The Life of Books
Some writers think about the life of books as some savages think about the life of men--that there are books which never die. They all die sooner or later; but that will not hinder an author from trying to give his book as long a life as he can get for it. The fact that it will have to die is no valid reason for letting it die sooner than can be helped.
Criticism
Critics generally come to be critics by reason not of their fitness for this but of their unfitness for anything else. Books should be tried by a judge and jury as though they were crimes, and counsel should be heard on both sides.
Le Style c"est 1"Homme
It is with books, music, painting and all the arts as with children-- only those live that have drained much of their author"s own life into them. The personality of the author is what interests us more than his work. When we have once got well hold of the personality of the author we care comparatively little about the history of the work or what it means or even its technique; we enjoy the work without thinking of more than its beauty, and of how much we like the workman. "Le style c"est l"homme"--that style of which, if I may quote from memory, Buffon, again, says that it is like happiness, and "vient de la douceur de l"ame" {107}--and we care more about knowing what kind of person a man was than about knowing of his achievements, no matter how considerable they may have been. If he has made it clear that he was trying to do what we like, and meant what we should like him to have meant, it is enough; but if the work does not attract us to the workman, neither does it attract us to itself.
Portraits
A great portrait is always more a portrait of the painter than of the painted. When we look at a portrait by Holbein or Rembrandt it is of Holbein or Rembrandt that we think more than of the subject of their picture. Even a portrait of Shakespeare by Holbein or Rembrandt could tell us very little about Shakespeare. It would, however, tell us a great deal about Holbein or Rembrandt.
A Man"s Style
A man"s style in any art should be like his dress--it should attract as little attention as possible.
The Gauntlet of Youth
Everything that is to age well must have run the gauntlet of its youth. Hardly ever does a work of art hold its own against time if it was not treated somewhat savagely at first--I should say "artist"
rather than "work of art."
Greatness in Art
If a work of art--music, literature or painting--is for all time, it must be independent of the conventions, dialects, costumes and fashions of any time; if not great without help from such unessential accessories, no help from them can greaten it. A man must wear the dress of his own time, but no dressing can make a strong man of a weak one.
Literary Power
They say the test of this is whether a man can write an inscription.
I say "Can he name a kitten?" And by this test I am condemned, for I cannot.
Subject and Treatment
It is often said that treatment is more important than subject, but no treatment can make a repulsive subject not repulsive. It can make a trivial, or even a stupid, subject interesting, but a really bad flaw in a subject cannot be treated out. Happily the man who has sense enough to treat a subject well will generally have sense enough to choose a good one, so that the case of a really repulsive subject treated in a masterly manner does not often arise. It is often said to have arisen, but in nine cases out of ten the treatment will be found to have been overpraised.
Public Opinion
People say how strong it is; and indeed it is strong while it is in its prime. In its childhood and old age it is as weak as any other organism. I try to make my own work belong to the youth of a public opinion. The history of the world is the record of the weakness, frailty and death of public opinion, as geology is the record of the decay of those bodily organisms in which opinions have found material expression.
A Literary Man"s Test
Moliere"s reading to his housemaid has, I think, been misunderstood as though he in some way wanted to see the effect upon the housemaid and make her a judge of his work. If she was an unusually clever, smart girl, this might be well enough, but the supposition commonly is that she was a typical housemaid and nothing more.
If Moliere ever did read to her, it was because the mere act of reading aloud put his work before him in a new light and, by constraining his attention to every line, made him judge it more rigorously. I always intend to read, and generally do read, what I write aloud to some one; any one almost will do, but he should not be so clever that I am afraid of him. I feel weak places at once when I read aloud where I thought, as long as I read to myself only, that the pa.s.sage was all right.
What Audience to Write for
People between the ages of twenty and thirty read a good deal, after thirty their reading drops off and by forty is confined to each person"s special subject, newspapers and magazines; so that the most important part of one"s audience, and that which should be mainly written for, consists of specialists and people between twenty and thirty.
Writing for a Hundred Years Hence
When a man is in doubt about this or that in his writing, it will often guide him if he asks himself how it will tell a hundred years hence.
VIII--HANDEL AND MUSIC
Handel and Beethoven
As a boy, from 12 years old or so, I always worshipped Handel.
Beethoven was a terra incognita to me till I went up to Cambridge; I knew and liked a few of his waltzes but did not so much as know that he had written any sonatas or symphonies. At Cambridge Sykes tried to teach me Beethoven but I disliked his music and would go away as soon as Sykes began with any of his sonatas. After a long while I began to like some of the slow movements and then some entire sonatas, several of which I could play once fairly well without notes. I used also to play Bach and Mendelssohn"s Songs without Words and thought them lovely, but I always liked Handel best.
Little by little, however, I was talked over into placing Bach and Beethoven on a par as the greatest and I said I did not know which was the best man. I cannot tell now whether I really liked Beethoven or found myself carried away by the strength of the Beethoven current which surrounded me; at any rate I spent a great deal of time on him, for some ten or a dozen years.
One night, when I was about 30, I was at an evening party at Mrs.
Longden"s and met an old West End clergyman of the name of Smalley (Rector, I think, of Bayswater). I said I did not know which was greatest Handel, Bach or Beethoven.
He said: "I am surprised at that; I should have thought you would have known."