memories and portraits- 第30部分

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

vary　his　method　and　change　the　point　of　attack。　　That　which　was　in　

one　case　an　excellence；　will　become　a　defect　in　another；　what　was　

the　making　of　one　book；　will　in　the　next　be　impertinent　or　dull。　　

First　each　novel；　and　then　each　class　of　novels；　exists　by　and　for　

itself。　　I　will　take；　for　instance；　three　main　classes；　which　are　

fairly　distinct：　first；　the　novel　of　adventure；　which　appeals　to　

certain　almost　sensual　and　quite　illogical　tendencies　in　man；　

second；　the　novel　of　character；　which　appeals　to　our　intellectual　

appreciation　of　man's　foibles　and　mingled　and　inconstant　motives；　

and　third；　the　dramatic　novel；　which　deals　with　the　same　stuff　as　

the　serious　theatre；　and　appeals　to　our　emotional　nature　and　moral　

judgment。



And　first　for　the　novel　of　adventure。　　Mr。　James　refers；　with　

singular　generosity　of　praise；　to　a　little　book　about　a　quest　for　

hidden　treasure；　but　he　lets　fall；　by　the　way；　some　rather　

startling　words。　　In　this　book　he　misses　what　he　calls　the　〃immense　

luxury〃　of　being　able　to　quarrel　with　his　author。　　The　luxury；　to　

most　of　us；　is　to　lay　by　our　judgment；　to　be　submerged　by　the　tale　

as　by　a　billow；　and　only　to　awake；　and　begin　to　distinguish　and　

find　fault；　when　the　piece　is　over　and　the　volume　laid　aside。　　

Still　more　remarkable　is　Mr。　James's　reason。　　He　cannot　criticise　

the　author；　as　he　goes；　〃because；〃　says　he；　comparing　it　with　

another　work；　〃I　HAVE　BEEN　A　CHILD；　BUT　I　HAVE　NEVER　BEEN　ON　A　

QUEST　FOR　BURIED　TREASURE。〃　　Here　is；　indeed；　a　wilful　paradox；　for　

if　he　has　never　been　on　a　quest　for　buried　treasure；　it　can　be　

demonstrated　that　he　has　never　been　a　child。　　There　never　was　a　

child　（unless　Master　James）　but　has　hunted　gold；　and　been　a　pirate；　

and　a　military　commander；　and　a　bandit　of　the　mountains；　but　has　

fought；　and　suffered　shipwreck　and　prison；　and　imbrued　its　little　

hands　in　gore；　and　gallantly　retrieved　the　lost　battle；　and　

triumphantly　protected　innocence　and　beauty。　　Elsewhere　in　his　

essay　Mr。　James　has　protested　with　excellent　reason　against　too　

narrow　a　conception　of　experience；　for　the　born　artist；　he　

contends；　the　〃faintest　hints　of　life〃　are　converted　into　

revelations；　and　it　will　be　found　true；　I　believe；　in　a　majority　of　

cases；　that　the　artist　writes　with　more　gusto　and　effect　of　those　

things　which　he　has　only　wished　to　do；　than　of　those　which　he　has　

done。　　Desire　is　a　wonderful　telescope；　and　Pisgah　the　best　

observatory。　　Now；　while　it　is　true　that　neither　Mr。　James　nor　the　

author　of　the　work　in　question　has　ever；　in　the　fleshly　sense；　gone　

questing　after　gold；　it　is　probable　that　both　have　ardently　desired　

and　fondly　imagined　the　details　of　such　a　life　in　youthful　day…

dreams；　and　the　author；　counting　upon　that；　and　well　aware　（cunning　

and　low…minded　man！）　that　this　class　of　interest；　having　been　

frequently　treated；　finds　a　readily　accessible　and　beaten　road　to　

the　sympathies　of　the　reader；　addressed　himself　throughout　to　the　

building　up　and　circumstantiation　of　this　boyish　dream。　　Character　

to　the　boy　is　a　sealed　book；　for　him；　a　pirate　is　a　beard；　a　pair　

of　wide　trousers　and　a　liberal　complement　of　pistols。　　The　author；　

for　the　sake　of　circumstantiation　and　because　he　was　himself　more　

or　less　grown　up；　admitted　character；　within　certain　limits；　into　

his　design；　but　only　within　certain　limits。　　Had　the　same　puppets　

figured　in　a　scheme　of　another　sort；　they　had　been　drawn　to　very　

different　purpose；　for　in　this　elementary　novel　of　adventure；　the　

characters　need　to　be　presented　with　but　one　class　of　qualities　…　

the　warlike　and　formidable。　　So　as　they　appear　insidious　in　deceit　

and　fatal　in　the　combat；　they　have　served　their　end。　　Danger　is　the　

matter　with　which　this　class　of　novel　deals；　fear；　the　passion　with　

which　it　idly　trifles；　and　the　characters　are　portrayed　only　so　far　

as　they　realise　the　sense　of　danger　and　provoke　the　sympathy　of　

fear。　　To　add　more　traits；　to　be　too　clever；　to　start　the　hare　of　

moral　or　intellectual　interest　while　we　are　running　the　fox　of　

material　interest；　is　not　to　enrich　but　to　stultify　your　tale。　　The　

stupid　reader　will　only　be　offended；　and　the　clever　reader　lose　the　

scent。



The　novel　of　character　has　this　difference　from　all　others：　that　it　

requires　no　coherency　of　plot；　and　for　this　reason；　as　in　the　case　

of　GIL　BLAS；　it　is　sometimes　called　the　novel　of　adventure。　　It　

turns　on　the　humours　of　the　persons　represented；　these　are；　to　be　

sure；　embodied　in　incidents；　but　the　incidents　themselves；　being　

tributary；　need　not　march　in　a　progression；　and　the　characters　may　

be　statically　shown。　　As　they　enter；　so　they　may　go　out；　they　must　

be　consistent；　but　they　need　not　grow。　　Here　Mr。　James　will　

recognise　the　note　of　much　of　his　own　work：　he　treats；　for　the　most　

part；　the　statics　of　character；　studying　it　at　rest　or　only　gently　

moved；　and；　with　his　usual　delicate　and　just　artistic　instinct；　he　

avoids　those　stronger　passions　which　would　deform　the　attitudes　he　

loves　to　study；　and　change　his　sitters　from　the　humorists　of　

ordinary　life　to　the　brute　forces　and　bare　types　of　more　emotional　

moments。　　In　his　recent　AUTHOR　OF　BELTRAFFIO；　so　just　in　

conception；　so　nimble　and　neat　in　workmanship；　strong　passion　is　

indeed　employed；　but　observe　that　it　is　not　displayed。　　Even　in　the　

heroine　the　working　of　the　passion　is　suppressed；　and　the　great　

struggle；　the　true　tragedy；　the　SCENE…A…FAIRE　passes　unseen　behind　

the　panels　of　a　locked　door。　　The　delectable　invention　of　the　young　

visitor　is　introduced；　consciously　or　not；　to　this　end：　that　Mr。　

James；　true　to　his　method；　might　avoid　the　scene　of　passion。　　I　

trust　no　reader　will　suppose　me　guilty　of　undervaluing　this　little　

masterpiece。　　I　mean　merely　that　it　belongs　to　one　marked　class　of　

novel；　and　that　it　would　have　been　very　differently　conceived　and　

treated　had　it　belonged　to　that　other　marked　class；　of　which　I　now　

proceed　to　speak。



I　take　pleasure　in　calling　the　dramatic　novel　by　that　name；　because　

it　enables　me　to　point　out　by　the　way　a　strange　and　peculiarly　

English　misconception。　　It　is　sometimes　supposed　that　the　drama　

consists　of　incident。　　It　consists　of　passion；　which　gives　the　

actor　his　opportunity；　and　that　passion　must　progressively　

increase；　or　the　actor；　as　the　piece　proceeded；　would　be　unable　to　

carry　the　audience　from　a　lower　to　a　higher　pitch　of　interest　and　

emotion。　　A　good　serious　play　must　therefore　be　founded　on　one　of　

the　passionate　CRUCES　of　life；　where　duty　and　inclination　come　

nobly　to　the　grapple；　and　the　same　is　true　of　what　I　call；　for　that　

reason；　the　dramatic　novel。　　I　will　instance　a　few　worthy　

specimens；　all　of　our　own　day　and　language；　Meredith's　RHODA　

FLEMING；　that　wonderful　and　painful　book；　long　out　of　print；　（13）　

and　hunted　for　at　bookstalls　like　an　Aldine；　Hardy's　PAIR　OF　BLUE　

EYES；　and　two　of　Charles　Reade's；　GRIFFITH　GAUNT　and　the　DOUBLE　

MARRIAGE；　originally　called　WHITE　LIES；　and　founded　（by　an　accident　

quaintly　favourable　to　my　nomenclature）　on　a　play　by　Maquet；　the　

partner　of　the　great　Dumas。　　In　this　kind　of　novel　the　closed　door　

of　THE　AUTHOR　OF　BELTRAFFIO　must　be　broken　open；　passion　must　

appear　upon　the　scene　and　utter　its　last　word；　passion　is　the　be…

all　and　the　end…all；　the　plot　and　the　solution；　the　protagonist　and　

the　DEUS　EX　MACHINA　in　one。　　The　characters　may　come　anyhow　upon　

the　stage：　we　do　not　care；　the　point　is；　that；　before　they　leave　

it；　they　shall　become　transfigured　and　raised　out　of　themselves　by　

passion。　　It　may　be　part　of　the　design　to　draw　them　with　detail；　to　

depict　a　full…length　character；　and　then　behold　it　melt　and　change　

in　the　furnace　of　emotion。



But　there　is　no　obligation　of　the　sort；　nice　portraiture　is　not　

required；　and　we　are　content　to　accept　mere　abstract　types；　so　they　

be　strongly　and　sincerely　moved。　　A　novel　of　this　class　may　be　even　

great；　and　yet　contain　no　individual　figure；　it　may　be　great；　

because　it　displays　the　workings　of　the　perturbed　heart　and　the　

impersonal　utterance　of　passion；　and　with　an　artist　of　the　second　

class　it　is；　indeed；　even　more　likely　to　be　great；　when　the　issue　

has　thus　been　narrowed　and　the　whole　force　of　the　writer's　mind　

directed　to　passion　alone。　　Cleverness　again；　which　has　its　fair　

field　in　the　novel　of　character；　is　debarred　all　entry　upon　this　

more　solemn　theatre。　　A　far…fetched　motive；　an　ingenious　evasion　of　

the　issue；　a　witty　instead　of　a　passionate　turn；　offend　us　like　an　

insincerity。　　All　should　be　plain；　all　straightforward　to　the　end。　　

Hence　it　is　that；　in　RHODA　FLEMING；　Mrs。　Lovell　raises　such　

resentment　in　the　reader；　her　motives　are　too　flimsy；　her　ways　are　

too　equivocal；　for　the　weight　and　strength　of　her　surroundings。　　

Hence　the　hot　indignation　of　the　reader　when　Balzac；　after　having　

begun　the　DUCHESSE　DE　LANGEAIS　in　terms　of　strong　if　somewhat　

swollen　passion；　cuts　the　knot　by　the　derangement　of　the　hero's　

clock。　　Such　personages　and　incidents　belong　to　the　novel　of　

character；　they　are　out　of　place　in　the　high　society　of　the　

passions；　when　the　passions　are　introduced　in　art　at　their　full　

height；　we　look　to　see　them；　not　baffled　and　impotently　striving；　

as　in　life；　but　towering　above　circumstance　and　acting　substitutes　

for　fate。



And　here　I　can　imagine　Mr。　James；　with　his　lucid　sense；　to　

intervene。　　To　much　of　what　I　have　said　he　would　apparently　demur；　

in　much　he　would；　somewhat　impatiently；　acquiesce。　　It　may　be　true；　

but　it　is　not　what　he　desired　to　say　or　to　hear　said。　　He　spoke　of　

the　finished　picture　and　its　worth　when　done；　I；　of　the　brushes；　

the　palette；　and　the　north　light。　　He　uttered　his　views　in　the　tone　

and　for　the　ear　of　good　society；　I；　with　the　emphasis　and　

technicalities　of　the　obtrusive　student。　　But　the　point；　I　ma