the critic as artist-第15章

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s　bite　their　thumbs　at　each　other　in　the　open　square；　but　Hamlet　came　out　of　his　soul；　and　Romeo　out　of　his　passion。　　They　were　elements　of　his　nature　to　which　he　gave　visible　form；　impulses　that　stirred　so　strongly　within　him　that　he　had；　as　it　were　perforce；　to　suffer　them　to　realise　their　energy；　not　on　the　lower　plane　of　actual　life；　where　they　would　have　been　trammelled　and　constrained　and　so　made　imperfect；　but　on　that　imaginative　plane　of　art　where　Love　can　indeed　find　in　Death　its　rich　fulfilment；　where　one　can　stab　the　eavesdropper　behind　the　arras；　and　wrestle　in　a　new…made　grave；　and　make　a　guilty　king　drink　his　own　hurt；　and　see　one's　father's　spirit；　beneath　the　glimpses　of　the　moon；　stalking　in　complete　steel　from　misty　wall　to　wall。　　Action　being　limited　would　have　left　Shakespeare　unsatisfied　and　unexpressed；　and；　just　as　it　is　because　he　did　nothing　that　he　has　been　able　to　achieve　everything；　so　it　is　because　he　never　speaks　to　us　of　himself　in　his　plays　that　his　plays　reveal　him　to　us　absolutely；　and　show　us　his　true　nature　and　temperament　far　more　completely　than　do　those　strange　and　exquisite　sonnets；　even；　in　which　he　bares　to　crystal　eyes　the　secret　closet　of　his　heart。　　Yes；　the　objective　form　is　the　most　subjective　in　matter。　　Man　is　least　himself　when　he　talks　in　his　own　person。　　Give　him　a　mask；　and　he　will　tell　you　the　truth。

ERNEST。　　The　critic；　then；　being　limited　to　the　subjective　form；　will　necessarily　be　less　able　fully　to　express　himself　than　the　artist；　who　has　always　at　his　disposal　the　forms　that　are　impersonal　and　objective。

GILBERT。　　Not　necessarily；　and　certainly　not　at　all　if　he　recognises　that　each　mode　of　criticism　is；　in　its　highest　development；　simply　a　mood；　and　that　we　are　never　more　true　to　ourselves　than　when　we　are　inconsistent。　　The　aesthetic　critic；　constant　only　to　the　principle　of　beauty　in　all　things；　will　ever　be　looking　for　fresh　impressions；　winning　from　the　various　schools　the　secret　of　their　charm；　bowing；　it　may　be；　before　foreign　altars；　or　smiling；　if　it　be　his　fancy；　at　strange　new　gods。　　What　other　people　call　one's　past　has；　no　doubt；　everything　to　do　with　them；　but　has　absolutely　nothing　to　do　with　oneself。　　The　man　who　regards　his　past　is　a　man　who　deserves　to　have　no　future　to　look　forward　to。　　When　one　has　found　expression　for　a　mood；　one　has　done　with　it。　　You　laugh；　but　believe　me　it　is　so。　　Yesterday　it　was　Realism　that　charmed　one。　　One　gained　from　it　that　NOUVEAU　FRISSON　which　it　was　its　aim　to　produce。　　One　analysed　it；　explained　it；　and　wearied　of　it。　　At　sunset　came　the　LUMINISTE　in　painting；　and　the　SYMBOLISTE　in　poetry；　and　the　spirit　of　mediaevalism；　that　spirit　which　belongs　not　to　time　but　to　temperament；　woke　suddenly　in　wounded　Russia；　and　stirred　us　for　a　moment　by　the　terrible　fascination　of　pain。　　To…day　the　cry　is　for　Romance；　and　already　the　leaves　are　tremulous　in　the　valley；　and　on　the　purple　hill…tops　walks　Beauty　with　slim　gilded　feet。　　The　old　modes　of　creation　linger；　of　course。　　The　artists　reproduce　either　themselves　or　each　other；　with　wearisome　iteration。　　But　Criticism　is　always　moving　on；　and　the　critic　is　always　developing。

Nor；　again；　is　the　critic　really　limited　to　the　subjective　form　of　expression。　　The　method　of　the　drama　is　his；　as　well　as　the　method　of　the　epos。　　He　may　use　dialogue；　as　he　did　who　set　Milton　talking　to　Marvel　on　the　nature　of　comedy　and　tragedy；　and　made　Sidney　and　Lord　Brooke　discourse　on　letters　beneath　the　Penshurst　oaks；　or　adopt　narration；　as　Mr。　Pater　is　fond　of　doing；　each　of　whose　Imaginary　Portraits　…　is　not　that　the　title　of　the　book？　…　presents　to　us；　under　the　fanciful　guise　of　fiction；　some　fine　and　exquisite　piece　of　criticism；　one　on　the　painter　Watteau；　another　on　the　philosophy　of　Spinoza；　a　third　on　the　Pagan　elements　of　the　early　Renaissance；　and　the　last；　and　in　some　respects　the　most　suggestive；　on　the　source　of　that　Aufklarung；　that　enlightening　which　dawned　on　Germany　in　the　last　century；　and　to　which　our　own　culture　owes　so　great　a　debt。　　Dialogue；　certainly；　that　wonderful　literary　form　which；　from　Plato　to　Lucian；　and　from　Lucian　to　Giordano　Bruno；　and　from　Bruno　to　that　grand　old　Pagan　in　whom　Carlyle　took　such　delight；　the　creative　critics　of　the　world　have　always　employed；　can　never　lose　for　the　thinker　its　attraction　as　a　mode　of　expression。　　By　its　means　he　can　both　reveal　and　conceal　himself；　and　give　form　to　every　fancy；　and　reality　to　every　mood。　By　its　means　he　can　exhibit　the　object　from　each　point　of　view；　and　show　it　to　us　in　the　round；　as　a　sculptor　shows　us　things；　gaining　in　this　manner　all　the　richness　and　reality　of　effect　that　comes　from　those　side　issues　that　are　suddenly　suggested　by　the　central　idea　in　its　progress；　and　really　illumine　the　idea　more　completely；　or　from　those　felicitous　after…thoughts　that　give　a　fuller　completeness　to　the　central　scheme；　and　yet　convey　something　of　the　delicate　charm　of　chance。

ERNEST。　　By　its　means；　too；　he　can　invent　an　imaginary　antagonist；　and　convert　him　when　he　chooses　by　some　absurdly　sophistical　argument。

GILBERT。　　Ah！　it　is　so　easy　to　convert　others。　　It　is　so　difficult　to　convert　oneself。　　To　arrive　at　what　one　really　believes；　one　must　speak　through　lips　different　from　one's　own。　　To　know　the　truth　one　must　imagine　myriads　of　falsehoods。　　For　what　is　Truth？　In　matters　of　religion；　it　is　simply　the　opinion　that　has　survived。　In　matters　of　science；　it　is　the　ultimate　sensation。　　In　matters　of　art；　it　is　one's　last　mood。　　And　you　see　now；　Ernest；　that　the　critic　has　at　his　disposal　as　many　objective　forms　of　expression　as　the　artist　has。　　Ruskin　put　his　criticism　into　imaginative　prose；　and　is　superb　in　his　changes　and　contradictions；　and　Browning　put　his　into　blank　verse　and　made　painter　and　poet　yield　us　their　secret；　and　M。　Renan　uses　dialogue；　and　Mr。　Pater　fiction；　and　Rossetti　translated　into　sonnet…music　the　colour　of　Giorgione　and　the　design　of　Ingres；　and　his　own　design　and　colour　also；　feeling；　with　the　instinct　of　one　who　had　many　modes　of　utterance；　that　the　ultimate　art　is　literature；　and　the　finest　and　fullest　medium　that　of　words。

ERNEST。　　Well；　now　that　you　have　settled　that　the　critic　has　at　his　disposal　all　objective　forms；　I　wish　you　would　tell　me　what　are　the　qualities　that　should　characterise　the　true　critic。

GILBERT。　　What　would　you　say　they　were？

ERNEST。　　Well；　I　should　say　that　a　critic　should　above　all　things　be　fair。

GILBERT。　　Ah！　not　fair。　　A　critic　cannot　be　fair　in　the　ordinary　sense　of　the　word。　　It　is　only　about　things　that　do　not　interest　one　that　one　can　give　a　really　unbiassed　opinion；　which　is　no　doubt　the　reason　why　an　unbiassed　opinion　is　always　absolutely　valueless。　The　man　who　sees　both　sides　of　a　question；　is　a　man　who　sees　absolutely　nothing　at　all。　　Art　is　a　passion；　and；　in　matters　of　art；　Thought　is　inevitably　coloured　by　emotion；　and　so　is　fluid　rather　than　fixed；　and；　depending　upon　fine　moods　and　exquisite　moments；　cannot　be　narrowed　into　the　rigidity　of　a　scientific　formula　or　a　theological　dogma。　　It　is　to　the　soul　that　Art　speaks；　and　the　soul　may　be　made　the　prisoner　of　the　mind　as　well　as　of　the　body。　　One　should；　of　course；　have　no　prejudices；　but；　as　a　great　Frenchman　remarked　a　hundred　years　ago；　it　is　one's　business　in　such　matters　to　have　preferences；　and　when　one　has　preferences　one　ceases　to　be　fair。　　It　is　only　an　auctioneer　who　can　equally　and　impartially　admire　all　schools　of　Art。　　No；　fairness　is　not　one　of　the　qualities　of　the　true　critic。　　It　is　not　even　a　condition　of　criticism。　　Each　form　of　Art　with　which　we　come　in　contact　dominates　us　for　the　moment　to　the　exclusion　of　every　other　form。　We　must　surrender　ourselves　absolutely　to　the　work　in　question；　whatever　it　may　be；　if　we　wish　to　gain　its　secret。　　For　the　time；　we　must　think　of　nothing　else；　can　think　of　nothing　else；　indeed。

ERNEST。　　The　true　critic　will　be　rational；　at　any　rate；　will　he　not？

GILBERT。　　Rational？　　There　are　two　ways　of　disliking　art；　Ernest。　One　is　to　dislike　it。　　The　other；　to　like　it　rationally。　　For　Art；　as　Plato　saw；　and　not　without　regret；　creates　in　listener　and　spectator　a　form　of　divine　madness。　　It　does　not　spring　from　inspiration；　but　it　makes