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