I shall speak to you again of all these things; we must talk a great
deal more about the future if we wish to enter it without blindness,
shame, and horror.
For the moment, glance at the people who surround us, the restless
people we see on all sides. There are some of them who know what is
beautiful. They rejoice in it, almost in secrecy, and despise those
who do not share their faith. As for the others, they do not know it,
and that is all one can say. They are, according to their several
characters, ignorant and sceptical, or just simply ignorant. They see
how works of art and the spirit miraculously survive the decadence and
the prosperity of empires: that astonishes them without convincing
them. Many divine that this has something to do with a secret and
sacred power, but they do not dare and they do not know how to avail
themselves of it. They catch glimpses of the feast of the heroes and
they cannot realize that their place is marked and waiting for them.
Among my everyday companions are many educated men upon whom the
universities have lavished their care and their degrees. Many of them
are interested neither in their duties, nor in their comrades, nor, one
would say, in their own thoughts. They play cards, read the papers,
think about women and complain of ennui, for the war has enthroned
boredom. And yet these souls, I assure you, are of good material and
full of energy and resource.
What is to be done? How is one to introduce them to a larger, fuller
life? How can one dare to do that without presumption, and also without
fear of pomposity? How do it with affection, without lecturing them,
without preaching to them? How be useful and friendly with simplicity?
They have suffered, they have experience and obstinate views of their
own. They do not believe that they have been dispossessed of anything.
You have to listen very attentively to hear their soul groaning in the
depths.
I spoke to one of them about music. He replied with an indifference
in which there was a touch of discouragement; “For my part, I don’t
understand music. It can’t interest me.” We went on talking and I
discovered that he was strangely sensitive to architectual matters,
that he had a very subtle understanding and lacked nothing but
enlightenment, knowledge, to have applied himself to it with passionate
interest.
It is usually that way. The field of moral activity is so large that it
has in reserve for every soul a path of his own choice, accessible and
full of allurement. I do not believe there is a single individual who
cannot end by meeting, in the limitless realm of art, with a mode of
expression that touches him, conforms quite accurately to his powers
and tastes.
V
You see I have waited a long time before pronouncing the word. I must
at last make up my mind to call art by its name. Listen and do not
confuse modesty with timidity.
The past century has produced important artists in every country in
the world. That was a beautiful, fertile and truly generous century!
And yet it witnessed the birth of a misunderstanding that grows more
obdurate, that increases as it grows older. Should one ever allow a
misunderstanding to grow old?
The romantic writers and, following them, all the artists of their
epoch, intoxicated with their own genius, honored art as a religion.
It was natural enough since at that moment, as we know, mankind was
beginning to detach itself from its divinities, and it is hard to live
without God. I cannot bring myself to condemn that enthusiasm. I love
art too well, and I shall always hold it as one of the distinguishing
marks of man and one of the greatest things in this world.
But the priests of this new God have acted like all priests: they have
hurled anathemas and brought in a reign of intolerance. They have grown
mad with pride, when there was reason and when there was no reason
for it. They have cried out at all hours of the day, “Away, profane
ones!” Many of them, who have had very noble souls, have discouraged,
as if designedly, those whom their radiant face has fascinated. Others,
instead of struggling, have held the epoch responsible for their
ill-fortune. All of them, poets, painters, musicians, have let it be
understood that they exercised a divine power and that the mass of men
must only wonder and be silent, without themselves attempting anything
of the sort.
No doubt there is a certain virtue in this attitude; it has lavished
solitary consolations on those who have turned their backs on fashion.
The worthiest heirs of these illustrious men have confirmed their
tradition. They have devised a splendid isolation, raised up a tower
of ivory and dug all about it a moat that every day grows deeper. They
have also stirred up childish and shame-faced adversaries with a desire
for the commonest sort of popularity, and the confirmation of billboard
success.
Yet humanity is waiting and longs to be treated neither as intruders
nor as children.