memories and portraits- 第29部分

but　an　element　which　enters　largely　into　all　the　arts　but　

architecture。　　Homer；　Wordsworth；　Phidias；　Hogarth；　and　Salvini；　

all　deal　in　fiction；　and　yet　I　do　not　suppose　that　either　Hogarth　

or　Salvini；　to　mention　but　these　two；　entered　in　any　degree　into　

the　scope　of　Mr。　Besant's　interesting　lecture　or　Mr。　James's　

charming　essay。　　The　art　of　fiction；　then；　regarded　as　a　

definition；　is　both　too　ample　and　too　scanty。　　Let　me　suggest　

another；　let　me　suggest　that　what　both　Mr。　James　and　Mr。　Besant　had　

in　view　was　neither　more　nor　less　than　the　art　of　narrative。



But　Mr。　Besant　is　anxious　to　speak　solely　of　〃the　modern　English　

novel；〃　the　stay　and　bread…winner　of　Mr。　Mudie；　and　in　the　author　

of　the　most　pleasing　novel　on　that　roll；　ALL　SORTS　AND　CONDITIONS　

OF　MEN；　the　desire　is　natural　enough。　　I　can　conceive；　then；　that　

he　would　hasten　to　propose　two　additions；　and　read　thus：　the　art　of　

FICTITIOUS　narrative　IN　PROSE。



Now　the　fact　of　the　existence　of　the　modern　English　novel　is　not　to　

be　denied；　materially；　with　its　three　volumes；　leaded　type；　and　

gilded　lettering；　it　is　easily　distinguishable　from　other　forms　of　

literature；　but　to　talk　at　all　fruitfully　of　any　branch　of　art；　it　

is　needful　to　build　our　definitions　on　some　more　fundamental　ground　

then　binding。　　Why；　then；　are　we　to　add　〃in　prose〃？　　THE　ODYSSEY　

appears　to　me　the　best　of　romances；　THE　LADY　OF　THE　LAKE　to　stand　

high　in　the　second　order；　and　Chaucer's　tales　and　prologues　to　

contain　more　of　the　matter　and　art　of　the　modern　English　novel　than　

the　whole　treasury　of　Mr。　Mudie。　　Whether　a　narrative　be　written　in　

blank　verse　or　the　Spenserian　stanza；　in　the　long　period　of　Gibbon　

or　the　chipped　phrase　of　Charles　Reade；　the　principles　of　the　art　

of　narrative　must　be　equally　observed。　　The　choice　of　a　noble　and　

swelling　style　in　prose　affects　the　problem　of　narration　in　the　

same　way；　if　not　to　the　same　degree；　as　the　choice　of　measured　

verse；　for　both　imply　a　closer　synthesis　of　events；　a　higher　key　of　

dialogue；　and　a　more　picked　and　stately　strain　of　words。　　If　you　

are　to　refuse　DON　JUAN；　it　is　hard　to　see　why　you　should　include　

ZANONI　or　（to　bracket　works　of　very　different　value）　THE　SCARLET　

LETTER；　and　by　what　discrimination　are　you　to　open　your　doors　TO　

THE　PILGRIM'S　PROGRESS　and　close　them　on　THE　FAERY　QUEEN？　　To　bring　

things　closer　home；　I　will　here　propound　to　Mr。　Besant　a　conundrum。　　

A　narrative　called　PARADISE　LOST　was　written　in　English　verse　by　

one　John　Milton；　what　was　it　then？　　It　was　next　translated　by　

Chateaubriand　into　French　prose；　and　what　was　it　then？　　Lastly；　the　

French　translation　was；　by　some　inspired　compatriot　of　George　

Gilfillan　（and　of　mine）　turned　bodily　into　an　English　novel；　and；　

in　the　name　of　clearness；　what　was　it　then？



But；　once　more；　why　should　we　add　〃fictitious〃？　　The　reason　why　is　

obvious。　　The　reason　why　not；　if　something　more　recondite；　does　not　

want　for　weight。　　The　art　of　narrative；　in　fact；　is　the　same；　

whether　it　is　applied　to　the　selection　and　illustration　of　a　real　

series　of　events　or　of　an　imaginary　series。　　Boswell's　LIFE　OF　

JOHNSON　（a　work　of　cunning　and　inimitable　art）　owes　its　success　to　

the　same　technical　manoeuvres　as　（let　us　say）　TOM　JONES：　the　clear　

conception　of　certain　characters　of　man；　the　choice　and　

presentation　of　certain　incidents　out　of　a　great　number　that　

offered；　and　the　invention　（yes；　invention）　and　preservation　of　a　

certain　key　in　dialogue。　　In　which　these　things　are　done　with　the　

more　art　…　in　which　with　the　greater　air　of　nature　…　readers　will　

differently　judge。　　Boswell's　is；　indeed；　a　very　special　case；　and　

almost　a　generic；　but　it　is　not　only　in　Boswell；　it　is　in　every　

biography　with　any　salt　of　life；　it　is　in　every　history　where　

events　and　men；　rather　than　ideas；　are　presented　…　in　Tacitus；　in　

Carlyle；　in　Michelet；　in　Macaulay　…　that　the　novelist　will　find　

many　of　his　own　methods　most　conspicuously　and　adroitly　handled。　　

He　will　find　besides　that　he；　who　is　free　…　who　has　the　right　to　

invent　or　steal　a　missing　incident；　who　has　the　right；　more　

precious　still；　of　wholesale　omission　…　is　frequently　defeated；　

and；　with　all　his　advantages；　leaves　a　less　strong　impression　of　

reality　and　passion。　　Mr。　James　utters　his　mind　with　a　becoming　

fervour　on　the　sanctity　of　truth　to　the　novelist；　on　a　more　careful　

examination　truth　will　seem　a　word　of　very　debateable　propriety；　

not　only　for　the　labours　of　the　novelist；　but　for　those　of　the　

historian。　　No　art　…　to　use　the　daring　phrase　of　Mr。　James　…　can　

successfully　〃compete　with　life〃；　and　the　art　that　seeks　to　do　so　

is　condemned　to　perish　MONTIBUS　AVIIS。　　Life　goes　before　us；　

infinite　in　complication；　attended　by　the　most　various　and　

surprising　meteors；　appealing　at　once　to　the　eye；　to　the　ear；　to　

the　mind　…　the　seat　of　wonder；　to　the　touch　…　so　thrillingly　

delicate；　and　to　the　belly　…　so　imperious　when　starved。　　It　

combines　and　employs　in　its　manifestation　the　method　and　material；　

not　of　one　art　only；　but　of　all　the　arts；　Music　is　but　an　arbitrary　

trifling　with　a　few　of　life's　majestic　chords；　painting　is　but　a　

shadow　of　its　pageantry　of　light　and　colour；　literature　does　but　

drily　indicate　that　wealth　of　incident；　of　moral　obligation；　of　

virtue；　vice；　action；　rapture　and　agony；　with　which　it　teems。　　To　

〃compete　with　life；〃　whose　sun　we　cannot　look　upon；　whose　passions　

and　diseases　waste　and　slay　us　…　to　compete　with　the　flavour　of　

wine；　the　beauty　of　the　dawn；　the　scorching　of　fire；　the　bitterness　

of　death　and　separation　…　here　is；　indeed；　a　projected　escalade　of　

heaven；　here　are；　indeed；　labours　for　a　Hercules　in　a　dress　coat；　

armed　with　a　pen　and　a　dictionary　to　depict　the　passions；　armed　

with　a　tube　of　superior　flake…white　to　paint　the　portrait　of　the　

insufferable　sun。　　No　art　is　true　in　this　sense：　none　can　〃compete　

with　life〃：　not　even　history；　built　indeed　of　indisputable　facts；　

but　these　facts　robbed　of　their　vivacity　and　sting；　so　that　even　

when　we　read　of　the　sack　of　a　city　or　the　fall　of　an　empire；　we　are　

surprised；　and　justly　commend　the　author's　talent；　if　our　pulse　be　

quickened。　　And　mark；　for　a　last　differentia；　that　this　quickening　

of　the　pulse　is；　in　almost　every　case；　purely　agreeable；　that　these　

phantom　reproductions　of　experience；　even　at　their　most　acute；　

convey　decided　pleasure；　while　experience　itself；　in　the　cockpit　of　

life；　can　torture　and　slay。



What；　then；　is　the　object；　what　the　method；　of　an　art；　and　what　the　

source　of　its　power？　　The　whole　secret　is　that　no　art　does　〃compete　

with　life。〃　　Man's　one　method；　whether　he　reasons　or　creates；　is　to　

half…shut　his　eyes　against　the　dazzle　and　confusion　of　reality。　　

The　arts；　like　arithmetic　and　geometry；　turn　away　their　eyes　from　

the　gross；　coloured　and　mobile　nature　at　our　feet；　and　regard　

instead　a　certain　figmentary　abstraction。　　Geometry　will　tell　us　of　

a　circle；　a　thing　never　seen　in　nature；　asked　about　a　green　circle　

or　an　iron　circle；　it　lays　its　hand　upon　its　mouth。　　So　with　the　

arts。　　Painting；　ruefully　comparing　sunshine　and　flake…white；　gives　

up　truth　of　colour；　as　it　had　already　given　up　relief　and　movement；　

and　instead　of　vying　with　nature；　arranges　a　scheme　of　harmonious　

tints。　　Literature；　above　all　in　its　most　typical　mood；　the　mood　of　

narrative；　similarly　flees　the　direct　challenge　and　pursues　instead　

an　independent　and　creative　aim。　　So　far　as　it　imitates　at　all；　it　

imitates　not　life　but　speech：　not　the　facts　of　human　destiny；　but　

the　emphasis　and　the　suppressions　with　which　the　human　actor　tells　

of　them。　　The　real　art　that　dealt　with　life　directly　was　that　of　

the　first　men　who　told　their　stories　round　the　savage　camp…fire。　　

Our　art　is　occupied；　and　bound　to　be　occupied；　not　so　much　in　

making　stories　true　as　in　making　them　typical；　not　so　much　in　

capturing　the　lineaments　of　each　fact；　as　in　marshalling　all　of　

them　towards　a　common　end。　　For　the　welter　of　impressions；　all　

forcible　but　all　discreet；　which　life　presents；　it　substitutes　a　

certain　artificial　series　of　impressions；　all　indeed　most　feebly　

represented；　but　all　aiming　at　the　same　effect；　all　eloquent　of　the　

same　idea；　all　chiming　together　like　consonant　notes　in　music　or　

like　the　graduated　tints　in　a　good　picture。　　From　all　its　chapters；　

from　all　its　pages；　from　all　its　sentences；　the　well…written　novel　

echoes　and　re…echoes　its　one　creative　and　controlling　thought；　to　

this　must　every　incident　and　character　contribute；　the　style　must　

have　been　pitched　in　unison　with　this；　and　if　there　is　anywhere　a　

word　that　looks　another　way；　the　book　would　be　stronger；　clearer；　

and　（I　had　almost　said）　fuller　without　it。　　Life　is　monstrous；　

infinite；　illogical；　abrupt　and　poignant；　a　work　of　art；　in　

comparison；　is　neat；　finite；　self…contained；　rational；　flowing　and　

emasculate。　　Life　imposes　by　brute　energy；　like　inarticulate　

thunder；　art　catches　the　ear；　among　the　far　louder　noises　of　

experience；　like　an　air　artificially　made　by　a　discreet　musician。　　

A　proposition　of　geometry　does　not　compete　with　life；　and　a　

proposition　of　geometry　is　a　fair　and　luminous　parallel　for　a　work　

of　art。　　Both　are　reasonable；　both　untrue　to　the　crude　fact；　both　

inhere　in　nature；　neither　represents　it。　　The　novel；　which　is　a　

work　of　art；　exists；　not　by　its　resemblances　to　life；　which　are　

forced　and　material；　as　a　shoe　must　still　consist　of　leather；　but　

by　its　immeasurable　difference　from　life；　which　is　designed　and　

significant；　and　is　both　the　method　and　the　meaning　of　the　work。



The　life　of　man　is　not　the　subject　of　novels；　but　the　inexhaustible　

magazine　from　which　subjects　are　to　be　selected；　the　name　of　these　

is　legion；　and　with　each　new　subject　…　for　here　again　I　must　differ　

by　the　whole　width　of　heaven　from　Mr。　James　…　the　true　artist　will　

vary　his　method　and　change　the　poi