essays and lectures-第20节

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profound　joy　of　motion；　is　so　sweet　that；　while　the　incomplete

lives　of　ordinary　men　bring　no　healing　power　with　them；　the　thorn…

crown　of　the　poet　will　blossom　into　roses　for　our　pleasure；　for　our

delight　his　despair　will　gild　its　own　thorns；　and　his　pain；　like

Adonis；　be　beautiful　in　its　agony；　and　when　the　poet's　heart　breaks

it　will　break　in　music。



And　health　in　art　…　what　is　that？　　It　has　nothing　to　do　with　a　sane

criticism　of　life。　　There　is　more　health　in　Baudelaire　than　there

is　in　＇Kingsley＇。　　Health　is　the　artist's　recognition　of　the

limitations　of　the　form　in　which　he　works。　　It　is　the　honour　and

the　homage　which　he　gives　to　the　material　he　uses　…　whether　it　be

language　with　its　glories；　or　marble　or　pigment　with　their　glories

…　knowing　that　the　true　brotherhood　of　the　arts　consists　not　in

their　borrowing　one　another's　method；　but　in　their　producing；　each

of　them　by　its　own　individual　means；　each　of　them　by　keeping　its

objective　limits；　the　same　unique　artistic　delight。　　The　delight　is

like　that　given　to　us　by　music　…　for　music　is　the　art　in　which　form

and　matter　are　always　one；　the　art　whose　subject　cannot　be

separated　from　the　method　of　its　expression；　the　art　which　most

completely　realises　the　artistic　ideal；　and　is　the　condition　to

which　all　the　other　arts　are　constantly　aspiring。



And　criticism　…　what　place　is　that　to　have　in　our　culture？　　Well；　I

think　that　the　first　duty　of　an　art　critic　is　to　hold　his　tongue　at

all　times；　and　upon　all　subjects：　　C'EST　UN　GRAND　AVANTAGE　DE

N'AVOIR　RIEN　FAIT；　MAIS　IL　NE　FAUT　PAS　EN　ABUSER。



It　is　only　through　the　mystery　of　creation　that　one　can　gain　any

knowledge　of　the　quality　of　created　things。　　You　have　listened　to

PATIENCE　for　a　hundred　nights　and　you　have　heard　me　for　one　only。

It　will　make；　no　doubt；　that　satire　more　piquant　by　knowing

something　about　the　subject　of　it；　but　you　must　not　judge　of

aestheticism　by　the　satire　of　Mr。　Gilbert。　　As　little　should　you

judge　of　the　strength　and　splendour　of　sun　or　sea　by　the　dust　that

dances　in　the　beam；　or　the　bubble　that　breaks　on　the　wave；　as　take

your　critic　for　any　sane　test　of　art。　　For　the　artists；　like　the

Greek　gods；　are　revealed　only　to　one　another；　as　Emerson　says

somewhere；　their　real　value　and　place　time　only　can　show。　　In　this

respect　also　omnipotence　is　with　the　ages。　　The　true　critic

addresses　not　the　artist　ever　but　the　public　only。　　His　work　lies

with　them。　　Art　can　never　have　any　other　claim　but　her　own

perfection：　　it　is　for　the　critic　to　create　for　art　the　social　aim；

too；　by　teaching　the　people　the　spirit　in　which　they　are　to

approach　all　artistic　work；　the　love　they　are　to　give　it；　the

lesson　they　are　to　draw　from　it。



All　these　appeals　to　art　to　set　herself　more　in　harmony　with　modern

progress　and　civilisation；　and　to　make　herself　the　mouthpiece　for

the　voice　of　humanity；　these　appeals　to　art　'to　have　a　mission；'

are　appeals　which　should　be　made　to　the　public。　　The　art　which　has

fulfilled　the　conditions　of　beauty　has　fulfilled　all　conditions：

it　is　for　the　critic　to　teach　the　people　how　to　find　in　the　calm　of

such　art　the　highest　expression　of　their　own　most　stormy　passions。

'I　have　no　reverence；'　said　Keats；　'for　the　public；　nor　for

anything　in　existence　but　the　Eternal　Being；　the　memory　of　great

men　and　the　principle　of　Beauty。'



Such　then　is　the　principle　which　I　believe　to　be　guiding　and

underlying　our　English　Renaissance；　a　Renaissance　many…sided　and

wonderful；　productive　of　strong　ambitions　and　lofty　personalities；

yet　for　all　its　splendid　achievements　in　poetry　and　in　the

decorative　arts　and　in　painting；　for　all　the　increased　comeliness

and　grace　of　dress；　and　the　furniture　of　houses　and　the　like；　not

complete。　　For　there　can　be　no　great　sculpture　without　a　beautiful

national　life；　and　the　commercial　spirit　of　England　has　killed

that；　no　great　drama　without　a　noble　national　life；　and　the

commercial　spirit　of　England　has　killed　that　too。



It　is　not　that　the　flawless　serenity　of　marble　cannot　bear　the

burden　of　the　modern　intellectual　spirit；　or　become　instinct　with

the　fire　of　romantic　passion　…　the　tomb　of　Duke　Lorenzo　and　the

chapel　of　the　Medici　show　us　that　…　but　it　is　that；　as　Theophile

Gautier　used　to　say；　the　visible　world　is　dead；　LE　MONDE　VISIBLE　A

DISPARU。



Nor　is　it　again　that　the　novel　has　killed　the　play；　as　some　critics

would　persuade　us　…　the　romantic　movement　of　France　shows　us　that。

The　work　of　Balzac　and　of　Hugo　grew　up　side　by　side　together；　nay；

more；　were　complementary　to　each　other；　though　neither　of　them　saw

it。　　While　all　other　forms　of　poetry　may　flourish　in　an　ignoble

age；　the　splendid　individualism　of　the　lyrist；　fed　by　its　own

passion；　and　lit　by　its　own　power；　may　pass　as　a　pillar　of　fire　as

well　across　the　desert　as　across　places　that　are　pleasant。　　It　is

none　the　less　glorious　though　no　man　follow　it　…　nay；　by　the

greater　sublimity　of　its　loneliness　it　may　be　quickened　into

loftier　utterance　and　intensified　into　clearer　song。　　From　the　mean

squalor　of　the　sordid　life　that　limits　him；　the　dreamer　or　the

idyllist　may　soar　on　poesy's　viewless　wings；　may　traverse　with

fawn…skin　and　spear　the　moonlit　heights　of　Cithaeron　though　Faun

and　Bassarid　dance　there　no　more。　　Like　Keats　he　may　wander　through

the　old…world　forests　of　Latmos；　or　stand　like　Morris　on　the

galley's　deck　with　the　Viking　when　king　and　galley　have　long　since

passed　away。　　But　the　drama　is　the　meeting…place　of　art　and　life；

it　deals；　as　Mazzini　said；　not　merely　with　man；　but　with　social

man；　with　man　in　his　relation　to　God　and　to　Humanity。　　It　is　the

product　of　a　period　of　great　national　united　energy；　it　is

impossible　without　a　noble　public；　and　belongs　to　such　ages　as　the

age　of　Elizabeth　in　London　and　of　Pericles　at　Athens；　it　is　part　of

such　lofty　moral　and　spiritual　ardour　as　came　to　Greek　after　the

defeat　of　the　Persian　fleet；　and　to　Englishman　after　the　wreck　of

the　Armada　of　Spain。



Shelley　felt　how　incomplete　our　movement　was　in　this　respect；　and

has　shown　in　one　great　tragedy　by　what　terror　and　pity　he　would

have　purified　our　age；　but　in　spite　of　THE　CENCI　the　drama　is　one

of　the　artistic　forms　through　which　the　genius　of　the　England　of

this　century　seeks　in　vain　to　find　outlet　and　expression。　　He　has

had　no　worthy　imitators。



It　is　rather；　perhaps；　to　you　that　we　should　turn　to　complete　and

perfect　this　great　movement　of　ours；　for　there　is　something

Hellenic　in　your　air　and　world；　something　that　has　a　quicker　breath

of　the　joy　and　power　of　Elizabeth's　England　about　it　than　our

ancient　civilisation　can　give　us。　　For　you；　at　least；　are　young；

'no　hungry　generations　tread　you　down；'　and　the　past　does　not　weary

you　with　the　intolerable　burden　of　its　memories　nor　mock　you　with

the　ruins　of　a　beauty；　the　secret　of　whose　creation　you　have　lost。

That　very　absence　of　tradition；　which　Mr。　Ruskin　thought　would　rob

your　rivers　of　their　laughter　and　your　flowers　of　their　light；　may

be　rather　the　source　of　your　freedom　and　your　strength。



To　speak　in　literature　with　the　perfect　rectitude　and　insouciance

of　the　movements　of　animals；　and　the　unimpeachableness　of　the

sentiment　of　trees　in　the　woods　and　grass　by　the　roadside；　has　been

defined　by　one　of　your　poets　as　a　flawless　triumph　of　art。　　It　is　a

triumph　which　you　above　all　nations　may　be　destined　to　achieve。

For　the　voices　that　have　their　dwelling　in　sea　and　mountain　are　not

the　chosen　music　of　Liberty　only；　other　messages　are　there　in　the

wonder　of　wind…swept　height　and　the　majesty　of　silent　deep　…

messages　that；　if　you　will　but　listen　to　them；　may　yield　you　the

splendour　of　some　new　imagination；　the　marvel　of　some　new　beauty。



'I　foresee；'　said　Goethe；　'the　dawn　of　a　new　literature　which　all

people　may　claim　as　their　own；　for　all　have　contributed　to　its

foundation。'　　If；　then；　this　is　so；　and　if　the　materials　for　a

civilisation　as　great　as　that　of　Europe　lie　all　around　you；　what

profit；　you　will　ask　me；　will　all　this　study　of　our　poets　and

painters　be　to　you？　　I　might　answer　that　the　intellect　can　be

engaged　without　direct　didactic　object　on　an　artistic　and

historical　problem；　that　the　demand　of　the　intellect　is　merely　to

feel　itself　alive；　that　nothing　which　has　ever　interested　men　or

women　can　cease　to　be　a　fit　subject　for　culture。



I　might　remind　you　of　what　all　Europe　owes　to　the　sorrow　of　a

single　Florentine　in　exile　at　Verona；　or　to　the　love　of　Petrarch　by

that　little　well　in　Southern　France；　nay；　more；　how　even　in　this

dull；　materialistic　age　the　simple　expression　of　an　old　man's

simple　life；　passed　away　from　the　clamour　of　great　cities　amid　the

lakes　and　misty　hills　of　Cumberland；　has　opened　out　for　England

treasures　of　new　joy　compared　with　which　the　treasures　of　her

luxury　are　as　barren　as　the　sea　which　she　has　made　her　highway；　and

as　bitter　as　the　fire　which　she　would　make　her　slave。



But　I　think　it　wi