selected prose of oscar wilde- 第6部分

with　red　blood　before　us；　and　cries　aloud　with　bitter　cries。　　Out　of

a　horn　of　fire　Odysseus　speaks　to　us；　and　when　from　his　sepulchre　of

flame　the　great　Ghibelline　rises；　the　pride　that　triumphs　over　the

torture　of　that　bed　becomes　ours　for　a　moment。　　Through　the　dim

purple　air　fly　those　who　have　stained　the　world　with　the　beauty　of

their　sin；　and　in　the　pit　of　loathsome　disease；　dropsy…stricken　and

swollen　of　body　into　the　semblance　of　a　monstrous　lute；　lies　Adamo

di　Brescia；　the　coiner　of　false　coin。　　He　bids　us　listen　to　his

misery；　we　stop；　and　with　dry　and　gaping　lips　he　tells　us　how　he

dreams　day　and　night　of　the　brooks　of　clear　water　that　in　cool　dewy

channels　gush　down　the　green　Casentine　hills。　　Sinon；　the　false

Greek　of　Troy；　mocks　at　him。　　He　smites　him　in　the　face；　and　they

wrangle。　　We　are　fascinated　by　their　shame；　and　loiter；　till　Virgil

chides　us　and　leads　us　away　to　that　city　turreted　by　giants　where

great　Nimrod　blows　his　horn。　　Terrible　things　are　in　store　for　us；

and　we　go　to　meet　them　in　Dante's　raiment　and　with　Dante's　heart。

We　traverse　the　marshes　of　the　Styx；　and　Argenti　swims　to　the　boat

through　the　slimy　waves。　　He　calls　to　us；　and　we　reject　him。　　When

we　hear　the　voice　of　his　agony　we　are　glad；　and　Virgil　praises　us

for　the　bitterness　of　our　scorn。　　We　tread　upon　the　cold　crystal　of

Cocytus；　in　which　traitors　stick　like　straws　in　glass。　　Our　foot

strikes　against　the　head　of　Bocca。　　He　will　not　tell　us　his　name；

and　we　tear　the　hair　in　handfuls　from　the　screaming　skull。　　Alberigo

prays　us　to　break　the　ice　upon　his　face　that　he　may　weep　a　little。

We　pledge　our　word　to　him；　and　when　he　has　uttered　his　dolorous　tale

we　deny　the　word　that　we　have　spoken；　and　pass　from　him；　such

cruelty　being　courtesy　indeed；　for　who　more　base　than　he　who　has

mercy　for　the　condemned　of　God？　　In　the　jaws　of　Lucifer　we　see　the

man　who　sold　Christ；　and　in　the　jaws　of　Lucifer　the　men　who　slew

Caesar。　　We　tremble；　and　come　forth　to　re…behold　the　stars。The

Critic　as　Artist







THE　LIMITATIONS　OF　GENIUS







The　appeal　of　all　Art　is　simply　to　the　artistic　temperament。　　Art

does　not　address　herself　to　the　specialist。　　Her　claim　is　that　she

is　universal；　and　that　in　all　her　manifestations　she　is　one。

Indeed；　so　far　from　its　being　true　that　the　artist　is　the　best　judge

of　art；　a　really　great　artist　can　never　judge　of　other　people's　work

at　all；　and　can　hardly；　in　fact；　judge　of　his　own。　　That　very

concentration　of　vision　that　makes　a　man　an　artist；　limits　by　its

sheer　intensity　his　faculty　of　fine　appreciation。　　The　energy　of

creation　hurries　him　blindly　on　to　his　own　goal。　　The　wheels　of　his

chariot　raise　the　dust　as　a　cloud　around　him。　　The　gods　are　hidden

from　each　other。　　They　can　recognise　their　worshippers。　　That　is　all

。　。　。　Wordsworth　saw　in　Endymion　merely　a　pretty　piece　of　Paganism；

and　Shelley；　with　his　dislike　of　actuality；　was　deaf　to　Wordsworth's

message；　being　repelled　by　its　form；　and　Byron；　that　great

passionate　human　incomplete　creature；　could　appreciate　neither　the

poet　of　the　cloud　nor　the　poet　of　the　lake；　and　the　wonder　of　Keats

was　hidden　from　him。　　The　realism　of　Euripides　was　hateful　to

Sophokles。　　Those　droppings　of　warm　tears　had　no　music　for　him。

Milton；　with　his　sense　of　the　grand　style；　could　not　understand　the

method　of　Shakespeare；　any　more　than　could　Sir　Joshua　the　method　of

Gainsborough。　　Bad　artists　always　admire　each　other's　work。　　They

call　it　being　large…minded　and　free　from　prejudice。　　But　a　truly

great　artist　cannot　conceive　of　life　being　shown；　or　beauty

fashioned；　under　any　conditions　other　than　those　that　he　has

selected。　　Creation　employs　all　its　critical　faculty　within　its　own

sphere。　　It　may　not　use　it　in　the　sphere　that　belongs　to　others。　　It

is　exactly　because　a　man　cannot　do　a　thing　that　he　is　the　proper

judge　of　it。The　Critic　as　Artist







WANTED　A　NEW　BACKGROUND







He　who　would　stir　us　now　by　fiction　must　either　give　us　an　entirely

new　background；　or　reveal　to　us　the　soul　of　man　in　its　innermost

workings。　　The　first　is　for　the　moment　being　done　for　us　by　Mr。

Rudyard　Kipling。　　As　one　turns　over　the　pages　of　his　Plain　Tales

from　the　Hills；　one　feels　as　if　one　were　seated　under　a　palm…tree

reading　life　by　superb　flashes　of　vulgarity。　　The　bright　colours　of

the　bazaars　dazzle　one's　eyes。　　The　jaded；　second…rate　Anglo…Indians

are　in　exquisite　incongruity　with　their　surroundings。　　The　mere　lack

of　style　in　the　story…teller　gives　an　odd　journalistic　realism　to

what　he　tells　us。　　From　the　point　of　view　of　literature　Mr。　Kipling

is　a　genius　who　drops　his　aspirates。　　From　the　point　of　view　of

life；　he　is　a　reporter　who　knows　vulgarity　better　than　any　one　has

ever　known　it。　　Dickens　knew　its　clothes　and　its　comedy。　　Mr。

Kipling　knows　its　essence　and　its　seriousness。　　He　is　our　first

authority　on　the　second…rate；　and　has　seen　marvellous　things　through

keyholes；　and　his　backgrounds　are　real　works　of　art。　　As　for　the

second　condition；　we　have　had　Browning；　and　Meredith　is　with　us。

But　there　is　still　much　to　be　done　in　the　sphere　of　introspection。

People　sometimes　say　that　fiction　is　getting　too　morbid。　　As　far　as

psychology　is　concerned；　it　has　never　been　morbid　enough。　　We　have

merely　touched　the　surface　of　the　soul；　that　is　all。　　In　one　single

ivory　cell　of　the　brain　there　are　stored　away　things　more　marvellous

and　more　terrible　than　even　they　have　dreamed　of；　who；　like　the

author　of　Le　Rouge　et　le　Noir；　have　sought　to　track　the　soul　into

its　most　secret　places；　and　to　make　life　confess　its　dearest　sins。

Still；　there　is　a　limit　even　to　the　number　of　untried　backgrounds；

and　it　is　possible　that　a　further　development　of　the　habit　of

introspection　may　prove　fatal　to　that　creative　faculty　to　which　it

seeks　to　supply　fresh　material。　　I　myself　am　inclined　to　think　that

creation　is　doomed。　　It　springs　from　too　primitive；　too　natural　an

impulse。　　However　this　may　be；　it　is　certain　that　the　subject…matter

at　the　disposal　of　creation　is　always　diminishing；　while　the

subject…matter　of　criticism　increases　daily。　　There　are　always　new

attitudes　for　the　mind；　and　new　points　of　view。　　The　duty　of

imposing　form　upon　chaos　does　not　grow　less　as　the　world　advances。

There　was　never　a　time　when　Criticism　was　more　needed　than　it　is

now。　　It　is　only　by　its　means　that　Humanity　can　become　conscious　of

the　point　at　which　it　has　arrived。The　Critic　as　Artist







WITHOUT　FRONTIERS







Goetheyou　will　not　misunderstand　what　I　saywas　a　German　of　the

Germans。　　He　loved　his　countryno　man　more　so。　　Its　people　were

dear　to　him；　and　he　led　them。　　Yet；　when　the　iron　hoof　of　Napoleon

trampled　upon　vineyard　and　cornfield；　his　lips　were　silent。　　'How

can　one　write　songs　of　hatred　without　hating？'　he　said　to　Eckermann；

'and　how　could　I；　to　whom　culture　and　barbarism　are　alone　of

importance；　hate　a　nation　which　is　among　the　most　cultivated　of　the

earth　and　to　which　I　owe　so　great　a　part　of　my　own　cultivation？'

This　note；　sounded　in　the　modern　world　by　Goethe　first；　will　become；

I　think；　the　starting　point　for　the　cosmopolitanism　of　the　future。

Criticism　will　annihilate　race…prejudices；　by　insisting　upon　the

unity　of　the　human　mind　in　the　variety　of　its　forms。　　If　we　are

tempted　to　make　war　upon　another　nation；　we　shall　remember　that　we

are　seeking　to　destroy　an　element　of　our　own　culture；　and　possibly

its　most　important　element。　　As　long　as　war　is　regarded　as　wicked；

it　will　always　have　its　fascination。　　When　it　is　looked　upon　as

vulgar；　it　will　cease　to　be　popular。　　The　change　will　of　course　be

slow；　and　people　will　not　be　conscious　of　it。　　They　will　not　say　'We

will　not　war　against　France　because　her　prose　is　perfect；'　but

because　the　prose　of　France　is　perfect；　they　will　not　hate　the　land。

Intellectual　criticism　will　bind　Europe　together　in　bonds　far　closer

than　those　that　can　be　forged　by　shopman　or　sentimentalist。　　It　will

give　us　the　peace　that　springs　from　understanding。The　Critic　as

Artist







THE　POETRY　OF　ARCHAEOLOGY







Infessura　tells　us　that　in　1485　some　workmen　digging　on　the　Appian

Way　came　across　an　old　Roman　sarcophagus　inscribed　with　the　name

'Julia；　daughter　of　Claudius。'　　On　opening　the　coffer　they　found

within　its　marble　womb　the　body　of　a　beautiful　girl　of　about　fifteen

years　of　age；　preserved　by　the　embalmer's　skill　from　corruption　and

the　decay　of　time。　　Her　eyes　were　half　open；　her　hair　rippled　round

her　in　crisp　curling　gold；　and　from　her　lips　and　cheek　the　bloom　of

maidenhood　had　not　yet　departed。　　Borne　back　to　the　Capitol；　she

became　at　once　the　centre　of　a　new　cult；　and　from　all　parts　of　the

city　crowded　pilgrims　to　worship　at　the　wonderful　shrine；　till　the

Pope；　fearing　lest　those　who　had　found　the　secret　of　beauty　in　a

Pagan　tomb　might　forget　what　secrets　Judaea's　rough　and　rock…hewn

sepulchre　contained；　had　the　body　conveyed　away　by　night；　and　in

secret　buried。　　Legend　though　it　may　be；　yet　the　story　is　none　the

less　valuable　as　showing　us　the　attitude　of　the　Renaissance　towards

the　antique　world。　　Archaeology　to　them　was　not　a　mere　science　for

the　antiquarian；　it　was　a　means　by　which　they　could　touch　the　dry

dust　of　antiquity　into　the　very　breath　and　beauty　of　life；　and　fill

with　the　new　wine　of　romanticism　forms　that　else　had　been　old　and

outworn。　　From　the　pulpit　of　Niccola　Pisano　down　to　Mantegna's

'Triumph　of　Caesar；'　and　the　service　Cellini　designed　for　King

Francis；　the　influence　of　this　spirit　can　be　traced；　nor　was　it

confined　merely　to　the　immobile　artsthe　arts　of　arrested　movement…

…but　its　influence　was　to　be　seen　also　in　the　great　Graeco…Roman

masques　which　were　the　constant　amusement　of　the　gay　courts　of　the

time；　and　in　the　public　pomps　and　processions　with　which　the

citizens　of　big　commercial　towns　were　wont　to　greet　the　princes　that

chanced　to　visit　them；　pageants；　by　the　way；　which　were