his students of painting:
Comparing your own efforts with those of some great master is
indeed a severe and mortifying task, to which none will submit
but such as have great views, with fortitude sufficient to forego
the gratifications of present vanity for future honor. When the
student has succeeded in some measure to his own satisfaction,
and has felicitated himself on his success, to go voluntarily to
a tribunal where he knows his vanity must be humbled, and all
self-approbation must vanish, requires not only great resolution
but great humility. To him, however, who has the ambition to
be a real master, the solid satisfaction which proceeds from a
consciousness of his advancement (of which seeing his own faults
is the first step) will very abundantly compensate for present
disappointment.
This need not be said differently to apply to the student of literature.
There is one thing of which he who desires to write literature may be
sure, and that is that the unpardonable sin in this as in all art is
flippancy. Flippancy is the prevailing literary vice of the age. The
periodicals are perhaps more largely to blame for this than any other
single cause, but newspapers and magazines by no means have the whole
responsibility in this matter. The desire for amusement has eaten us
up. The overworked and nerve-shaken public desires entertainment which
shall make no call on the intellect and as little as possible on the
perception. The man who could devise the means of amusing his fellows
without their being obliged even to take the trouble to be aware of
it would almost be deified by this age. The modern imagination is
harder to awaken than the Sleeping Beauty. An audience at the theatre
to-day cannot be persuaded to do anything for itself. In the days of
Shakespeare a placard on the stage transferred all the beholders into
the Forest of Arden or to the enchanted isle of Prospero. To-day it
is difficult to induce the spectators to second the most elaborate
devices which have been contrived by scene-painter and carpenter to
assist their sluggish fancy. There is even a large class apparently
so completely atrophied mentally as to be unable to follow a simple
plot on the stage. “Variety shows” to-day take the place which real
plays held once; short stories with only so much substance as admits of
their being beaten up like the white of egg on a custard are languidly
read by the million; and we have even replaced criticism by a sort of
shallow flippancy for which no other name seems to me so appropriate as
literary skirt-dancing. To be clever in the most superficial sense of
that word, to be vulgarly glib, to reverence nothing, and above all to
be smart and amusing, seems to be the sum and substance of the creed of
writers who practice this art. They substitute adroitness for depth,
scoffing for sentiment, and rapidity for brilliancy. Their one aim is
to entertain the idle mind, and to win from astonishment the applause
which they have not the wit to gain from approbation. The literary
gymnastics of writers of these flippant pseudo-criticisms are hardly
more intellectual than the supple evolutions of the ballet girl, and it
is to be doubted if the dance is not the more moral and less debasing
of the two.
This may sound extravagant, but when the influence upon young readers
and young writers is considered it hardly seems possible to state the
matter too strongly. It is true that these writers profess, so far as
they profess anything, allegiance to all the highest virtues, both
moral and intellectual. Their books are distinctly amusing--to those
whose taste is not offended by the tone of flippancy which pervades
them; and what they write is often eminently clever. Their fault is
that they do not take life seriously; that they are as devoid of
reverence as a stone is of blood; that their temper is as fatal to
idealism, to enthusiasm, to aspiration, as carbonic acid gas is to
animal life. Even the cynicism with which they are flavored is as sham
as is the tint of a glass ruby. For a young writer to fall under this
influence seems to me as great a literary misfortune as it would be a
physical calamity for him to become crippled. If one wishes to earn a
trumpery wage by writing smartly, these are his models; but if he is
in love with literature, he must turn his back. The young writer should
strive always to be serious before he is smart, sincere before he is
clever, and to flee flippancy as he would flee the pestilence that
stalketh at noonday.
By serious, I do not necessarily mean grave, and still less do I mean
solemn. It is as true for the writer of humorous literature that he
should take his art seriously as it is for the writer of history or
of sermons. No man ever took literature more seriously than Charles
Lamb, yet he remains one of the most deliciously humorous writers of
all time. He was gay and whimsical and droll, but he never for a moment
failed of a high and noble respect for literature; he was apparently
freakish, but he did not for a line become flippant. It would have
been impossible for him to be vulgar. His taste always prevented his
going too far. Even in the wildest excesses of humorous literature
it is still absolutely needful to preserve a serious attitude toward
literature and toward life. It is not that this feeling is to be
obtruded. It is not meant that the jest shall be made with the sour
visage of a Puritan. It is that the author himself shall never lose
this inner respect and reverence for the dignities of life and for the
truth. If these are a part of his character he cannot write otherwise
than with them as it were forming a background to his work; and no
literature is of lasting value or even fame which lacks this.
One of the most striking examples of what I mean is furnished by
the poet François Villon, thief, house-breaker, and scape-gallows.
He believed not in man, woman, or God, but he did hold to faith
in literary art. Life as a matter of every-day existence he took
flippantly enough, but literature as an expression of life he still
regarded seriously,--and thus it happens that his poems live to-day,
and that they are part of permanent literature.
Life is after all a serious matter to the lightest human being. However
it is embroidered over with joys and jocund devices, with merriment
or frivolity, every man knows its solemnity. There are for the most
careless of men moments in which the real gravity of his situation, as
he stands insecurely for a moment between the cradle and the grave,
forces itself upon him. The only universal human experience is pain.
To most men comes hope, and to most comes love in some degree of
intensity. Joy, ambition, hate, and jealousy, are common to perhaps
the great majority of mankind, and the writer who touches strongly and
skillfully upon any one of these is sure of appealing to most readers.
Only he who portrays sorrow and suffering is dealing with an experience
so universal that he is sure that no man can fail of some appreciation
of the theme. Such being the case, it is only the author who by his
fundamental seriousness implies--remotely, it may be, but surely--that
he has a share in the universal heritage, who can long or deeply
command the attention of mankind. To be flippant is to be inhuman; and
although the world may not analyze this, it is sure to feel it. Style
is the unconscious revelation of the writer’s attitude toward life, and
if this be not serious all good gifts and graces of technical skill and
mental cleverness, all adroitness of wit and strength of intellectual
perception, even all vividness of imagination, will fail of making work
great and permanently effective.
Volumes might be written upon style and its relations to authorship,
but in the end it would still be necessary to acknowledge that the
finest essence of literature is too subtle to be seized or analyzed.
The aim of these talks was to consider the practical side of
composition, and it is therefore aside from the purpose to attempt to
discuss further the elusive æsthetic quality. Individual temperament
and individual purpose must in the end determine what shall be the
quality and style of all work; so that the secrets of this branch
of literary art cannot be discovered until man is able to trace the
nature and the working of those twin halves of the highest human
consciousness, individuality and imagination.
INDEX
Adverb, flat, 50, 51.
Æsthetic sense, 85-87.
Alliteration, 112-114.
Amateur work, 12.
Antithesis, 113-116.
Argument, 123-127, 152-180;
rules for, 179.
Aristotle, quoted, 229.
Arnold, Matthew, 88.
Arts, fine, 1, 135, 160, 240.
Bacon, Francis, quoted, 52.
Bacon-Shakespeare controversy, 303, 304.
“Barabbas,” 83.
Barrie, J. M., use of dialect, 246, 247.
Beethoven, “Ninth Symphony,” 210.
Beginning of story, 232.
Beginning well, 78.
Bible, quoted, 83.
“Biglow Papers,” 247.
Blake, William, quoted, 310.
“Bleak House,” 264.
Brassey, Lady, “Voyage of the Sunbeam,” 212.
Brown, Alice, 244.
Browning, Robert, obscurity of, 63;
quoted, 14.
Browning, Mrs. E. B., quoted, 235.
Bunyan, “Pilgrim’s Progress,” 68.
Burke, Edmund, quoted, 52.
Burroughs, John, 130.
Cable, George, “Old Creole Days,” 245, 246;
use of dialect, 245, 246, 247.
Canning, George, quoted, 213.
Carlyle, Thomas, force of, 71;
invention of words, 117;
Lowell on, 95, 96;
master of emotional emphasis, 141;
obscurity of, 61, 63, 74;
quoted, 61, 301.
Carroll, Lewis, “Through a Looking Glass,” 218.
Cause and effect, 231, 233.
Cervantes, 239.
Character, development of, 238.
Character-drawing, 258-262.
Chaucer, Geoffrey, epithets, 204;
Lowell on, 204.
“Chelsea Householder, A,” 195.
Classics, 289-291.
Classification, 120-122.
Clearness, 60, 61-70;
aided by figures, 98;
aid to force, 73;
in exposition, 131;
in translation, 272.
Climax, 89.
Closing well, 78.
Coherence, 34, 38-42, 61.
Coleridge, S. T., quoted, 54, 189.
Color, local. _See_ Local Color.
Composition defined, 5;
how mastered, 20;
value of, 15-17.
Conjunctions, 53, 54.
Connotation defined, 45;
how produced, 74;
secret of force, 72, 86, 99.
Consecutiveness, 193.
Continuity, 142.
Contrast, 233.
Conversation, 3, 220.
Corelli, Marie, “Barabbas,” 83.
Cowper, William, quoted, 104.
Criticism, 123, 285-298.
Culture, 298.
Dante, 266.
Deduction, 166, 167.
De Maupassant, Guy, quoted, 23, 309.
Denotation, defined, 45.
Description, 123-127, 181-207;
setting of narrative, 235, 236;
subordinate to plot, 234.
Details, how selected, 231;
importance of, 300;
insufficiency of, 301.
Dialect, 244-250.
Dialogue, 250-257;
subordinate to plot, 234.
Dickens, Charles, quoted, 190, 194, 203, 302.
Diction, 43-58. _See_ Words, and Vocabulary.
Dictionary, importance of constant use of, 46;
in schools, 46;
Thackeray’s reading of, 46.
Disraeli, Benj., quoted, 39.
Dodds, James, quoted, 219.
Donne, John, quoted, 52.
Dramatization, 124.
Dumas, A., _père_, 234;
D’Artagnan romances, 210.
Earnestness, 238.
Education, 298.
Edwards, Miss A. B., “Half a Million of Money,” 102.
Effect, how different from force, 82;
and cause, 231, 233.
Elegance, 60, 84-88;
connected with figures, 100;
with variety, 110.
Emerson, R. W., lacking in continuity, 142;
quoted, 8, 47, 112, 114.
Epigram, 113-117.
Episodes, 227.
Epithets, 197, 203-205.
Euphony, 110.
Events, order of, 231.
Exposition, 123-127, 128-151;
allied to argument, 153, 154, 156;
criticism as, 286.
Expression, difficulty of, 11-14;
perfect impossible, 7-10.
Fallacies, 176-179.
“Faust,” 275.
Fiction, 231;
modern, 260.
Figures, 96-106;
rules for use of, 100.
Fine arts. _See_ Arts, fine.
Fine writing, 83.
Fielding, Henry, 239;
“Tom Jones,” 210;
use of dialect, 250.
Flaubert, Gustave, advice to De Maupassant, 24, 26, 309.
Flippancy, 314-318.
Force, 60, 71-84;
in narration, 237;
lies in connotation, 99;
reserved, 76, 77.
“French Revolution, The,” 141.
Frere, J. H., 277;
quoted, 44, 278.
Fuseli, Henry, 208.
“Gentleman of France, A,” 37.
Goethe, 275;
quoted, 103, 187, 295, 312.
Good use, 31-33, 48, 50;
defined by grammar, 48.
Graham, Kenneth, quoted, 184, n.
Grammar, 48.
Hack-work, 312.
“Half a Million of Money,” 102.
Hardy, Thomas, realism of, 72;
use of dialect, 250;
quoted, 200, 256.
Harris, Joel Chandler, “Uncle Remus,” 245.
Hawthorne, 212, 216, 239;
“Scarlet Letter,” 80, 210, 224, 225, 243;
use of dialect, 250;
quoted, 238, 302.
Hazlitt, William, 129.
“Heavenly Twins, The,” 140.
Hill, A. S., definition of persuasion, 124, n.
History, 231.
Holmes, O. W., quoted, 14.
Homer, epithets of, 197, 203;
sang to semi-barbarians, 68;
quoted, 204.
Hugo, Victor, “Les Misérables,” 212.
Humorous literature written seriously, 316.
Idiom, 48-55;
of different languages, 277.
Imagination, 299, 318;
expression largely dependent upon elegance, 85;
incommunicable, 1, 88.
Imitation, 308.
Individualism, 303, 304.
Individuality, 118, 318.
Induction, 166.
Ingersoll, Robert, 176.
James, Henry, use of loose and periodic sentences, 57;
quoted, 52.
Jeffrey, Francis, quoted, 40.
Jefferies, Richard, 130.
Jerrold, Douglas, quoted, 231.
Jewett, Sarah Orne, 244.
“Job,” 98, 99.
Johnson, Samuel, quoted, 237.
Judd, Sylvester, quoted, 193.
Keats, John, quoted, 95.
Kipling, Rudyard, mysteriousness, 71;
use of dialect, 246;
of physical sensation, 207;
of sense of smell, 199;
quoted, 185.
Kingsley, Charles, quoted, 9, 186.
Klopstock, F. G., Goethe on, 103.
Lamb, Charles, 129, 316.
Lang, Andrew, on criticism, 285.
Lear, Edward, quoted, 135.
Lee, Vernon, 129.
“L’Enfant Prodigue,” 211.
Lewes, G. H., quoted, 274.
Local color, 241-244.
Lowell, J. R., 296;
“Biglow Papers,” 247;
use of dialect, 247;
of loose and periodic sentences, 57;
quoted, 39, 52, 79, 80, 82, 95, 108, 113, 119, 146, 204.
Macaulay, T. B., 129;
“Machiavelli,” 77, 78, 137-139, 154;
quoted, 64, 103, 108, 114, 237.
“Machiavelli,” 137-139, 154.
Mannerism, 118.
Mass, 34-38, 61.
Material, collection of, 147-151, 239.
Meredith, George, dialogue of, 251;
obscurity of, 61, 63, 74, 84;
“Ordeal of Richard Feverel,” 74;
style, 258;
quoted, 251.
Metaphor, 98.
Milton, “Paradise Lost,” 68.
Montgomery, Robert, quoted, 103.
Moral purpose, 262-268.
Movement, 233.
“My Lady Rotha,” 37.
Narration, 123-127, 206, 210;
reality in, 75.
“Native, The Return of the,” 140.
Newman, Cardinal, 129;
quoted, 52, 111, 114.
Newspapers, 296, 297;
English of, 18;
expositions in, 130.
Note-book, advantage of, 148.
Novel, modern, 214, 223, 227;
with a theory, 214;
without plot, 213.
Novelty, 117.
Observation, cultivation of, 149.
“Old Creole Days,” 245, 246.
Oratory, 124.
“Ordeal of Richard Feverel, The,” 74.
O’Reilly, J. B., quoted, 6.
Originality, 117-119.
Page, T. N., “Marse Chan,” 245.
“Paradise Lost,” 68.
Paragraphs, 30;
analysis of, 31.
Particles, final, 51, 52;
unidiomatic, 52, 53.
Pater, Walter, 129;
quoted, 90, 146, 306.
“Pembroke,” 226.
Personification, 105.
Persuasion, 123, 124.
“Phormio,” translation of, 278.
“Pilgrim’s Progress,” 68.
Plan, 132-134.
Plot, 238.
Point of View, 90-96;
in dialogue, 252.
Programme music, 212.
Progression, 132, 141.
Proportion, 40, 136-141, 227.
Proposition, defined, 167.
Province, laws of, 290.
Putnam, Eleanor, quoted, 270.
Quality, principles of, 33, 59-88.
Reading, effect on style, 307-309.
Realism, 75.
Reality, in narrative, 75.
Reed, Prof., quoted, 52.
Rembrandt, “Lesson in Anatomy,” 210.
Revision, 27.
Reynolds, Sir J., quoted, 313.
“Rob Roy,” 243.
Ruskin, John, 129;
“Modern Painters,” 159.
Sainte-Beuve, 296.
Saintsbury, George, use of loose and periodic sentences, 57;
quoted, 311.
“Scarlet Letter, The,” 80, 243.
Scott, Sir Walter, “Rob Roy,” 243;
use of dialect, 246, 250.
Self-consciousness, 236, 298.
Sensational books, 18, 19;
why effective, 74.
Sentences, long and short, 55;
loose and periodic, 56-58;
structure of, 30.
Shading, 77.
Shakespeare, 206, 266;
epithets of, 197;
great effects by simple means, 70;
Jeffrey on, 40;
“Romeo and Juliet,” 252;
use of dialect, 250;
wrote for pit, 68.
Shakespeare-Bacon controversy, 303, 304.
Shelley, P. B., on “Faust,” 275;
quoted, 189.
Sidney, Sir Philip, quoted, 81.
Significance, 227, 231.
Simile, 98;
description by, 204.
Sincerity, 238.
Smoothness, 77.
Socratic method, 158, 159.
Spenser, Edmund, quoted, 95.
Stephen, Leslie, 130, 296.
Stevenson, R. L., 130;
“Kidnapped,” 207;
use of loose and periodic sentences, 57;
of physical sensations, 207;
quoted, 25, 52, 79, 107, 109, 110, 113, 145, 175, 191, 193,
215, 256, 259.
Story, how begun, 232.
Stowe, Mrs. H. B., “Oldtown Folks,” 252;
“Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” 263, 290.
Structure, principles of, 33-42, 60.
Study of art, what it is, 2.
Style, 299-318;
ease of, 77.
Syllogism, defined, 168.
Taine, H. A., 296.
Taj Mahal, 59, 69.
Taste, 294, 295.
Teaching, of language, 282-284;
need of using language of students, 66, 67.
Technique, best learned on dull themes, 26;
defined, 2;
how acquired, 23.
Tennyson, Alfred, quoted, 16.
Term, defined, 167.
Thackeray, W. M., 239, 261;
“Henry Esmond,” 210;
study of dictionary, 46;
use of dialect, 250;
“Vanity Fair,” 80.
Translation, 123, 269-284.
“Trilby,” 140.
Trollope, Anthony, quoted, 214, 253, 258.
Truth, in fiction, 229;
unadapted to fiction, 228.
“Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” 263, 290.
Unity, 33, 34, 61;
in exposition, 132.
“Vanity Fair,” 80, 261.
Variety, 107-110, 233;
in dialogue, 256.
Villon, François, 317.
Vocabulary, 43;
means of increasing, 46-48;
personal, 305, 306.
Ward, Mrs. Humphry, “Robert Elsmere,” 264, 265.
Wendell, Barrett, quoted, 36, 72, 84, 271.
Weyman, S. J., “A Gentleman of France,” 37;
“My Lady Rotha,” 37.
Whitman, Walt, 160, 161;
quoted, 111.
Wilkins, Mary E., 213, 244;
“Pembroke,” 226.
Wister, Mrs. A. L., 279, 280.
“Wooing, A Woodland,” 270.
Words, connotation of, 45;
denotation of, 45;
estimating by number of, 135-137;
Latin _vs._ Anglo-Saxon, 43, 44;
long and short, 44, 45;
specific and general, 75.
Wordsworth, William, quoted, 45, 99.
Wormeley, Katherine, 269;
translation of Molière, 281.
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