That is all that Talleyrand,
all that State-street, all that the common sense of mankind asks. Be
real and admirable, not as we know, but as you know. Able men do not
care in what kind a man is able, so only that he is able. A master
likes a master, and does not stipulate whether it be orator, artist,
craftsman, or king.
Society has really no graver interest than the well-being of the
literary class. And it is not to be denied that men are cordial in
their recognition and welcome of intellectual accomplishments. Still
the writer does not stand with us on any commanding ground. I think
this to be his own fault. A pound passes for a pound. There have been
times when he was a sacred person; he wrote Bibles; the first hymns;
the codes; the epics; tragic songs; Sibylline verses; Chaldean oracles;
Laconian sentences inscribed on temple walls. Every word was true, and
woke the nations to new life. He wrote without levity, and without
choice. Every word was carved, before his eyes, into the earth and
sky; and the sun and stars were only letters of the same purport; and
of no more necessity. But how can he be honored, when he does not honor
himself; when he loses himself in the crowd; when he is no longer the
lawgiver, but the sycophant, ducking to the giddy opinion of a reckless
public; when he must sustain with shameless advocacy some bad
government, or must bark, all the year round, in opposition; or write
conventional criticism, or profligate novels; or, at any rate, write
without thought, and without recurrence, by day and night, to the
sources of inspiration?
Some reply to these questions may be furnished by looking over the
list of men of literary genius in our age.
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265