy, and without any opinions. Whatever Martha the cook said, that +was right. + +Towards the evening of a very hot July day, just as the town herd +of cows was being driven through the streets and the whole yard was +filled with clouds of dust, someone suddenly knocked at the gate. +Olenka went herself to open it and was dumbfounded by what she +saw: at the gate stood the veterinary Smírnin, now grey-haired and +in civilian dress. She suddenly remembered everything, could not +restrain herself, began crying, and let her head fall on his breast +without saying a word, and in her great excitement did not notice how +they both entered the house and sat down to tea. + +“My dearest!” she muttered, trembling with joy. “Vladímir Platónych! +From where has heaven sent you?” + +“I want to settle here for good,” he told her. “I have left the army, +and want to try my luck as a free man, and to live a settled life. +Besides it is time to send my son to the high school. He’s a big boy. +Do you know, I have made it up with my wife.” + +“And where is she?” asked Olenka. + +“She is at the hotel with our son, and I am hunting round looking for +a lodging.” + +“Oh goodness, my dear soul, take my house! What’s wrong with it? Oh, +Lord, why, I won’t charge you anything,” said Olenka, excitedly, and +again began to cry. “You live here, and the lodge will do well for +me. What joy, oh, my goodness!” + +Next day the roof of the house was already being painted and the wall +whitewashed, and Olenka, her arms akimbo, went about the yard giving +directions. The old smile beamed on her face and she was fresh and +full of life again, as though she had waked up from a long sleep. The +veterinary’s wife arrived--a thin, plain lady with short hair and a +peevish face, and with her came the boy, Sásha, small for his age +(he was going on for ten), plump, with clear blue eyes and dimples in +his cheeks. Scarcely had the boy entered the yard before he rushed +after the cat, and his merry joyous laughter immediately filled the +air. + +“Auntie, is this your cat?” he asked Olenka. “When she pups let me +have a kitten. Mama is awfully afraid of mice.” + +Olenka talked to him, gave him tea, and her heart suddenly grew warm +and contracted tenderly, just as if he were her own son. And in +the evening, when he sat down in her dining-room and prepared his +lessons, she looked at him with emotion and pity and whispered: + +“My pretty one, my precious ..., my little child! Fancy your being +born so clever and so fair!” + +“An island is a portion of dry land surrounded on all sides by +water,” he read. + +“An island is a portion of dry land ...” she repeated, and that was +the first opinion she expressed with conviction after so many years +of silence and absence of thought. + +And she already had opinions of her own, and at supper she spoke to +Sásha’s parents of how difficult it was for children nowadays to +learn in the high-schools, but that a classical high-school education +was, all the same, better than a commercial one, as after finishing +at the high-school all careers were open to you, whether you wished +to be a doctor or an engineer. + +Sásha began going to the high-school. His mother went to stay with +her sister in Khárkov, and did not return; his father went away +somewhere every day to inspect herds of cattle, and would sometimes +be away from home for three days at a time; it seemed to Olenka that +they had quite abandoned Sásha, that he was not wanted at home, that +he was being starved, and she took him to her lodge and arranged a +little room there for him. + +Half-a-year has already passed now since Sásha came to live in her +lodge. Every morning Olenka comes into his room; he is fast asleep +with his hand under his cheek, scarcely breathing. She is sorry to +wake him. + +“Sáshenka,” she would say sadly, “get up, dear! Time to go to school.” + +He gets up, dresses, says his prayers, and then sits down to +breakfast. He drinks three tumblers of tea and eats two big plain +cakes and half a French roll with butter. He is not quite awake yet, +and therefore not in a good temper. + +“But, Sáshenka, you did not quite learn your fable,” Olenka says, +gazing at him as if she was seeing him off on a long journey. “I am +troubled about you. You must take pains to learn, dearest ... and +obey your masters.” + +“Oh, do leave me alone!” says Sásha. + +When he goes along the street to school, himself small but wearing +a big cap and with a satchel on his back, Olenka follows him +noiselessly. + +“Sáshenka!” she calls. + +He turns round and she slips a date or a caramel into his hand. When +they turn into the side street where the school stands he feels +ashamed of being followed by a tall, stout woman; he looks round and +says: + +“You go home, auntie; I can go on alone now.” + +She stops, and follows him with her eyes fixedly until he disappears +into the school doorway. Oh, how she loves him! Not one of her former +attachments had been so deep, never before had her soul surrendered +itself so freely, so disinterestedly, and so joyously, as it did now +when the maternal feelings grew more and more ardent within her. For +this boy, who was not hers, for the dimples in his cheeks, for his +peaked cap, she would have laid down her life, given it gladly and +with tears of emotion. Why? Who can tell why? + +Having seen Sásha to school she returns home quietly, so content, +serene, and full of love. Her face, which has grown younger-looking +during the last half-year, is smiling and radiant, those she meets +look at her with pleasure, and say: + +“Good morning, Olga Semënovna, darling! How are you, darling?” + +“The work at the high-school is very difficult nowadays,” she relates +when she goes marketing. “It’s no joke,--in the first class yesterday +they had a fable to learn by heart, a Latin translation, and a sum as +well.... How is a little fellow to do it all?” + +And she begins talking about teachers, lessons, and the lesson-books, +saying just what Sásha says about them. + +After two o’clock they dine together, and in the evening they do +Sásha’s home work and cry together. When tucking him up in bed, +she spends a long time making the sign of the cross over him and +whispering a prayer; then, when she goes to bed, she dreams of the +dim and distant future when Sásha, having finished the course and +become a doctor or an engineer, will have a big house of his own with +a carriage and horses, and will marry, and children will be borne to +him.... She falls asleep still thinking of the same thing, and the +tears roll down her cheeks from under her closed eye-lids. The black +cat lies at her side and purrs. “Prr ... prr ... prr....” + +Suddenly there is a loud knock at the gate. Olenka wakes up +breathless with fear, and her heart beats violently. Half-a-minute +passes and the knocking is repeated. + +“It’s a telegram from Khárkov,” she thinks, beginning to tremble +all over. “His mother demands that Sásha should be sent to her in +Khárkov.... Oh, God!” + +She is in despair. Her head, her feet and hands, grow cold; there is +nobody in the world more unhappy than she. But another minute passes, +voices are heard: it is the veterinary surgeon returning from the +club. + +“Well, thank God!” she thinks. + +The weight is gradually lifted from her heart, and it feels light +again. She lies down and thinks about Sásha, who is fast asleep in +the next room and sometimes mutters in his dream: + +“I’ll give it you! Be off! Don’t fight!” + + + + + THE END + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Oxford University Press, “World’s Classics” series, London and +New York. + +[2] Oxford University Press, “World’s Classics” series, London and +New York. + +[3] In Russian the word ‘poet’ is used not only of writers of verse, +but also of writers of fiction and poetic prose. + +[4] Oxford University Press, “World’s Classics” series, London and +New York. + +[5] The _Viy_ is an Earth-Spirit, and Gógol’s tale is gruesome. + +[6] A daring leader of the hill-tribes, who was prominent at the time +Tolstoy was serving in the Caucasus. + +[7] Some details of this crime are given in “Why do Men Stupefy +Themselves?” in _Essays and Letters_, published in the _World’s +Classics_. + +[8] From _The Life of Tolstoy_ Vol II, by Aylmer Maude. + +[9] That is, Márya Lvóvna, Tolstoy’s second daughter, who was devoted +both to her father and to his teachings. + +[10] A reliable man. + +[11] By Zola. + +[12] Stories by Georges Sand. + +[13] Hips and throats. + +[14] The old hag. + +[15] Deceived and ridiculous. + +[16] “Console me, amuse me, sadden me, touch my heart, make me dream, +make me laugh, make me tremble, make me weep, make me think. Only a +few chosen spirits bid the artist compose something beautiful, in the +form that best suits his temperament.” + +[17] The defect of Christianity is clearly seen in this. It is too +exclusively moral; it quite sacrifices beauty. But in the eyes of a +complete philosophy beauty, far from being a superficial advantage, +a danger, an inconvenience, is a gift of God, like virtue. It is +worth as much as virtue; the beautiful woman expresses an aspect of +the divine purpose, one of God’s aims, as well as a man of genius +does, or a virtuous woman. She feels this, and hence her pride. She +is instinctively conscious of the infinite treasure she possesses in +her body; she is well aware that without intellect, without talent, +without great virtue, she counts among the chief manifestations of +God. And why forbid her to make the most of the gift bestowed upon +her, or to give the diamond allotted to her its due setting? By +adorning herself woman accomplishes a duty; she practises an art, an +exquisite art, in a sense the most charming of arts. Do not let us be +misled by the smile which certain words provoke in the _frivolous_. +We award the palm of genius to the Greek artist who succeeded in +solving the most delicate of problems, that of adorning the human +body, that is to say, adorning perfection itself, and yet some people +wish to see nothing more than an affair of _chiffons_ in the attempt +to collaborate with the finest work of God--woman’s beauty! Woman’s +toilette with all its refinements is a great art in its own way. The +epochs and countries which can succeed in this are the great epochs +and great countries, and Christianity, by the embargo it laid on +this kind of research, showed that the social ideal it had conceived +would only become the framework of a complete society at a much later +period, when the revolt of men of the world had broken the narrow +yoke originally imposed on the sect by a fanatical pietism. + +[18] The schools for training ballet-dancers, as well as the theatres +where the chief ballets were performed, were State institutions in +Russia. + +[19] The most usual and widely diffused definition of art is that +art is a particular activity not aiming at material utility, but +affording pleasure to people; a pleasure, it is usually added, +“ennobling and elevating to the soul.” + +This definition corresponds to the conception of art held by the +majority of people; but it is inexact and not quite clear, and admits +of very arbitrary interpretation. + +It is not clear, for it fuses in one conception art as a human +activity producing objects of art, and also the feelings of the +recipient; and it admits of arbitrary interpretation, because it does +not define wherein lies the pleasure that “ennobles and elevates the +soul.” So that one person may declare that he receives such pleasure +from a certain production from which another does not receive it at +all. + +And therefore to define art it is necessary to define the peculiarity +of that activity, both in its origin in the soul of the producer and +in the peculiarity of its action on the souls of the recipients. This +activity is distinguished from any other activity of craftsmanship, +or trade, or even science (though it has great affinity with this +last), in that it is not evoked by any material need, but supplies +to both producer and recipient a special kind of so-called “artistic +satisfaction.” To explain to oneself this characteristic we must +understand what impels people to this activity--that is, how artistic +production originates. + +[20] The division of the results of man’s mental activity into +scientific, philosophic, theological, hortatory, artistic, and other +groups, is made for convenience of observation. But such divisions +do not exist in reality; just as the divisions of the River Volga +into the Tver, Nizhigorod, Simbirsk and Saratov sections, are not +divisions of the river itself, but divisions we make for our own +convenience. + +[21] Half-a-century ago no explanation would have been needed of the +words “important”, “good”, and “moral”, but in our time nine out +of ten educated people, at these words, will ask with a triumphant +air: “What _is_ important, good or moral?” assuming that these words +express something conditional and not admitting of definition and +therefore I must answer this anticipated objection. + +That which unites people, not by violence but by love: that which +serves to disclose the joy of the union of men with one another, is +“important”, “good”, or “moral”. “Evil” and “immoral” is that which +divides them, which leads men to the suffering that is produced by +disunion. “Important” is that which causes people to understand and +to love what they previously did not understand or love. + +[22] Ireland’s _Vortigern_. + +[23] I leave this as it stood in the first edition, but after it was +written I heard from Tolstoy twice on the subject. First, my friend +Paul Boulanger wrote from Yásnaya Polyána (24th June 1901, O.S.), +during an illness of Tolstoy’s as follows:-- + +“You ask why Tolstoy did not mention Ruskin in _What is Art?_ He asks +me to reply that he did not do so: first, because Ruskin attributes a +special moral importance to beauty in art; and, secondly, because all +his writings, rich as they are in depth of thought, are yet not bound +together by any one ruling idea.” + +After Tolstoy’s recovery, a letter (undated) reached me on 17th +August 1901, in which he wrote:-- + +“I have forgotten what I wrote you about Ruskin, and fear it was not +correct. I have lately read an excellent book about him, _Ruskin et +la Bible_, I think by Brunhes. Ruskin’s chief limitation was that he +could never quite free himself from the Church-Christian outlook upon +life. At the time he commenced his work on social questions, when he +wrote _Unto this Last_, he freed himself from the dogmatic tradition, +but a cloudy Church-Christian understanding of the demands of +life--which made it possible for him to unite ethical with esthetical +ideals--remained with him to the end and weakened his message. It was +also weakened by the artificiality, and consequent obscurity, of his +poetic style. Do not imagine that I deny the work of this great man, +who has quite rightly been called a prophet. I always was charmed and +am charmed by him, but I point out spots which exist even on the sun. +He is specially good when a wise writer, in accord with him, makes +extracts from him, as is done in _Ruskin et la Bible_ (which read), +but to read all Ruskin consecutively, as I did, greatly weakens his +effect.” + +[24] _Boyhood, Childhood and Youth_ were published in 1851–7. +_Sevastopol_ 1855–6. _Family Happiness_ 1859. _The Cossacks_ and +_Polikushka_ in 1863. _War and Peace_ 1864–9, and _Anna Karénina_ +1875–7. + +[25] As the term “mystic” is used in more than one sense in English, +I must explain that I use it to denote one who believes in a wisdom +“sacredly obscure or secret” (_Chambers’s Dictionary_), or “not +discriminated or tested by the reason” (_Century Dictionary_). This +is the sense in which it would generally be used in Russian, and in +which Tolstoy uses the word. + +[26] Both of which were written in the interval between _War and +Peace_ and _Anna Karénina_ (1869–1872) and are included in the volume +of _Twenty-three Tales_. + +[27] Indeed, in the earlier period of his literary activity he +devoted much attention to style, and spent great pains upon it. About +the period at which he wrote _Three Deaths_ (1859), it is said, the +style of his great artistic contemporary, Turgénev, exercised much +influence on his own. + +[28] Tolstoy’s remarks on Church religion were re-worded so as to +seem to relate only to the Western Church, and his disapproval of +luxurious life was made to apply not, say, to Queen Victoria or +Nicholas II, but to the Cæsars or the Pharaohs. + +[29] The Russian peasant was usually a member of a village commune, +and had therefore a right to share in the land belonging to the +village. Tolstoy disapproved of the order of society which allows +less land for the support of a whole village full of people than was +sometimes owned by a single landed proprietor. The Censor did not +allow disapproval of this state of things to be expressed, but was +prepared to admit that the laws and customs, say, of England--where +a yet more extreme form of landed property existed and the men who +actually labour on the land usually possessed none of it--deserved +criticism.--A. M. + +[30] Only two, or at most three, senses are generally held worthy +to supply matter for artistic treatment, but I think this opinion +is only conditionally correct. I will not lay too much stress on +the fact that our common speech recognises many other arts, as, for +instance, the art of cookery. + +[31] And yet it is certainly an esthetic achievement when the art of +cooking succeeds in making of an animal’s corpse an object in all +respects tasteful. The principle of the Art of Taste (which goes +beyond the so-called Art of Cookery) is therefore this: All that is +eatable should be treated as the symbol of some Idea, and always in +harmony with the Idea to be expressed. + +[32] If the sense of touch lacks colour, it gives us, on the other +hand, a notion which the eye alone cannot afford, and one of +considerable esthetic value, namely, that of _softness_, _silkiness_, +_polish_. The beauty of velvet is characterised not less by its +softness to the touch than by its lustre. In the idea we form of +a woman’s beauty, the softness of her skin enters as an essential +element. + +Each of us probably, with a little attention, can recall pleasures of +taste which have been real esthetic pleasures. + +[33] M. Schasler, _Kritische Geschichte der Aesthetik_, 1872, Vol. I, +p. 13. + +[34] There is no science which more entirely than esthetics has been +handed over to the dreams of the metaphysicians. From Plato down to +the received doctrines of our day, people have made of art a strange +amalgam of quintessential fancies and transcendental mysteries, which +find their supreme expression in the conception of an absolute ideal +Beauty, immutable and divine prototype of actual things. + +[35] See on this matter Bernard’s admirable book, _L’esthétique +d’Aristote_, also Walter’s _Geschichte der Aesthetik im Altertum_. + +[36] Schasler, p. 361. + +[37] Schasler, p. 369. + +[38] Schasler, pp. 388–390. + +[39] Knight, _Philosophy of the Beautiful_, Vol. I, pp. 165, 166. + +[40] Schasler, p. 289. Knight, pp. 168, 169. + +[41] R. Kralik, _Weltschönheit, Versuch einer allgemeinen Aesthetik_, +pp. 304–306. + +[42] Knight, p. 101. + +[43] Schasler, p. 316. + +[44] Knight, pp. 102–104. + +[45] R. Kralik, p. 124. + +[46] Schasler, p. 328. + +[47] Schasler, pp. 331–333. + +[48] Schasler, pp. 525–528. + +[49] Knight, pp. 61–63. + +[50] Schasler, pp. 740–743. + +[51] Schasler, pp. 769–771. + +[52] Schasler, pp. 786, 787. + +[53] Kralik, p. 148. + +[54] Kralik, p. 820. + +[55] Schasler, pp. 828, 829, 834–841. + +[56] Schasler, p. 891. + +[57] Schasler, p. 917. + +[58] Schasler, pp. 946, 1085, 984, 985, 990. + +[59] Schasler, pp. 966, 655, 956. + +[60] Schasler, p. 1017. + +[61] Schasler, pp. 1065, 1066. + +[62] Schasler, pp. 1097–1100. + +[63] Schasler, pp. 1124, 1107. + +[64] Knight, pp. 81, 82. + +[65] Knight, p. 83. + +[66] Schasler, p. 1121. + +[67] Knight, pp. 85, 86. + +[68] Knight, p. 88. + +[69] Knight, p. 88. + +[70] Knight, p. 112. + +[71] Knight, p. 116. + +[72] Knight, pp. 118, 119. + +[73] Knight, pp. 123, 124. + +[74] “The most divine and especially the most perfect beauty contains +the secret of the world,” _La philosophie en France_, p. 232. + +[75] “The whole world is the work of an absolute beauty, which is +only the cause of things by the love it puts into them.” + +[76] “Let us not fear to say that a truth which is not beautiful, +is but a logical play of our intelligence, and that the only truth +that is solid and worthy of the name is beauty.” _Du fondemont de +l’induction._ + +[77] _Philosophie de l’art_, Vol. I, 1893, p. 47. + +[78] Knight, pp. 139–141. + +[79] Knight, p. 134. + +[80] There is no other Reality than God, there is no other Truth than +God, there is no other beauty than God. + +[81] _L’esthétique_, p. 106. + +[82] Knight, p. 238. + +[83] Knight, pp. 239, 240. + +[84] Knight, pp. 240–243. + +[85] Knight, pp. 250–252. + +[86] Knight, pp. 258, 259. + +[87] Knight, p. 243. + +[88] “The foundling of Nuremberg,” found in the market-place of that +town on 23rd May 1828, apparently some sixteen years old. He spoke +little, and was almost totally ignorant even of common objects. He +subsequently explained that he had been brought up in confinement +underground, and visited by only one man, whom he saw but seldom. + +[89] Eastern sects well known in early Church history, who rejected +the Church’s rendering of Christ’s teaching and were cruelly +persecuted.--A. M. + +[90] Peter of Chelczic, a Bohemian, was one of the successors of John +Huss. In 1457 he was leader of the non-resistants called the United +Brethren. He was the author of a remarkable book, _The Net of Faith_, +directed against Church and State. It is mentioned in Tolstoy’s _The +Kingdom of God is Within You_.--A. M. + +[91] Anyone examining closely may see that the theory of beauty and +that of art are quite separated in Aristotle as they are in Plato and +in all their successors. + +[92] Die Lücke von fünf Jahrhunderten welche zwischen den +Kunst-philosophischen Betrachtungen des Plato und Aristoteles und +die des Plotins fällt, kann zwar auffällig erscheinen; dennoch kann +man eigentlich nicht sagen, dass in dieser Zwischenzeit überhaupt +von ästhetischen Dingen nicht die Rede gewesen; oder dass gar ein +völliger Mangel an Zusammenhang zwischen den Kunst-anschauungen +des letztgenannten Philosophen und denen dei ersteren existire. +Freilich wurde die von Aristotle begründete Wissenschaft in Nichts +dadurch gefördert! immerhin aber zeigt sich in jener Zwischenzeit +noch ein gewisses Interesse für ästhetische Fragen. Nach Plotin +aber, die wenigen, ihm in der Zeit nahestehenden Philosophen, +wie Longin, Augustin, u. s. f. kommen, wie wir gesehen, kaum in +Betracht und schliessen sich übrigens in ihrer Anschauungsweise an +ihn an,--vergehen nicht fünf, sondern _fünfzehen Jahrhunderte_, in +denen von irgend einem wissenschaftlichen Interesse für die Welt des +Schönen und der Kunst nichts zu spüren ist. + +Diese anderthalbtausend Jahre, innerhalb deren der Weltgeist durch +die mannigfachsten Kämpfe hindurch zu einer völlig neuen Gestaltung +des Lebens sich durcharbeitete, sind für die Aesthetik, hinsichtlich +des weiteren Ausbaus dieser Wissenschaft verloren.--Kritische +Geschichte der Aesthetik, von Max Schasler. Berlin, 1872, p. 253, § +25. + + * * * * * + +The gap of five hundred years, which occurred between the +artistic-philosophic observations of Plato and Aristotle and those of +Plotinus, may indeed appear striking, but one cannot exactly say that +in this interval of time there was absolutely no mention of esthetic +matters; or even that a complete lack of correspondence exists +between the art-views of the last-named philosopher and that of the +former. It is true that the science founded by Aristotle was not in +any way advanced thereby; but, for all that, during this interval +a certain interest in esthetic questions still appears. But after +Plotinus (the few philosophers near him in time, such as Longinus, +Augustinus and so forth, hardly come into question as we have seen, +and moreover they adhere to him in their views) there passed not +five, but _fifteen_ centuries in which there is no indication of any +sort of scientific interest for the world of the beautiful and of art. + +These one-and-a-half-thousand years, within which the world-spirit +worked out a completely new foundation of life, are lost for +esthetics as regards any further construction of this science. + +[93] The fate of books depends on the head of the reader. + +[94] _What is Art?_ was translated by me from Tolstoy’s MSS., which +he sent me chapter by chapter as he wrote it. He revised his work +to such an extent that some chapters were re-written three times +over after he first sent them to me for translation. The following +passages belonging to an early version of this chapter, though he did +not retain them in his final revision, seem worth preserving, so I +give them here in a foot-note: + +We only need escape for a moment from the habit of considering this +trinity of Goodness, Beauty and Truth, presented to us by Baumgarten, +to be as true as the Trinity of religion, and need only ask ourselves +what we all have always understood by the words which make up this +triad, in order to be convinced of the utterly fantastic nature +of the union into one, of three absolutely different words and +conceptions which are not even commensurable in meaning. + +Goodness, Beauty, and Truth are put on one level, and all three +conceptions are treated as though they were fundamental and +metaphysical. Whereas in reality such is not at all the case. + +Goodness is the eternal, the highest, aim of our life. However we may +understand goodness, our life is nothing but a striving towards the +good, that is, towards God. + +Goodness is really the fundamental metaphysical perception which +forms the essence of our consciousness: a perception not defined by +reason. + +Goodness is that which cannot be defined by anything else, but which +defines everything else. + +But Beauty--if we do not want mere words but speak about what we +understand--beauty is nothing but what pleases us. The notion of +beauty not only does not coincide with goodness, but rather is +contrary to it; for the good most often coincides with victory over +the passions, while beauty is at the root of all our passions. + +The more utterly we surrender ourselves to beauty the farther we +depart from goodness. I know that to this people always reply +that there is a moral and spiritual beauty, but this is merely +playing with words, for by spiritual and moral beauty nothing else +is understood but goodness. For the most part, beauty of soul, +or goodness not only does not coincide with what is ordinarily +understood as beauty, but is contrary to it. + +As to truth--still less can we attribute to this member of the +trinity identity with goodness, or even any independent existence at +all. + +By truth we merely mean the correspondence of an expression, or of +the definition of an object, with reality, or with an understanding +of the object common to everyone, and therefore it is a means of +arriving at the good. But what is there in common between the +conceptions of beauty and truth on the one hand, and of goodness on +the other? Truth spoken expressly to cause annoyance certainly does +not harmonise with goodness. + +Not only are beauty and truth not conceptions equivalent to goodness, +and not only do they not form one entity with goodness, but they do +not even coincide with it. For instance, Socrates and Pascal as well +as many others, considered that learning the truth about unnecessary +things does not accord with goodness. With beauty, truth has not +even anything in common, but for the most part is in contradiction +with it, for truth generally exposes the deception and destroys the +illusion which is a chief condition of beauty. + +And lo and behold! the arbitrary conjunction into one, of these three +conceptions which are not commensurable but foreign to one another, +has served as the basis for that amazing theory according to which +the difference between good art, transmitting good feeling, and bad +art, transmitting bad feeling, is completely obliterated, and one of +the lowest manifestations of art, art merely for enjoyment--that art +against which all the teachers of humanity have warned mankind--has +come to be considered the highest art. + +[95] The contrast made is between the classes and the masses: between +those who do not and those who do earn their bread by productive +manual labour; the middle classes being taken as an offshoot of the +upper classes.--A. M. + +[96] Duelling was still customary among the higher circles in Russia, +as in other Continental countries when this was written.--A. M. + +[97] ... it is weariness of life, contempt for the present epoch, +regret for another age seen through the illusion of art, a taste for +paradox, a desire to be singular, a sentimental aspiration towards +simplicity, an infantile adoration of the marvellous, a sickly +tendency towards reverie, a shattered condition of nerves,--and, +above all, the exasperated demand of sensuality. + +[98] + Music, music before all things! + The eccentric still prefer, + Vague in air, and nothing weighty, + Soluble. Yet do not err, + + Choosing words; still do it lightly, + Do it with contemptuous mind: + Dearest are grey songs where mingle + The Defined and Undefined! + + * * * * * * * + + Music always, now and ever! + Be thy verse the thing that flies + From a soul that’s gone, escaping, + Gone to other loves and skies. + + Gone to other loves and regions, + Following fortunes that allure, + Mint and thyme and morning crispness ... + All the rest’s mere literature. + +[99] I think there should be nothing but allusions. The contemplation +of objects, the flying image of reveries evoked by them, make the +song. The Parnassians state the thing completely, and show it, and +thereby lack mystery; they deprive the mind of that delicious joy +of imagining that it creates. To _name an object is to take away +three-fourths of the enjoyment of the poem, which consists in the +happiness of guessing little by little: to suggest it, that is the +dream_. It is the perfect use of this mystery that constitutes the +symbol: little by little to evoke an object in order to show a state +of the soul; or inversely, to choose an object, and from it to +disengage a state of the soul by a series of decipherings. + +... If a being of mediocre intelligence and insufficient literary +preparation chances to open a book made in this way and pretends to +enjoy it, there is a misunderstanding--things must be returned to +their places. _There should always be an enigma in poetry_, and the +aim of literature--it has no other--is to evoke objects. + +[100] It were time also to have done with this famous “theory of +obscurity,” which the new school has practically raised to the height +of a dogma. + +[101] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[102] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[103] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[104] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[105] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[106] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[107] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[108] + I do not wish to think any more, except about my mother Mary, + Seat of wisdom and source of pardon, + Also Mother of France, _from whom we_ + _Steadfastly expect the honour of our country_. + +[109] This sonnet seems too unintelligible for translation.--Trans. + +[110] For translation, see Appendix I. + +[111] It was Tolstoy’s eldest daughter, Tatiana, Mme. Sukhotin; who +was herself a talented art-student.--A. M. + +[112] Ibsen’s _The Master-Builder_.--A. M. + +[113] Ibsen’s _Little Eyolf_.--A. M. + +[114] Maeterlinck’s _Les Aveugles_.--A. M. + +[115] G. Hauptmann’s _Die versunkene Glocke_.--A. M. + +[116] “The quicker it goes the longer it lasts.” + +[117] All styles are good except the wearisome style. + +[118] All styles are good except that which is not understood, _or_ +which fails to produce its effect. + +[119] By G. Hauptmann. + +[120] An apparatus exists by means of which a very sensitive arrow, +in dependence on the tension of a muscle of the arm, will indicate +the physiological action of music on the nerves and muscles.--L. T. + +[121] There is in Moscow a magnificent “Cathedral of our Saviour,” +erected to commemorate the defeat of the French in the war of +1812.--A. M. + +[122] “That they may be one; even as thou, Father, art in me, and I +in Thee, that they also may be in us.” + +[123] In this picture the spectators in the Roman Amphitheatre are +turning down their thumbs to show that they wish the vanquished +gladiator to be killed.--A. M. + +[124] While offering as examples of art those that seem to me the +best, I attach no special importance to my selection; for, besides +being insufficiently informed in all branches of art, I belong to the +class of people whose taste has, by false training, been perverted. +And therefore my old, inured habits may cause me to err, and I may +mistake for absolute merit the impression a work produced on me in +my youth. My only purpose in mentioning examples of works of this +or that class is to make my meaning clearer, and to show how, with +my present views, I understand excellence in art in relation to +its subject-matter. I must moreover mention that I consign my own +artistic productions to the category of bad art, excepting the story +_God sees the Truth but Waits_, which seeks a place in the first +class, and _The Prisoner of the Caucasus_, which belongs to the +second.--L. T. + +(Both the stories mentioned are included in _Twenty-Three Tales_ in +the Maude Tolstoy “World’s Classics” series.--A. M.) + +[125] In Russian it is customary to make a distinction between +literate and illiterate people, that is, between those who can and +those who cannot read. _Literate_ in this sense does not imply that +the man would speak or write correctly.--A. M. + +[126] Sténka Rázin was by origin a common Cossack. His brother was +hanged for a breach of military discipline, and to this event Sténka +Rázin’s hatred of the governing classes has been attributed. He +formed a robber band, and subsequently headed a formidable rebellion, +declaring himself in favour of freedom for the serfs, religious +toleration, and the abolition of taxes. Like the Government he +opposed, he relied on force, and though he used it largely in defence +of the poor against the rich he still held to + + “The good old rule, the simple plan, + That they should take who have the power, + And they should keep who can.” + +Like Robin Hood he is favourably treated in popular legends.--A. M. + +[127] Robert Macaire is a modern type of adroit and audacious +rascality. He was the hero of a popular play produced in Paris +in 1834, and of one written by R. L. Stevenson and W. E. Henley, +1897.--A. M. + +[128] Tolstoy’s doctrine of Non-Resistance to “him that is evil” by +any use of physical force has caused much perplexity and is accepted +in its completeness by but few people in the Western world. In this +passage however he states it in a form to which it would be hard to +raise any objection. Never before had the doctrine of Non-Resistance +been put so briefly, persuasively, and attractively.--A. M. + +[129] The translation in Appendices I, II and IV are by my wife, +Louise Maude. The aim of these renderings has been to keep as close +to the originals as the obscurity of meaning allowed. The sense (or +absence of sense) has therefore been more considered than the form of +the verses.--A. M. + +[130] The existence of such editions was a factor in inducing one +hundred and twenty very distinguished English and American writers, +dramatists, critics, and publicists, to endorse a letter written by +G. Bernard Shaw to the press, in 1922, asking the public to support +the “Maude Tolstoys,” in the Oxford University Press edition, and +thus make commercially possible the completion of a reliable and +satisfactory rendering of Tolstoy’s works in English. + +[131] Written soon after the Rowntrees had been attacked by a +patriotic mob, whose feelings were harrowed by an attempt to hold a +peace-meeting. + +[132] _Essays and Letters_, “World’s Classics” series. + +[133] _Essays and Letters_, “World’s Classics” series. + +[134] _The Function of Criticism at the Present Time_, in _Essays in +Criticism_. + +[135] E. H. Crosby was for some time a member of the New York State +Legislature; subsequently he went to Egypt as a judge in the Mixed +Tribunals. While there he began reading the works of Tolstoy, which +had a great influence upon him. He visited Tolstoy, and afterwards +co-operated with him in various ways. In a remarkable essay on +“Shakespeare and the Working Classes” E. H. Crosby drew attention to +the consistently anti-democratic tendency of that poet’s plays. It is +to this essay that Tolstoy here refers.--A. M. + +[136] Tolstoy was born in 1828. This essay appeared in 1906, so that +Tolstoy began his re-reading of Shakespeare three years before he +published the article. + +[137] “Lear is the occasion for Cordelia. The daughter’s maternity +towards the father; profound subject; maternity venerable among all +other maternities, so admirably rendered by the legend of that Roman +girl, nurse, in the depths of a prison, of her old father. The young +breast near the white beard, there is no spectacle more holy. That +filial breast is Cordelia. + +“Once this figure was dreamed and found Shakespeare created his +drama.... Shakespeare carrying Cordelia in his thoughts, created +that tragedy as a god, who having an aurora to place makes a world +expressly for it.” + +[138] “A Declaration of egregious popish impostures, etc.,” by Dr. +Samuel Harsnet, London 1603, which contains almost all that Edgar +says in his feigned madness.--A. M. + +[139] “One sees the intention and one is put off.” + +[140] This and the quotations in English that follow are taken from +_Shakespeare’s Commentaries_, by Dr. G. G. Gervinus, translated by F. +G. Bennett, London, 1877. + +[141] _Shakespeare_, Von G. G. Gervinus, Leipzig, 1872. Vol. II, pp. +550–51. + +[142] Tolstoy’s essay _Non-acting_ (see _Essays and Letters_ in the +“World’s Classics” series) deals with a controversy that occurred in +1893 between Zola and Dumas. In it Tolstoy controverts the opinion +that activity in itself, lacking moral guidance, is beneficial. + +[143] _William Shakespeare_, by Georges Brandes, translated by +William Archer and Miss Morison. London, 1898, p. 921. + +[144] A Russian poet of much delicacy of feeling, for many years a +great friend of Tolstoy’s. He is frequently referred to in my _Life +of Tolstoy_.--A. M. + + + + +INDEX + + + Academy, Royal, of 1897, 271. + + _Albert_, a story by Tolstoy, 8 + + Alison, _Essay on the Nature and Principles of Taste_, 157–8 + + American publications, 385 + + Amiel’s _Journal_, 18, 38–42 + + Andre, Père, _Essai sur le Beau_, 146 + + “Animal of unspoilt scent,” 268 + + Appraisement of feelings made by religious perception, 278 + + Approval, a matter of degree, 113 + + Aristotle, 141, 184 + + Arnold, Matthew, _The Function of Criticism_, 382 + + Art + artisans of, 237 + basis of action of, 171 + blind alley, 313 + “can evoke reverence for the dignity of every man,” 332 + canon of, 164 + Christian, 285, 288, 293–4 + a. Religious, 296 + b. Universal, 296, 333 + of Church Christianity, 179 + “comprehensible to men less educated than our labourers,” 226 + content of, 85 + definition of, 80–1, 171, 173, 362–3 + experimental, 169 + physiological evolutionary, 169, 170 + metaphysical, 169, 170 + destiny of, 333 + dramatic form, qualifications needed to produce in, 239 + effect on children, 198 + empty and vicious, 283 + essence of, 237 + essential organ, 298 + for art’s sake, 77, 87 + for enjoyment, first esteemed by whom, 182 + future, 313, 318, 320, 368 + good of two kinds, 286 + impoverishment of subject-matter of, 199 + indestructible spiritual organ, 309 + indispensable means of communication, 175 + infection by, 171 + influence of, 287 + limited sphere of our, 193 + means of intercourse, 170 + means of union, 173 + and Science: the difference, 225 + of Middle Ages, 179–81 + neo-esthetic theories of, 170 + organ of human progress, 297 + organ transmitting man’s reasonable perceptions into feelings, 331 + patriotic, 285 + productions that were “a temporary pastime,” 195 + prostitute of our circle, 311 + realistic, 87 + recognized by early Christians, 178 + should cause violence to be set aside, 331 + simple feelings, 318 + subject matter of, 197, 287 + task to make feeling of brotherhood customary, 332 + tendencious, 87 + vehicle to draw men towards perfection, 320 + which has left no trace, 166 + “will lay in the souls of men the rails along which their actions + will naturally pass,” 333 + will be an organ co-equally important with science for the life + of mankind, 331 + + Artist of the future, 318, 368 + + Artistic impression, when produced, 231 + productions that are “as unintelligible as Sanskrit,” 194 + sects exclude one another, 130 + + + Bach, J. S., 269, 292 + + Ballet-dancers receive more honour than the Saints, 301 + + Barge with kedge-anchors, 322 + + Bastien-Lepage, 310 + + Batteux, 146 + + Baudelaire, P. C., 207–214, 334–6 + _Duellum_, 208, 334–5 + _Fleur du mal_, 207, 302, 334 + _La Soupe et les nuages_, 209, 335–6 + _Le Galant Tireur_, 210, 336 + _L’étranger_, 209, 335 + _Petits poemes en prose_, 204, 335 + + Baumgarten, A. G., 143, 187–8 + + Bayreuth, performances at, 260, 262 + + Bazin, Réné, _La Terre qui meurt_, 380 + + Beauty, 83–5, 143, 148–163, 166–8, 182, 186–7, 189–90, 196, 293, + 303, 361, 369 + definition of, 163–4 + furnishes no criterion of art, 112 + is “that which pleases,” 163 + Truth and Goodness, 143–7, 156, 189–90 + + Beecher-Stowe, Harriet, _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, 373 + + Beethoven, L. von, 14, 245–6, 292 + Ninth Symphony, 294–5 + Opus 101, 269 + + Benard’s, _L’esthétique d’Aristote_, 142, 185, 187 + + Bergmann, J., _Ueber das Schöne_, 154 + + Boccaccio, 201 + + Bodkin Art Gallery (Moscow), 92 + + Booby Trap, 17, 18 + + Books for the people, 6 + + Brandes, Georges, 396, 444 + + Brevity, clearness and simplicity, 314, 320 + + Bryulov, K. P., “Art begins where the wee bit begins,” 247 + + Burke, Edmund: _The Sublime and Beautiful_, 146 + + _Büttnerbauer, Der_, by W. von Polenz, 18, 378–87 + + Byron, 201 + + + Caine, Hall, _The Christian_, 384–5 + + Caricatures, 293 + + Cathedral of Victory, 284 + + _Cause of it All, The_, by Tolstoy, 7 + + Cervantes, _Don Quixote_, 290 + + Chamber music, 294 + + Chékhov, A. P., 18–19 + _Darling_, 18, 388–92, 474–89. + + Cherbuliez, C. V., 156 + + Children perverted in service of art, 298 + + Choir of peasant women, 268 + + Chopin, F. F., 269 + _Nocturne in E flat major_, 292 + + Christianity, a turning point, 284 + + Christ, the teaching of, 308 + + Church music and ritual, 91 + + Classification (usually accepted) of writers is harmful, 386 + + Cloudy conceptions “usually presented with _aplomb_,” 137, 361 + + Coins that “resemble real money,” 234 + + Cold-drawn works of art, 238 + + Comte, Auguste, 450–1 + + Condemnation of new art unjust, 222 + + Conditions of production of art, 238 + counterfeit art, 237–40 + tragedy, 420 + + Cone of art, the, 228 + + _Confession_, Tolstoy’s, 8–12 + + Confusion of religious cult with religious perception, 280 + + Corruption of class nourished by false art, 192 + + Coster, G. H. de, 156 + + Counterfeits of art, how manufactured, 237–240 + caused by: + a) Professionalism ⎫ + b) Art Criticism ⎬ 241–6 + c) Schools of Art ⎭ + + Cousin, Victor, 154 + + Criticism, 382, 386–7 + great importance of, 387 + + Critics, 242 + + Crosby, Ernest H., _Shakespeare on the Working Classes_, 393 + + + Dancer, 248 + + Dante, 296 + + _Darling_, by A. P. Chekhov, 18, 388–92, 474–89. + + Darwin, Charles, 169, 450–1 + _Descent of Man_, 158 + + Darwin, Erasmus, 158 + + Dealers in the temple of art, 316 + + Decadent art, 233 + + Decadents, 207, 214, 217, 221–2, 228 + + Definition of art, 80–81, 171, 173, 362–3 + needed, of art, 133 + of any human activity, 166 + + Diamonds differ from paste, 267 + selecting by touch, 455 + + Dickens, Charles, 7, 288, 310, 385 + _Christmas Carol_, 7, 107 + _David Copperfield_, 290 + _Pickwick Papers_, 290 + + Diderot, D., 146 + + Dostoevski, F. M., 288–9, 310 + _Memoirs from the House of Death_, 289 + + Doumic, René, _Les Jeunes_, 201, 206–7 + + Dragon, the, in _Siegfried_, 257–8 + + Drama, 219, 232, 247, 452–5 + physiological effects in, 235 + + Dreyfus affair, 449–450 + + Druzhínin, A. V., 46 + + Durand-Ruel, art gallery, 218 + + + Elementary Schools, 314–5 + + Eliot, George, 385 + _Adam Bede_, 289 + + Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 385 + + Erections of lies obstruct study of life, 324 + + _Essays and Letters_, Tolstoy’s, 8 + + Essence of art: “that simple feeling compelling us to mingle souls + with another,” 273 + + Esthetic theory, the, of indifference of art to good or evil, + 456–7, 460 + + Euphuism, 203, 438 + + Exclusive art, 365 + + + Fairy-tale, lullaby, riddle, jest, or sketch, 318 + + Falstaff, 431–2 + + Fashionable art depends on the slavery of the masses, 194 + + Feelings, the highest, 367 + conveyed, quality of feelings, 107 + simple, 362 + three, the subject-matter of upper-class art, 200 + + Fichte, J. G., 148–9 + + _First Distiller, The_, by Tolstoy, 7 + + Folgeldt, on art, 165 + + Folk-art and children’s art, 7, 318 + + Food, 223–4, 369 + for body and mind, 93 + question, the, 166–7 + + Form of art, 364–5 + + Fourier, F. M. C., phalansteries, 450–1 + + Francis of Assisi, 181, 183 + + French drama, 454 + + + Gárshin, V. M., 46 + + Gautier, Théophile, 204 + + Gay, N. N., _The Last Supper_, 17, 29–32 + _What is Truth?_, 36–7 + _Judgment_, 289 + + _Genesis_, “the epic of,” 224 + + George, Henry, 104 + + Gérôme, Leon, _Pollice Verso_, 290 + + Gervinus, Dr. G. G., 438–444 + + Gevaert, Fierens, _Essay sur l’art contemporain_, 157 + + Goethe, J. W., 296, 455, 458, 461 + _Wilhelm Meister_, 165 + _Faust_, 234 + + Goncharev, I. A., 199 + + “Good art pleases everyone,” 224 + + Gospel parables, 224, 226 + + Gourmont, Rémy de, _Les Chevaux de Diomède_, 202 + + Grant Allen, 169 + _Physiological Æsthetics_, 159 + + Greeks, ancient, 184, 187, 279–80, 367 + a small, semi-savage, slaveholding people, 188 + + Grot, Professor, 117, 118 + + Guyau, _Les Problèmes de l’esthétique contemporaine_, 136, 156 + + + Habituation to bad art, 224, 366 + + Hallam, Henry, 395 + + Hamlet, 272, 394, 432–5, 444 + lack of character, 432–4 + + Harsnet, Dr. Samuel, 409 + + Hartmann, Edward von, 153 + + Hauptmann, G., _Hanneles Himmelfahrt_, 235 + _Die versunkene Glocke_, 220 + + Hauser, Kaspar, 174 + + Hazlitt, William, 395 + + Hebrew art, 280 + prophets, 198, 203 + + Hegel, G. W. F., 150–1, 450–1 + + Heine, Heinrich, 201 + + Helmholz, H. von, 154 + + Hemsterhuis, Frans, 147 + + Herbart, J. F., 152 + + Herder, J. G. von, 144 + + Hero, with hat _à la Guillaume Tell_, 230, 257 + + Home, Henry (Lord Kames), 146 + + Homer, 102, 198, 438–9 + _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_, 226 + and Shakespeare, 438 + + _How to Read the Gospels_, 376 + + Hugo, Victor, 50, 310, 288, 396 + _Les Misérables_, 50, 310, 396 + _Les Pauvres Gens_, 288 + + Human life filled with art, 363 + + Humboldt, W., 148 + + Hungarian _csárdäs_, 269 + + Huret, Jules, 206 + + Hutcheson, Francis, _Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of + Beauty and Virtue_, 145 + + Huysmans, J. K., _Là-Bas_, 221 + + Hypnotic and epidemic suggestions, 263, 448–51, 453–9 + + + Ibsen, Henrik: _The Master Builder_ and _Little Eyolf_, 219–220 + + Imitation art, methods of producing: + a. Borrowing ⎫ + b. Imitating ⎪ + c. Action on nerves ⎬ 230–6, 261 + d. Interesting ⎭ + + Important what feelings spread, 366–7 + + Impressionist and Neo-impressionist art, 218–9 + + Infectiousness of art, 364–8 + + Injurious effect of security and luxury on artist, 316 + + Internal test of art, 365 + + + Japanese art, 365 + + Jest, riddle, fairy-tale, lullaby, or sketch, 318 + + Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 395 + + Joseph, the story of, 225, 290 + + Jouffroy, T. S., 154–5 + + Jungmann, J., 154 + + + Kant, I., 145, 147–8 + + Karr, Alphonse, 220 + + Ker, W. P., _Essay on the Philosophy of Art_, 159 + + _King Lear_, 394 et seq. + + _King Leir_, superior to Shakespeare’s _King Lear_, 424–429 + + Kipling, Rudyard, 221, 270, 385 + + Kirchmann, Julius von, 153–4 + + Knight, Wm., _Philosophy of the Beautiful_, 159–160, 185 + + Knight, R., _An Analytical Enquiry into the Principles of Taste_, + 158 + + Kralik, R., _Weltschönheit_, 134–6, 140 + + Kramskoy, I. N., 289 + + Krause, K. C. F., 150 + + _Krasota_ (Russian word)--how used, 138 + + _Kreutzer Sonata_, 14–16 + + + Labour, enormous, expended on art, 125 et seq. + + La Bruyère, Jean de, 466 + + Lachelier, J., 155 + + Langley, W., 272, 289 + + Language of art understood by all, 225 + + La Rochefoucauld, F., Duc de, 466 + + Latin grammar, 299 + + Lear’s inappropriate talk with fool, 401 + unnatural credulity and distrust, 399, 420 + verbose absurdities, 405–6 + + Leopardi, J., 201 + + Lepage, Bastien, 310 + + Lérmontov, M. Yu., 384 + + Lessing, G. E., 144 + + Lévêque, C., 138, 140, 154–5 + + Lhermitte, Léon, 310 + + Life, understanding of, 176 + + Loss of capacity to be infected by art, 298 + + Lowell, J. R., 385 + + _Lucern_, by Tolstoy, 8 + + Lullaby, fairy-tale, riddle, jest, or sketch, 318 + + Lyric poetry, 251–2 + + + _Macbeth_, 394 + + Maeterlinck, Maurice, 214 + _Les Aveügles_, 220 + + Mallarmé, S., 205–6, 214–5 + _Devagations_, 215 + + Malthus, T. R., 188 + + “Man sieht die Absicht und man wird verstimmt,” 422 + + Marcus Aurelius, 66 + + Marx, Karl, 188 + + Materialism, 109 + + Maupassant, Guy de, 17, 46–71, 290 + _Bel-ami_, 52, 54, 55, 57, 59, 64 + _Fort comme le mort_, 55–8 + _Histoire d’une fille de ferme_, 48, 50 + _Horla_, 67 + _La Femme de Paul_, 48, 50 + _La Maison Tellier_, 46 + _La Petite Roque_, 66 + _L’armoire_, 66 + _Le champ d’oliviers_, 66 + _Le papa de Simon_, 50 + _L’ermite_, 66 + _Miss Harriet_, 66 + _Monsieur Parent_, 66 + _Mont Oriol_, 54–5, 58 + _Notre cœur_, 55–6, 58, 65 + _Pierre et Jean_, 55, 58, 60 + _Solitude_, 67 + _Sur l’eau_, 50, 66 + _Un cas de divorce_, 66 + _Une vie_, 50–2, 54, 57, 64 + _Une partie de campagne_, 48, 50 + _Yvette_, 58–9, 65 + + Mayer, von Liesen, _Signing the Death Warrant_, 289 + + Melody, 291–2 + + Men seldom recognise truth that exposes falsity of their pet + beliefs, 265 + + Mendelssohn, 144 + + Middle Ages, 86, 198 + + Millet, Jean Francois, 310 + _The Man with a Hoe_, 289 + + Mithalter, Julius, _Rätsel des Schönen_, 137 + + Molière, 290 + + Montaigne, M. E. de, 466 + + Montesquieu, C. de S., Baron de la Brèda, et de, 466 + + Montesquiou-Fezensac, le comte Robert de, 207, 217, 350–2 + + Moralities (plays), 452 + + Morality regarded as “an antiquated affair,” 303 + + Morality and art, 364, 371–2 + + Morel, E., _Terre Promise_, 221 + + Morris, William, 94–6 + + Moscow, performance of _Siegfried_, 253–60 + + Mozart, W. A. C., 269, 292 + _Magic Flute_, 250 + + Müller, Adam, 149 + + Muratori, L. A., 147 + + Music, 6, 13, 14–16, 17, 220, 232–3, 235–6, 245, 247–8, 291–2, 294–5 + + Musical art, qualifications needed to produce, 239 + + Muther, Richard, _The History of Art in the Nineteenth Century_, 165 + + Mysteries (plays), 452 + + Mysticism, 109 + + Mythological allusions, 203 + + + Nadson, S. Ya., 385 + + Natasha Rostova (in _War and Peace_), 8 + + Negro melodies, 102 + + Nekrásov, N. A., 385 + + Nicholas Rostov, (in _War and Peace_), 8, 16 + + Nietzsche, F. W., 206, 303, 385, 451 + + + Obscurity in art esteemed, 203–4 + + _On Art_, 75–90 + + “One touch of nature,” 362 + + Opera, rehearsal of an, 125–9 + _Siegfried_, 253–60 + + Orators, 362, 370–1 + + Ornaments, 293 + + Ostróvski, A. N., 461 + _Minin_, 244 + + _Othello_, 429–31 + powerful movement of feeling in, 430 + + + Pagano, F. M. S. A. C. P., 147 + + Painting, 232, 244, 292 + and sculpture, qualifications necessary to produce, 239, 293 + + Paris exhibitions, 218 + + Parnassians, 205–6, 213 + + Pascal, Blaise, 40, 190, 466 + + Pastime for the idle crowd of rich, some art merely a, 366 + + Patti, Adelina, 302 + + Peasant art, 277 + labourers, 105 + + Péladan, Joséphin, 157, 207 + + Perplexity of plain folk, 300 + + Peter of Chelczic, 183 + + Petersburg, 9 + + Pleasure of art, 82 + + _Pickwick Papers, The_, 435 + + Pictet, Adolph, 155 + + Pierre Louÿs, _Aphrodite_, 202 + + Pilate, Pontius, 36–7 + + Pilo, Mario, _La Psychologie du Beau et de l’Art_, 156–7 + + Pissarro, Camille, 218 + + Plato, 92, 141, 183–7 + _The Republic_, 175, 307 + + Poems, qualifications needed to write, 238 + + Poetic, “means borrowed,” 234 + subjects, 261 + + Polenz, W. von, _Der Büttnerbauer_, 18, 378 et seq. + + Popularity, 103 + + Pózdnyshev (in _The Kreutzer Sonata_), 12–15 + + Predetermination (an author’s) evokes distrust, 259 + + Prévost, Marcel, 201 + + Printed matter a vast obstacle to enlightenment, 383 + the necessity of, 73 + + Printing, 383 + + Purpose of art, the, 278 + + Pushkin, 301–2, 384, 461 + _Tales_, 290, 384, 461 + _Borís Godunóv_, 244 + _Evgéni Onégin_, 244 + _The Gipsies_, 244 + + Puvis de Chavannes, P. C., 218 + + + Qualities, Three--of works of art + a) Content ⎫ + b) Beauty ⎬ 445–6 + c) Sincerity ⎭ + + + Ragnar Redbeard, 303 + + Raphael, 296 + + Ravaisson, F., _La Philosophie en France_, 155 + + Realism in art, 77–8, 234 + + Re-appraisement of knowledge needed, 330 + + Reformers’ objection to art, 91 + + Reid, Thomas, 157 + + _Religion and Morality_, by Tolstoy, 375 + + Religious art, 310 + + Religious perception, 108, 176–8, 197–200, 278, 281–5, 310, 317, + 322, 367, 372, 374–5 + lack of, 182 + the consciousness of the brotherhood of man, 331 + + Renaissance, The, 182, 200, 282, 453, 460 + + Renan, Ernest, _Marc Aurèle_, 61, 62, 134 + _L’Abbesse de Jouarre_, 62 + + _Resurrection_, by Tolstoy, 111 + + Riddle, fairy-tale, lullaby, jest, or sketch, 318 + + Rider Haggard, 385 + + Romanticists, 221 + + _Romeo and Juliet_, 394 + + Rossi, Ernesto, 272 + + Royal Academy of 1897, 271 + + Ruge, Arnold, 151 + + Ruskin, John, 94–5, 378 + + Russian poetry, 384 + + + _St. Anthony, The Temptation of_, 271 + + Sand, George, 49, 450–1 + _La petite Fadette_, 49 + _La mère aux diables_, 49 + + Schasler, M., _Kritische Geschichte der Aesthetik_, 140–1, 186–7 + + Schelling, F. W. J., 149, 150 + + Schiller, J. C. F. von, 148, 169, 288, 295 + + Schlegel, F., 149 + + Schnaase, Karl, _Geschichte der bildenden Künste_, 153 + + Schopenhauer, A., 153, 246 + + Science, 30, 321–29 + and art closely united, 322 + for science’s sake, 324 + inventions in natural, 324 + of esthetics has failed, The, 361 + purpose of real and pretended, 325–6 + + Sexual relations, 305 + + Shaftesbury, A. A. C., third Earl of, 145 + + Sketch, fairy-tale, lullaby, riddle, jest, 318 + + Shakespeare, William, 18, 19, 393–463 + devoid of sense of proportion, 437 + his apt use of gestures, 435 + his characters are borrowed from earlier works, 424 + do not accord with their period or place, 421 + lack individuality of language, 422 + talk as real people never could talk, 423 + his delineation of character, 422 + effect on the young of laudation of Shakespeare, 462–3 + his exaggeration, 438 + his fame: first cause of, 456 + _King Lear_, 394–429, 436–7 + Albany’s unnatural speech, 410 + Edgar and Kent not recognized by people who knew them well, 406 + Gloucester’s unnatural credulity, 400, 403, 412 + his Kings, 399, 423 + his masterly development of scenes, 455 + movement of feeling powerfully expressed by, 435 + not an artist, 438 + his patriotism, 445 + his practical mastery of stage-craft, 19 + _Romeo and Juliet_, 165 + “The end justifies the means,” 445 + Thoughts arising from sound of words, 409 + + Shaw, Bernard, 17 + + Shelley, P. B., 395 + + “Sick send the hale to bed, the,” 227 + + Simple direct artistic impression, 455 + + Sincerity in Art, 84–5 + + Socrates, 141, 184, 186, 190 + + Solger, K. W. F., _Vorlesungen über Æsthetik_, 150 + + Spaletti, _Saggio sopra la bellessa_, 147 + + Spectrum Analysis of Milky Way, lecture on, 318 + + Speech, 170, 173–4, 224, 297 + + Spencer, Herbert, 158, 169 + + Spiritual Censor (Russian), 119 + + Spiritualists, 262 + + Stead, W. T., 7 + + Sténka Rázin, 304 + + Story of an Easter Cake, 270 + + Story or novel, qualifications needed to write, 238 + + Subject, and subject-matter, 369 + + Subject-matter of art, 364 + + Sue, Eugène, 450–1 + + Sully, James, _Sensation and Intuition_, 160, 169, 170 + + Sulzer, George, 144 + + “Supremacy of Artistic Element in Literature,” 4 + + Swinburne, A. C., 396 + + Symbolic pictures, 294 + + Symbolists, 207, 218, 219 + + + Taglioni, Maria, 302 + + Taine, Henri, 156 + + Tasso, Torquato, _Jerusalem Delivered_, 296 + + Tatiana Lvóvna (Mme. Sukhotin), 218 + + “Tendencious art,” 77 + + Test of great philosophy, 369 + + Thackeray, W. M., 385 + + Three religions, 375 + + “To be or not to be,” 433 + + Todhunter, John, _Theory of the Beautiful_, 158–9 + + Tolstoy’s final conclusions on art, 377 + fitness to deal with the problem, 97, 98, 373 + lecture on literature, 4 + view of life, 367 + + Tolstoy, Alexey, 385, 461 + _Tsar Borís_, 244 + + Truth, 190 + + Turgénev, K. S., _The Quail_, 271 + _A Sportsman’s Notebook_, 199 + + _Twenty-three Tales_, by Tolstoy, 7, 8 + + “Two live leaves cannot be exactly alike,” 251 + + Tyútchev, Th. I., 384 + + + _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, 288, 373 + + “Understand the error we are involved in,” 307 + + Understood by men less educated than our labourers, art was, 226, + 365 + + Unintelligible art, 223 + + Union with men of the past and the future, through art, 287 + + Universal art, 106, 229, 310, 365 + + + Vasnetsov, V. M., 271 + + Vauvenargues, Marquis de, 466 + + Vedas, hymns of the, 226 + + Verbal art, 232 + + Verlaine, Paul, 207, 210–4, 302, 336–7 + _Ariettes oubliées_, 211, 212 + _La Sagesse_, 212, 213 + + Veron, _L’esthétique_, 157, 169, 170 + + Versifiers, with broken tongues, 253 + + Villiers de l’Isle Adam, _Contes Cruels_, _L’Annonciateur_, 221 + + View of life, 9 + + View of life unconsciously permeating artistic work, 457 + + Vischer, Theodor, 152 + + Vogüé, C. J. M. Marquis de, 394 + + Vogul play, 272 + + Voltaire, F. M. A. de, 147, 227 + + + Wagner, Richard, 206, 233, 250–64 + “a limited self-opinionated German of bad taste,” 259 + explanation of his success, 260–262 + his great ability, 261 + his “model work of counterfeit art,” 253 + + Walkley, A. B., 18 + + Walter, _Geschichte der Æsthetik im Altertum_, 142 + on Plato, 187 + + _War and Peace_, 8, 16 + + Weisse, C. H., 151 + + Welfare lies in union, 309 + + _What is Art_, 1, 91–377 + premature publication of in Paris, 3 + + _What Then Must We Do?_, 12 + + Whittier, J. G., 385 + + Wilde, Oscar, 303 + + Winckelmann, J. J., 144 + + Wolf, encounter with a, 172 + + + Yakútsk ornaments, 293 + + Yásnaya Polyána, 4, 21 + + Yawning, 171 + + + Zola, Émile, 270 + _La Terre_, 49 + + + + +Concerning the Proposed Centenary Edition of Tolstoy’s Works + + +In February 1922, Mr. Bernard Shaw addressed the following letter +to the Press and it appeared in _The Times_, _Daily Telegraph_, +_Manchester Guardian_ and many other papers, receiving, then and +subsequently, the endorsement of the numerous distinguished people, +here and in America, whose signatures are appended. + + 10 ADELPHI TERRACE, + W.C.2. + _28 February 1922._ + SIR, + + We desire to call public attention, especially in circles + interested in literature and in general cultural questions, + to the lack of a complete edition of the works of Leo Tolstoy + in the English language. Unfortunately the means adopted by + Tolstoy to secure the widest possible circulation for his + books had just the opposite effect. He invited all publishers + in all countries to take the fullest advantage of the + absence of international copyright between Russia and other + countries by publishing his writings in such translations + as they could procure without any reference to his moral or + legal rights. In the case of any less famous author this + step would have prevented his works being translated at all, + as it is practically impossible to engage modern capital in + publishing, or any other enterprise, without property rights. + In Tolstoy’s case it led to the appearance of a great number + of translations, including some very incompetent ones, of a + few of his books which were considered specially interesting + as stories, or were capable of being turned to account for + propaganda. These few books have consequently become more or + less well known; but the profits of their publication have + been so divided that they have in no instance been able to + carry a complete edition on their backs. Accordingly, no + complete edition has yet appeared; and the one projected for + the Tolstoy Centenary of 1928 by the Oxford University Press, + translated by Aylmer Maude, whose competence and acceptance + by Tolstoy himself are unquestionable, may prove commercially + impossible unless the public, by spontaneously giving it the + privileges of a copyright edition, both by subscribing for + complete sets and specifying this edition in their purchases + of separate volumes, makes up for the absence of legal rights + and for the miscarriage of Tolstoy’s public-spirited intention + in the matter. + + The Oxford Press translation will be complete and unique, + and certain to remain so, as it is not now possible for any + new English writer to bring to a translation of Tolstoy’s + works the personal knowledge of the author, and the peculiar + experience of Russian life and of the Tolstoyan social + experiments that followed the first publication of his + writings, enjoyed by Mr. Aylmer Maude and his wife and + collaborator, who is a native of Russia. We feel that its + failure to appear would be a grave loss to our national + literary equipment; and we earnestly hope that the opportunity + of completing the nineteenth-century bookshelf both of our + public and private libraries by a complete edition of his + works in English will not be missed. + + Yours truly, + G. BERNARD SHAW. + + + LIST OF SIGNATORIES TO SHAW’S LETTER. + + Henry Ainley (Fedya of _Reparation_) + Meggie Albanesi (Alexandra of _Reparation_) + Rev. Cyril Alington, D.D., Head Master of Eton + William Archer + Lena Ashwell (Katusha of _Resurrection_) + J. F. Baddeley + John Bailey + Hon. Maurice Baring, O.B.E. + Dr. Ernest Barker, Principal, King’s College + Sir Alfred Bateman, K.C.M.G. + H. Wansey Bayly, M.R.C.S. + Ian Hay Beith, C.B.E. + Marie Belloc-Lowndes + Arnold Bennett + J. D. Beresford + Rt. Hon. Sir Geo. W. Buchanan, P.C., G.C.B., C.V.O., formerly + Ambassador, Petrograd + Rt. Hon. Lord Carnock, P.C., G.C.B., K.C.V.O., formerly + Ambassador, Petrograd + Sir Hall Caine, K.B.E. + Edward Carpenter + Clementine S. Churchill (Mrs. Winston Churchill) + A. Clutton Brock, B.A. + W. L. Courtney, L.L.D., Editor of _Fortnightly Review_ + A. Emil Davies, L.C.C. + H. Walford Davies, F.R.C.O. + Brig.-Gen. Guy Payan Dawnay, C.M.G., M.V.O., D.S.O. + James Douglas, Editor of _Sunday Express_ + J. D. Duff, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge + Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, LL.D. + Havelock Ellis, L.S.H. + Nevill Forbes, Ph.D., Reader in Russian, Oxford + J. L. Garvin, Editor of _Observer_ + G. P. Gooch, D.Litt. + L. Haden Guest, M.R.C.S., M.P. + Cicely Hamilton + Austin Harrison + Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins + John H. Hobson, M.A. + Silas K. Hocking + E. A. Brayley Hodgetts, Chairman of Russian Section, London Chamber + of Commerce + Sonia E. Howe, Authoress of _A Thousand Years of Russian History_ + W. W. Jacobs + Edgar Jepson, B.A. + Jerome K. Jerome + Henry Arthur Jones + Commander Oliver Locker-Lampson, C.M.G., D.S.O., M.P. + Sir Oliver Lodge, F.R.S., D.Sc. + Lady Constance Lytton + Sir Lynden Macassey + Justin Huntly MᶜCarthy + Miles Malleson + Hugh Macnaughten, Vice-Provost of Eton + W. Somerset Maugham, M.R.C.S. + Dorothy Massingham + H. W. Massingham + Cyril Maude + W. B. Maxwell + P. E. Meadon + Baron A. Meyendorff + Eustace Miles, M.A. + Gilbert Murray, D.Litt., Regius Professor, Oxford + Cathleen Nesbitt + Henry W. Nevinson + Sir Sidney Olivier + Sir Bernard Pares, K.C.B., Professor of Russian History, University + of London + Rt. Hon. Sir Gilbert Parker, P.C., D.S.L. + Geo. Paston + Edw. R. Pease + John Pollock, M.A. + H. Hesketh Prichard, D.S.O. + Sir Henry Penson, K.B.E. + Arthur Rackham + Rt. Hon. Lady Rhondda + Rt. Hon. G. H. Roberts, J.P. + Sir E. Denison Ross, Ph.D. + Hon. Bertrand Russell, F.R.S. + St. John Ervine + May Sinclair + Rt. Hon. Lady Sybil Smith + A. B. Stodart, Hon. Sec. British Russia Club + Marie C. Stopes, D.Sc., Ph.D. + Lord Treowen, C.M.G. + Mrs. Alec-Tweedie, F.R.G.S. + Leslie Urquhart + Sir Paul Vinogradoff, Professor of Jurisprudence, Oxford + Graham Wallas + A. B. Walkley, F.R.S.L., Dramatic Critic of _The Times_ + Hugh Walpole + Lt.-Col. John Ward, C.B., M.P. + Rt. Hon. Lord Weardale + H. G. Wells + Rebecca West + Rt. Hon. J. H. Whitley, P.C. + Norman Wilks + Harold Williams + C. Hagberg Wright, LL.D., Librarian, London Library + + + AMERICAN + + Jane Addams + James Lane Allen + Sherwood Anderson + James Branch Cabell + George W. Cable + Theodore Dreiser + Horace Howard Furness + Hamlin Garland + Ellen Glasgow + Robert Underwood Johnson + Robert Morse Lovett + Edwin Markham + H. L. Mencken + Harriet Monroe + Eugene O’Neill + William Lyon Phelps + Chas. Ed. Russell + Booth Tarkington + Lucy E. Textor + Hon. Henry Vandyck + Owen Wister + +Beside those who have signed Shaw’s letter, Thomas Hardy wrote:-- + +‘Although I have no first-hand knowledge of the details mentioned in +Mr. Bernard Shaw’s letter on translations of Tolstoy, I agree with +the opinion that a good rendering of his works into English--so far +as that is possible--should be made practicable by the concentration +of effort on one production; and I believe that Mr. Aylmer Maude’s +competence for the task is special and trustworthy.’ + +Sir Edmund Gosse wrote to Mr. Aylmer Maude:-- + + ‘I wish to express my appreciation of your admirable labours + and those of Mrs. Maude.’ + +Mr. Joseph Hergesheimer wrote:-- + + ‘I fully agree with contents of the letter.’ + +Professor Gilbert Murray wrote:-- + + ‘I am in the most cordial agreement with Shaw’s letter and + will most gladly sign it. It is a great public service that + you and the Oxford Press between you are undertaking. The + wonder to me has always been how Tolstoy contrived to make + such a tremendous and characteristic impression through such + an opaque and distorting medium as the average Anglo-American + translation.’ + + * * * * * + +A score of letters containing Tolstoy’s very emphatic authorization +and endorsement of the Maude versions of his work (such as he gave to +no other translator) have been deposited with the Oxford University +Press. These expressions of approval begin in 1897, when Mr. Maude +translated _What is Art_, and were continued till 1910, the year of +Tolstoy’s death. The following are a few extracts from these letters +of Tolstoy’s: + +5 Sept. 1897. ‘I have written to Tchertkoff asking him to leave it to +you to do the translation. That will give me more satisfaction.’ + +18 Oct. 1897. ‘You have filled in correctly the word omitted on p. +31. In general I see that you are doing the translation with great +care, for which I am very grateful. I am almost certain I shall be +in accord with all your comments, but still send them to me. I, too, +will examine them carefully.’ + +Nov. 1897. ‘I will begin to reply in sequence to your admirable +remarks, which are of great use to the undertaking.... With all the +rest of your remarks I quite agree, and prompted by them I have made +alterations in my (Russian) text. Please make more such.’ + +Dec. 1897. ‘I yesterday received both your letters, dear friend, and +hasten to answer them. I also received the translation. I have gone +through it and have not found anything that held me up, except the +words “admirable book of Verm” (p. 22). It should be “very good” and +not “admirable”. The translation seems to me to be very good.’ + +Dec. 1898. ‘I have received your letter, dear friend Maude, and +am very glad that you are again in England and wish to work at +translating my writings. I do not desire a better translator, both on +account of your knowledge of the two languages and of your strictness +with yourself in everything.’ + +Jan. 1899. ‘I am very glad that your dear wife is doing the +translation of _Resurrection_.’ + +May 1900. ‘Your translations are very good because you have an +admirable mastery of both the languages, and besides that, to my +great pleasure, you love the thoughts you transmit.’ + +Sept. 1900. ‘To lose such translators as you and your wife would be +very, very unpleasant. Better translators, both in your knowledge of +both languages and in your penetration into the very meaning of the +matter translated, could not be invented.’ + +Feb. 1901. ‘I think that your and your wife’s splendid translation of +what has previously been published and badly translated should find a +publisher.’ + +Nov. 1901. (From a letter written by the Countess Olga Tolstoy.) ‘I +am writing instead of Leo Nikolaevich, who sends many excuses for not +having sooner replied to your two letters, and about the fine book, +_Sevastopol_, you have sent. All this time Leo Nikolaevich has been +very unwell.... He asks me to convey to you his great gratitude for +the letters and for _Sevastopol_. He finds both the translation and +the edition excellent, and that one could not desire anything better.’ + +23 Dec. 1901. ‘I think I have already written you how unusually +pleased I was with the first volume of your edition. All is +excellent--the edition, the notes, and chiefly the translation, and +even more the conscientiousness with which all this has been done. I +opened it accidentally at the _Two Hussars_ and read on to the end +just as if it were something new and had been written in English.’ + +6 Oct. 1903. _A common friend in replying to an inquiry Mr. Maude +made concerning his re-translation of a work, the previously +published (Free Age Press) edition of which appeared faulty._ ‘L. +N. (Tolstoy) asks me to reply to your inquiry about the exactness +of your translation of _What is Religion?_ that your translation +expresses his meaning more exactly, and he is quite satisfied.’ + +11 Dec. 1903. ‘Thank your kind friend Maude for sending me the volume +of _Essays and Letters_ (World’s Classics series). The edition is +very good.’ + +1 Aug. 1909. ‘I am always glad to hear news of you and of your +occupation, so closely connected with me, on excellent translations +of my writings. Your loving Leo Tolstoy.’ + +18 Jan. 1910. ‘I am better now and add a line to say a few words, +namely that the edition of your translations of my writings can only +give me pleasure, because your translations are very good and I do +not desire better ones.... My approval of your translations in my +letters, you can, of course, publish.’ + + * * * * * + +The Tolstoy Centenary occurs in 1928, and the form the projected +complete Maude-Tolstoy Centenary Edition may take has not yet been +decided, but the material for it is being prepared and a pocket +edition of as much of it as is quite ready is appearing in the +World’s Classics series, which already contains the following twelve +volumes. + + + + + THE ‘MAUDE’ TOLSTOY + + THE ‘WORLD’S CLASSICS’ SERIES + + Pocket size, 6 by 4 inches. On thin opaque paper. Cloth, 2s. net; + sultan-red leather, 3s. 6d. net. + + +=The Cossacks= _and_ =Tales of the Caucasus.= + +Including: _The Raid_, _The Wood-Felling_ and _Meeting a Moscow +Acquaintance in the Detachment_. + + ‘The best story that has been written in our + language.’--_Turgenev._ + + +=War and Peace= (3 vols.). + + ‘We feel that we were ourselves there; that we knew those + people; that they are a part of our very own past.’--_Maurice + Baring._ + + ‘It is among the greatest works ever made by man, and the + country is under a debt to Louise and Aylmer Maude for + rendering it into English.’--_New Labour Leader._ + + +=Anna Karénina= (2 vols.). + + ‘Anna Karénina as an artistic production is perfection ... + a thing to which European literature of our epoch offers no + equal.’--_Dostoevski._ + + +=Confession _and_ What I Believe= (1 vol.). + + One of the sincerest and most remarkable confessions in all + literature. + + +=Twenty-Three Tales.= + +Containing: _God Sees the Truth_, _A Prisoner in the Caucasus_, _What +Men Live By_, _Two Old Men_, _Where God is Love is_, _Ivan the Fool_, +_The Three Hermits_, _The Imp and the Crust_, _How Much Land does a +Man Need?_ _The Empty Drum_, _Too Dear_, etc. + + ‘I regard them as the most perfect tales ever + written.’--_Carmen Sylva, Queen of Roumania._ + + +=The Kreutzer Sonata, Family Happiness, _and_ Polikushka= (1 vol.). + +The first full translation, giving the passages suppressed by the +censor. It is the most powerful and the most widely discussed of +Tolstoy’s shorter novels. + + +=Plays.= + +A complete edition (including the posthumous plays): _The First +Distiller_, _The Power of Darkness_, _The Fruits of Enlightenment_, +_The Live Corpse_, _The Cause of it All_, _The Light Shines in +Darkness_. + + ‘Nothing in the whole range of drama fascinated me more than + the old soldier in _The Power of Darkness_.’--_Bernard Shaw._ + + +=Essays and Letters.= + +Including: _Why Do Men Stupefy Themselves? Afterword to the Kreutzer +Sonata_, _The First Step_, _Non-Acting_, _Religion and Morality_, +_Shame!_, _Letters to Verigin_, _Non-Resistance_, _How to Read the +Gospels_, _Letters on Henry George_, _Modern Science_, _Patriotism +and Government_, ‘_Thou Shalt Not Kill_’, _Reply to Synod’s +Excommunication_, _What is Religion? An Appeal to the Clergy_, and +fifteen other articles. + + ‘Gives an excellent idea of the vast range of Tolstoy’s + intellectual activities.’--_Daily News._ + + +=Resurrection.= + + ‘Undoubtedly the most important novel that has appeared in + Europe for many years.’--_Edward Garnett._ + + + _Ready Shortly._ + + +=What then must we do?= + +Tolstoy’s remarkable study of social conditions. + + + _Other Volumes in Preparation_ + + * * * * * + + WHAT IS ART? + + (Now included in the volume, _Tolstoy on Art_.) + + ‘This book is a most effective booby trap. It is written + with so utter a contempt for the objections which a + routine critic is sure to allege against it, that many a + dilettantist reviewer has already accepted it as a butt set + up by Providence.... Whoever is really conversant with Art, + recognizes in it the voice of the master.’--_G. Bernard Shaw_ + in _The Daily Chronicle_. + + ‘This calmly and cogently reasoned effort to put Art on a new + basis is a literary event of the first importance.... I have + never come across anything so good in its way as Mr. Maude’s + version of Tolstoy. The translation reads like an original: + you feel that Tolstoy has lost nothing in transit. And what a + wonderful artist in prose this Tolstoy is! How vigorous and + succinct! How persuasive!’--_A. B. Walkley._ + + ‘Tolstoy’s book is the most important essay in pure + criticism of recent years, and it is destined to become a + classic.’--_Star._ + + ‘The powerful personality of the author, the startling + originality of his views, grips the reader, and carry him, + though his deepest convictions be outraged, protesting through + the book.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + ‘Mr. Aylmer Maude’s translation is admirable--a better piece + of work has rarely been performed; and Mrs. Maude’s English + renderings of the French poems, whether as to meaning, spirit + or rhythm, are so felicitous that they amount to a _tour de + force_.’--_M. H. Spielmann_ in _Literature_. + + + Oxford University Press, Amen House, London, E.C.4. + + + THE LIFE OF TOLSTOY. + +=First Fifty Years.= By AYLMER MAUDE. Seventh Edition. 8 +Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. + + ‘Will stand, I think, among the big biographies of our + literature.’--_G. Bernard Shaw._ + + ‘The book is no sooner opened than it begins to + exercise a sort of charm from which it is impossible to + escape.’--_Westminster Gazette._ + +(The Second Volume: LATER YEARS is out of print, and will be revised.) + + + THE ‘MAUDE’ TOLSTOY. + +=Resurrection.= With 14 Illustrations by Pasternak. 7s. 6d. net. + + ‘A special word of praise must be given to the illustrations. + They illustrate the author with a sympathy and an insight + which Tolstoy has never before enjoyed.’--_Glasgow Herald._ + + +=Plays.= (Complete Edition. Six Plays.) 7 Illustrations. 7s. 6d. net. + + ‘A vivid picture of life, full of light and colour and + contrast; full, too, of wisdom and the wit that knows just + where to hold its hand.’--_The Times_ on ‘Fruits of Culture.’ + + +=Sevastopol and Other Stories= (including TWO HUSSARS, etc.). +Photogravure Portrait and Map. 1s. 6d. net. + + ‘In these thrilling “Letters from the Front” Tolstoy + realizes war ... as no other writer has ever done before or + since.’--_Contemporary Review._ + + Constable and Co., 10 Orange Street, W.C.2. + + * * * * * + + +=Leo Tolstoy.= By AYLMER MAUDE. 8vo. 7 Illustrations. 6s. net. + +A complete biography, with an account of Tolstoy’s home-leaving and +death, and an explanation of what led to it. + + ‘Mr. Maude is our best English authority on Tolstoy, not + alone because he knew Tolstoy intimately, but because, + whilst admiring and loving him for his genius and his + sincerity, he judges calmly, and is not carried away by + hero-worship.’--_Yorkshire Post._ + + Methuen and Co., 36 Essex Street, London, W.C.2. + + * * * * * + + +=The Life of Marie C. Stopes.= By AYLMER MAUDE. With 14 +Illustrations. 5s. net. + +An authorized biography giving, for the first time, the story of her +childhood, academic life, marriage, writings, opponents and inner +life. + + Williams and Norgate, 14 Henrietta Street, W.C.2. + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: + +Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like +this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=. +Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent +hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged, as were +obsolete and alternative spellings. Obvious printing errors, such as +backwards, upside down, or partially printed letters and punctuation, +were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and +abbreviations were added. One excess semi-colon was deleted. + +Use of accents on Russian names is inconsistent. Diacriticals in +French were corrected. + +In the index, surnames were added to ‘Darwin, Erasmus’ and ‘Knight, +R.’ Accents missing on words and names in the index were adjusted to +agree with related text. + +Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of +the book. There are four anchors for footnote [2]. + +The following were changed: + + ‘hynotist’ to ‘hypnotist’ + ‘divisons’ to ‘divisions’ + ‘auszudrückendem’ to ‘auszudrückenden’ + ‘Wohlegefallen’ to ‘Wohlgefallen’ + ‘Asthetisches’ to ‘Aesthetisches’ + ‘-ziet’ to ‘-zeit’ (several instances) + ‘Kunsc’ to ‘Kunst’ + ‘letztgenamten’ to ‘letztgenannten’ + ‘einer’ to ‘einem’ + ‘benfit’ to ‘benefit’ + ‘Rémy de Gourment’ to ‘Remy de Gourmont’ + ‘Le soir’ to ‘Le sais’ + ‘Himmelfaht’ to ‘Himmelfahrt’ + ‘Byulóv’ to ‘Bryulóv’ + ‘staking’ to ‘shaking’ + ‘abnominably’ to ‘abominably’ + ‘infectuous’ to ‘infectious’ + ‘Lontainement’ to ‘Lointainement’ + ‘Hagan’ to ‘Hagen’ (twice) + ‘indued’ to ‘imbued’ + ‘enlightment’ to ‘enlightenment’ + ‘transcendant’ to ‘transcendent’ + ‘make’ to ‘makes’ + ‘maligant’ to ‘malignant” + ‘Schonheit’s’ to ‘Schönheit’s’ + ‘thatfräftigen’ to ‘thatkräftigen’ + ‘Trojons’ to ‘Trojans’ + ‘Shakepeare’ to ‘Shakespeare’ + ‘Turgéney’ to ‘Turgénev’ + ‘accidently’ to ‘accidentally’ + ‘irrefragible’ to ‘irrefragable’ + ‘unbashed’ to ‘unabashed’ + ‘Sanscrit’ to ‘Sanskrit’ + ‘Pissaro’ to ‘Pissarro’ + ‘Tyúchev’ to ‘Tyútchev’ + ‘Geschicht’ to ‘Geschichte’ + ‘Olgo’ to ‘Olga’ + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79027 *** |