the critic as artist-第5章

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　as　any　that　makes　lovely　for　us　the　canvas　of　the　Venetian　or　the　Spaniard；　and　plastic　form　no　less　sure　and　certain　than　that　which　reveals　itself　in　marble　or　in　bronze；　but　thought　and　passion　and　spirituality　are　theirs　also；　are　theirs　indeed　alone。　　If　the　Greeks　had　criticised　nothing　but　language；　they　would　still　have　been　the　great　art…critics　of　the　world。　　To　know　the　principles　of　the　highest　art　is　to　know　the　principles　of　all　the　arts。

But　I　see　that　the　moon　is　hiding　behind　a　sulphur…coloured　cloud。　Out　of　a　tawny　mane　of　drift　she　gleams　like　a　lion's　eye。　　She　is　afraid　that　I　will　talk　to　you　of　Lucian　and　Longinus；　of　Quinctilian　and　Dionysius；　of　Pliny　and　Fronto　and　Pausanias；　of　all　those　who　in　the　antique　world　wrote　or　lectured　upon　art　matters。　　She　need　not　be　afraid。　　I　am　tired　of　my　expedition　into　the　dim；　dull　abyss　of　facts。　　There　is　nothing　left　for　me　now　but　the　divine　＇Greek　text　which　cannot　be　reproduced＇　of　another　cigarette。　　Cigarettes　have　at　least　the　charm　of　leaving　one　unsatisfied。

ERNEST。　　Try　one　of　mine。　　They　are　rather　good。　　I　get　them　direct　from　Cairo。　　The　only　use　of　our　ATTACHES　is　that　they　supply　their　friends　with　excellent　tobacco。　　And　as　the　moon　has　hidden　herself；　let　us　talk　a　little　longer。　　I　am　quite　ready　to　admit　that　I　was　wrong　in　what　I　said　about　the　Greeks。　　They　were；　as　you　have　pointed　out；　a　nation　of　art…critics。　　I　acknowledge　it；　and　I　feel　a　little　sorry　for　them。　　For　the　creative　faculty　is　higher　than　the　critical。　　There　is　really　no　comparison　between　them。

GILBERT。　　The　antithesis　between　them　is　entirely　arbitrary。　Without　the　critical　faculty；　there　is　no　artistic　creation　at　all；　worthy　of　the　name。　　You　spoke　a　little　while　ago　of　that　fine　spirit　of　choice　and　delicate　instinct　of　selection　by　which　the　artist　realises　life　for　us；　and　gives　to　it　a　momentary　perfection。　　Well；　that　spirit　of　choice；　that　subtle　tact　of　omission；　is　really　the　critical　faculty　in　one　of　its　most　characteristic　moods；　and　no　one　who　does　not　possess　this　critical　faculty　can　create　anything　at　all　in　art。　　Arnold's　definition　of　literature　as　a　criticism　of　life　was　not　very　felicitous　in　form；　but　it　showed　how　keenly　he　recognised　the　importance　of　the　critical　element　in　all　creative　work。

ERNEST。　　I　should　have　said　that　great　artists　work　unconsciously；　that　they　were　'wiser　than　they　knew；'　as；　I　think；　Emerson　remarks　somewhere。

GILBERT。　　It　is　really　not　so；　Ernest。　　All　fine　imaginative　work　is　self…conscious　and　deliberate。　　No　poet　sings　because　he　must　sing。　　At　least；　no　great　poet　does。　　A　great　poet　sings　because　he　chooses　to　sing。　　It　is　so　now；　and　it　has　always　been　so。　　We　are　sometimes　apt　to　think　that　the　voices　that　sounded　at　the　dawn　of　poetry　were　simpler；　fresher；　and　more　natural　than　ours；　and　that　the　world　which　the　early　poets　looked　at；　and　through　which　they　walked；　had　a　kind　of　poetical　quality　of　its　own；　and　almost　without　changing　could　pass　into　song。　　The　snow　lies　thick　now　upon　Olympus；　and　its　steep　scarped　sides　are　bleak　and　barren；　but　once；　we　fancy；　the　white　feet　of　the　Muses　brushed　the　dew　from　the　anemones　in　the　morning；　and　at　evening　came　Apollo　to　sing　to　the　shepherds　in　the　vale。　　But　in　this　we　are　merely　lending　to　other　ages　what　we　desire；　or　think　we　desire；　for　our　own。　　Our　historical　sense　is　at　fault。　　Every　century　that　produces　poetry　is；　so　far；　an　artificial　century；　and　the　work　that　seems　to　us　to　be　the　most　natural　and　simple　product　of　its　time　is　always　the　result　of　the　most　self…conscious　effort。　　Believe　me；　Ernest；　there　is　no　fine　art　without　self…consciousness；　and　self…　consciousness　and　the　critical　spirit　are　one。

ERNEST。　　I　see　what　you　mean；　and　there　is　much　in　it。　　But　surely　you　would　admit　that　the　great　poems　of　the　early　world；　the　primitive；　anonymous　collective　poems；　were　the　result　of　the　imagination　of　races；　rather　than　of　the　imagination　of　individuals？

GILBERT。　　Not　when　they　became　poetry。　　Not　when　they　received　a　beautiful　form。　　For　there　is　no　art　where　there　is　no　style；　and　no　style　where　there　is　no　unity；　and　unity　is　of　the　individual。　No　doubt　Homer　had　old　ballads　and　stories　to　deal　with；　as　Shakespeare　had　chronicles　and　plays　and　novels　from　which　to　work；　but　they　were　merely　his　rough　material。　　He　took　them；　and　shaped　them　into　song。　　They　become　his；　because　he　made　them　lovely。　They　were　built　out　of　music；


And　so　not　built　at　all；　And　therefore　built　for　ever。


The　longer　one　studies　life　and　literature；　the　more　strongly　one　feels　that　behind　everything　that　is　wonderful　stands　the　individual；　and　that　it　is　not　the　moment　that　makes　the　man；　but　the　man　who　creates　the　age。　　Indeed；　I　am　inclined　to　think　that　each　myth　and　legend　that　seems　to　us　to　spring　out　of　the　wonder；　or　terror；　or　fancy　of　tribe　and　nation；　was　in　its　origin　the　invention　of　one　single　mind。　　The　curiously　limited　number　of　the　myths　seems　to　me　to　point　to　this　conclusion。　　But　we　must　not　go　off　into　questions　of　comparative　mythology。　　We　must　keep　to　criticism。　　And　what　I　want　to　point　out　is　this。　　An　age　that　has　no　criticism　is　either　an　age　in　which　art　is　immobile；　hieratic；　and　confined　to　the　reproduction　of　formal　types；　or　an　age　that　possesses　no　art　at　all。　　There　have　been　critical　ages　that　have　not　been　creative；　in　the　ordinary　sense　of　the　word；　ages　in　which　the　spirit　of　man　has　sought　to　set　in　order　the　treasures　of　his　treasure…house；　to　separate　the　gold　from　the　silver；　and　the　silver　from　the　lead；　to　count　over　the　jewels；　and　to　give　names　to　the　pearls。　　But　there　has　never　been　a　creative　age　that　has　not　been　critical　also。　　For　it　is　the　critical　faculty　that　invents　fresh　forms。　　The　tendency　of　creation　is　to　repeat　itself。　It　is　to　the　critical　instinct　that　we　owe　each　new　school　that　springs　up；　each　new　mould　that　art　finds　ready　to　its　hand。　　There　is　really　not　a　single　form　that　art　now　uses　that　does　not　come　to　us　from　the　critical　spirit　of　Alexandria；　where　these　forms　were　either　stereotyped　or　invented　or　made　perfect。　　I　say　Alexandria；　not　merely　because　it　was　there　that　the　Greek　spirit　became　most　self…conscious；　and　indeed　ultimately　expired　in　scepticism　and　theology；　but　because　it　was　to　that　city；　and　not　to　Athens；　that　Rome　turned　for　her　models；　and　it　was　through　the　survival；　such　as　it　was；　of　the　Latin　language　that　culture　lived　at　all。　　When；　at　the　Renaissance；　Greek　literature　dawned　upon　Europe；　the　soil　had　been　in　some　measure　prepared　for　it。　　But；　to　get　rid　of　the　details　of　history；　which　are　always　wearisome　and　usually　inaccurate；　let　us　say　generally；　that　the　forms　of　art　have　been　due　to　the　Greek　critical　spirit。　　To　it　we　owe　the　epic；　the　lyric；　the　entire　drama　in　every　one　of　its　developments；　including　burlesque；　the　idyll；　the　romantic　novel；　the　novel　of　adventure；　the　essay；　the　dialogue；　the　oration；　the　lecture；　for　which　perhaps　we　should　not　forgive　them；　and　the　epigram；　in　all　the　wide　meaning　of　that　word。　　In　fact；　we　owe　it　everything；　except　the　sonnet；　to　which；　however；　some　curious　parallels　of　thought…　movement　may　be　traced　in　the　Anthology；　American　journalism；　to　which　no　parallel　can　be　found　anywhere；　and　the　ballad　in　sham　Scotch　dialect；　which　one　of　our　most　industrious　writers　has　recently　proposed　should　be　made　the　basis　for　a　final　and　unanimous　effort　on　the　part　of　our　second…rate　poets　to　make　themselves　really　romantic。　　Each　new　school；　as　it　appears；　cries　out　against　criticism；　but　it　is　to　the　critical　faculty　in　man　that　it　owes　its　origin。　　The　mere　creative　instinct　does　not　innovate；　but　reproduces。

ERNEST。　　You　have　been　talking　of　criticism　as　an　essential　part　of　the　creative　spirit；　and　I　now　fully　accept　your　theory。　　But　what　of　criticism　outside　creation？　　I　have　a　foolish　habit　of　reading　periodicals；　and　it　seems　to　me　that　most　modern　criticism　is　perfectly　valueless。

GILBERT。　　So　is　most　modern　creative　work　also。　　Mediocrity　weighing　mediocrity　in　the　balance；　and　incompetence　applauding　its　brother　…　that　is　the　spectacle　which　the　artistic　activity　of　England　affords　us　from