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justified by one thing only … the flawless beauty and perfect form
of its expression： this indeed being the social idea； being the
meaning of joy in art。
Not laughter where none should laugh； nor the calling of peace
where there is no peace； not in painting the subject ever； but the
pictorial charm only； the wonder of its colour； the satisfying
beauty of its design。
You have most of you seen； probably； that great masterpiece of
Rubens which hangs in the gallery of Brussels； that swift and
wonderful pageant of horse and rider arrested in its most exquisite
and fiery moment when the winds are caught in crimson banner and
the air lit by the gleam of armour and the flash of plume。 Well；
that is joy in art； though that golden hillside be trodden by the
wounded feet of Christ and it is for the death of the Son of Man
that that gorgeous cavalcade is passing。
But this restless modern intellectual spirit of ours is not
receptive enough of the sensuous element of art； and so the real
influence of the arts is hidden from many of us： only a few；
escaping from the tyranny of the soul； have learned the secret of
those high hours when thought is not。
And this indeed is the reason of the influence which Eastern art is
having on us in Europe； and of the fascination of all Japanese
work。 While the Western world has been laying on art the
intolerable burden of its own intellectual doubts and the spiritual
tragedy of its own sorrows； the East has always kept true to art's
primary and pictorial conditions。
In judging of a beautiful statue the aesthetic faculty is
absolutely and completely gratified by the splendid curves of those
marble lips that are dumb to our complaint； the noble modelling of
those limbs that are powerless to help us。 In its primary aspect a
painting has no more spiritual message or meaning than an exquisite
fragment of Venetian glass or a blue tile from the wall of
Damascus： it is a beautifully coloured surface； nothing more。 The
channels by which all noble imaginative work in painting should
touch； and do touch the soul； are not those of the truths of life；
nor metaphysical truths。 But that pictorial charm which does not
depend on any literary reminiscence for its effect on the one hand；
nor is yet a mere result of communicable technical skill on the
other； comes of a certain inventive and creative handling of
colour。 Nearly always in Dutch painting and often in the works of
Giorgione or Titian； it is entirely independent of anything
definitely poetical in the subject； a kind of form and choice in
workmanship which is itself entirely satisfying； and is （as the
Greeks would say） an end in itself。
And so in poetry too； the real poetical quality； the joy of poetry；
comes never from the subject but from an inventive handling of
rhythmical language； from what Keats called the 'sensuous life of
verse。' The element of song in the singing accompanied by the
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 inten