What Is Art?

Ipreecntet) to Zbe ILibrar?

of tbe Шпіѵегвіііг of fCoronto Ьй t in 2017 with funding from " ц I University of Toronto Mbat ш Hrt?

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN ORIGINAL (g^fmet (JUaude EMBODYING THE AUTHOR’S LAST ALTERATIONS AND REVISIONS EVISIONSjk^ - New York: 46 East 14TH Street THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY Boston: 100 Purchase Street ы i t (ptefaa ІІе fundamental thought expressed in this hook leads іфѵііаЬІу to conclusions so new, so unexpected, and so c<5ntrary to what is usually maintained in literary and -'^kistic circles, that although it is clearly and emphatically caressed (and this, I hope, has not been lost in translation), n^st readers who wish to possess themselves of it will have -to read the work carefully and to digest it slowly.

Especially the introductory Chapters II., III., lY., and i Y», need careful perusal by any who, having adopted j ойе or other of the current theories on beauty and art, find it difficult to abandon a preconceived view, and to ckar their minds for a fair appreciation of what is new to ■em.

'‘The first four chapters raise the problem, and tell us briefly what has been said by previous writers. Chapter III. gives (in highly condensed form) the substance of the tejwdiing of some sixty philosophers on this subject, and, ' since many of them were extremely confused, the chapter o№iiot, in the nature of things, be easy reading.

In Chapter Y. we come to Tolstoy’s definition of Art, w|iich definition should be kept well in mind while reading ше rest of the book.

lo doubt most of those to whom art is an end in itself, lo live by it, or make it their chief occupation, will read Vlll TRANS LA TOR'S PREFA CE this book (or leave it unread) and go on in their former way, much as Pharaoh of old neglected what Moses had to say on the labour question. But for those of us who have felt that art is too valuable a matter to be lost out of our lives, and who, in their quest for social justice, have met the reproach that they were sacrificing the pleasures and advantages of art, this book is of inestimable value in that, in this question of far-reaching importance to practical life, it enables us to see clearly through what has hitherto been a perplexed problem.

To this class of readers neither the masterly elucidation of the former theories contained in the opening chapters, nor the explanation of how it has come about that such great importance is attached to the activity we call art (Chapters VI. to YIII.), nor the explanation and illustrations of the perversion that art has undergone (IX. to XIV.), nor even the elucidation of the terrible evils this perversion is pro- ducing (XVII.) will equal in significance the remainmg chapters of the book. These show us what to look for in art, and колѵ to distinguish it from counterfeits (XV., XVI., XVIII.), treat of the true art of the future (XIX.), and explain how science and art are linked together in man’s life, are directed by his perception of the meaning of life, and inevitably react on all he thinks and feels I take this opportunity to thank the friends лѵИо have helped me to prepare this English version -of the book. Especially are my thanks due to H. P. Archer for his careful revision of the work, and to my wife for the English render- ings of the French verses quoted.

A. Maude.

Wickham’s Farm, Nr- Danbury, Essex.

(preface ifnis book of mine, “What is Art? "appears now for the first time in its true form. More than one edition has . already been issued in Russia, but in each case it has been so mutilated by the “Censor,” that I request all who are interested in my views on art only to judge of them by ІЪе work in its present shape. The causes which led to the publication of the book — with my name attached to it — in a mutilated form, were the following: — In accord- ance with a decision I arrived at long ago, — not to submit my writings to the “ Censorship ” (which I consider to be : an ■ immoral and irrational institution), but to print them ; only in the shape in which they were written, — I intended 'not to attempt to print this work in Russia. However, my good acquaintance Professor Grote, editor of a Moscow p^fthological magazine, having heard of the contents of my 'work, asked me to print it in his magazine, and promised me that he would get the book through the “ Censor’s ” office unmutilated if I would but agree to a few very unimportant alterations, merely toning down certain ex- pressions. I was weak enough to agree to this, and it I has resulted in a book appearing, under my name, from which not only have some essential thoughts been excluded, I but into which the thoughts of other men — even thoughts utterly opposed to my own convictions — have been intro- duced.

X A UTHOR^S PREFA CE The thing occurred in this way. First, Grote softened ' my expressions, and in some cases weakened them. For / instance, he replaced the words: always by sometimes, all r by some, Church religion by Roman Catholic religion. Mother of God’^ by Madonna, patriotism by pseudo - patriotism, palaces by palatii} etc., and I did not consider it necessary to protest. But when the book was already in type, the Censor required that whole sentences should be altered, and that instead of what I said about the evil of landed property, a remark should be substituted on the evils of a landless proletariat. ^ I agreed to this also and to some further alterations. It seemed not worth while to upset the whole affair for the sake of one sentence, and when one alteration had been agreed to it seemed not worth while to protest against a second and a third. So, little by little, expressions crept into the book which altered the sense and attributed things to me that I could not have wished to say. So that by the time the book was printed it had been deprived of some part of its integrity and sincerity. But there was consolation in the thought that the book, even in this form, if it contains something that is good, would be of use to Kussian readers whom it would otherwise not have reached. Things, how- 1 Tolstoy’s remarks on Church religion were re- worded so as to seea^. to relate only to the Western Church, and his disapproval of luxurioneji life was made to apply not, say, to Queen Victoria or Nicholas j hut to the Csesars or ttie Pharaohs. — Trans.

2 The Russian peasant is usually a member of a village commur^^ and has therefore a right to a share in the land belonging to tW )of village. Tolstoy disapproves of the order of society which allows less land for the support of a whole village full of people than is sometimes owned by a single landed proprietor. The “Censor” \ѵШ not allow disapproval of this state of things to be expressed, but is prepared to admit that the laws and customs, say, of England^ where a yet more extreme form of landed property exists, and tbA. men who actually labour on the land usually possess none of it— deserve criticism. — Trans.

pul tile AUTHORS S PREFACE XI Tver, turned out otherwise. Nous comptions sans noire \^\6te. After the legal term of four days had already elapsed, 'jhe book was seized, and, on instructions received from (Mersburg, it was handed over to the “ Spiritual Censor.” ?hen Grote declined all further participation in the affair, iid the “ Spiritual Censor ” proceeded to do what he would iith the book. The “Spiritual Censorship” is one of the most ignorant, venal, stupid, and despotic institutions in Russia. Books which disagree in any way with the recog- nised state religion of Russia, if once it gets hold of them, are jaliaost always totally suppressed and burnt; which is what happened to all my religious works when attempts лѵеге made to print them in Russia. Probably a similar fate would have overtaken this work also, had not the editors of the magazine employed all means to save it. The result of their efforts was that the “ Spiritual Censor,” a priest who probably understands art and is interested in art as much as I understand or am interested in church services, but who gets a good salary for destroying whatever is likely to displease his superiors, struck out all that seemed to him to endanger his position, and substituted his thoughts for mine wherever he considered it necessary to do so. For instance, where I speak of Christ goings ю the Cross for the sake of the truth He professed/ ^he “Censor” substituted a statement that Christ dy for mankind, i.e. he attributed to me an assertion of the dogma of the Redemption, which I consider to be one lof the most untrue and harmful of Church dogmas. After correcting the book in this way, the “Spiritual Censor” allowed it to be printed.

To protest in Russia is impossible, no newspaper would publish such a protest, and to withdraw my book from the magazine and place the editor in an awkward position with the public was also not possible.

So the matter has remained. A book has appeared under A UTHOR^S PREFA CE xii my name containing thoughts attributed to me which ar^ not mine.

I was persuaded to give my article to a Russian magazine: in order that my thoughts, which may he useful, shoulc i become the possession of Russian readers; and the resu’j » has been that my name is affixed to a work from whici it might he assumed that I quite arbitrarily assert things contrary to the general opinion, without adducing my reasons; that I only consider false patriotism had, but patriot- ism in general a very good feeling; that I merely deny the absurdities of the Roman Catholic Church and disbelieve in the Madonna, hut that I believe in the Orthodox Eastern faith and in the “ Mother of God ”; that I consider all the \vritings collected in the Bible to he holy hooks, and see| the chief importance of Christ’s life in the Redemption ofj mankind by his death. I I have narrated all this in such detail because it strik-j ingly illustrates the indubitable truth, that all compromise! with institutions of which your conscience disapproves, — compromises which are usually made for the sake of the general good, — instead of producing the good you expected,, inevitably lead you not only to acknowledge the institution! you disapprove of, hut also to participate in the evil that! institution produces. j I am glad to he able by this statement at least to do something to correct the error into which I w'as led by my compromise.

I have also to mention that besides reinstating the parts excluded by the Censor from the Russian editions, other. corrections and additions of importance have been made in '' this edition.

Leo Tolstoy.

IWi March 1898.

CHAPTER I and labour spent on art — Lives stunted in its service — ^ralijy_ sacrificed to and anger- justified by art — The hearsal of an opera described...CHAPTER II At compensate for so much evil? — What is art? — Coll- ision of opinions — Is it ‘‘that which produces beauty ”? :^The word “ beauty” in Russian — Chaos in aesthetics.

CHAPTER III ^u^ii^ary of various aesthetic theories and definitions, from Hauingarten to to-day...r CHAPTER IV Sitions of art founded on beauty — Taste not definable — clear definition needed to enable us to recognise works CHAPTER V if ]. ^distinguished good from bad in art * xiii itions not founded on beauty — Tolstoy’s definition — The [extent and necessity of art — How people in the past have PAOE vii ix 9 20 38 46 XIV CONTENTS CHAPTER VI How art for pleasure has come into esteem — Religious indicate what is considered good and bad — Church Christianity — The Renaissance — Scepticism of the upper classes — They confound beauty with goodness...CHAPTER VII An aesthetic theory framed to suit this view of life CHAPTER VIII Who have adopted it? — Real art needful for all men — Our art too expensive, too unintelligible, and too harmful for the masses — The theory of “the elect ” in art CHAPTER IX Perversion of our art — It has lost its natural subject-matter — Has no flow of fresh feeling — Transmits chiefly three base emotions...CHAPTER X Loss of comprehensibility — Decadent art — Recent French art — Have we a right to say it is bad and that what we like is good art? — The highest art has always been compre- hensible to normal people — What fails to infect normal people is not art.

CHAPTER XI Counterfeits of art produced by: Borrowing; Imitating; Striking; Interesting — Qualifications needful for produc- tion of real works of art, and those sufficient for produc- tion of counterfeits...CHAPTER XII Causes of production of counterfeits — Professionalism — Criti- cism— Schools of art.

CHAPTER XIII t Wagner’s “ Nibelung’s Ring” a type of counterfeit art — Its success, and the reasons thereof...CONTENTS XV CHAPTER XIV PAGE ; fatal to preconceived views are not readily recognised •Proportion of works of art to counterfeits — Perversion ..Sof taste and incapacity to recognise art — Examples. 143 CHAPTER XV The quality of art, considered apart from its subject feiatter — The sign of art; infectiousness — Incomprehen- ^ble to those whose taste is perverted — Conditions of - i|ifection; Individuality; Clearness; Sincerity.

CHAPTER XVI The;i quality of art, considered according to its subject- matter — The better the feeling the better the art — The ultured crowd — The religious perception of our age — The Kew ideals put fresh demands to art — Art unites — Religious art — Universal art — Both co-operate to one iaesult — The new appraisement of art — Bad art — Examples fcf art — How to test a work claiming to be art CHAPTER XVII esults of absence of true art — Results of perversion of art: Babour and lives spent on what is useless and harmful — he abnormal life of the rich — Perplexity of children and Sain folk — Confusion of right and wrong — Nietzsche and ledbeard — Superstition, Patriotism, and Sensuality » CHAPTER XVIII [arpose of human life is the brotherly union of man- lust be guided by this perception.

-Art CHAPTER XIX >7* ■he.-^t of the future not a possession of a select minority, but '. a means towards perfection and unity ; CHAPTER XX .Ъ ftnnection between science and art — The mendacious lienees; the trivial sciences — Science should deal with ^ great problems of human life, and serve as a basis fej: art.

1 xvi Appendix f} II.

III.

IV.

CONTENTS APPENDICES / І0 Таке up any one of our ordinary nev/spapers, and you ' iwill find a part devoted to the theatre and music. In Imost every number you will find a description of some a jrt exhibition, or of some particular picture, and you will a Ways find reviews of new works of art that have appeared, a I volumes of poems, of short stories, or of novels.

0 \ Promptly, and in detail, as soon as it has occurred, an ijcount is published of how such and such an actress or jtor played this or that role in such and such a drama, acj)medy, or opera; and of the merits of the performance, as (>('ell as of the contents of the new drama, comedy, or opera, -yyjith its defects and merits. With as much care and detail, ^r even more, we are told how such and such an artist ojas sung a certain piece, or has played it on the piano or piolin, and what were the merits and defects of the piece ynd of the performance. In every large town there is sure aD he at least one, if not more than one, exhibition of new tictures, the merits and defects of which are discussed in pie utmost detail by critics and connoisseurs.

> trl Hew novels and poems, in separate volumes or in the agazines, appear almost every day, and the newspapers msider it their duty to give their readers detailed accounts f these artistic productions.

IVBAT IS ART?

Eor the support of art in Eussia (лѵЬегё for the educatiol of the people only a hundredth part is spent of what wouJ' he required to give everyone the opportunity of instructioif the Government grants millions of roubles in subsidies academies, conservatoires and theatres. In France twen'f million francs are assigned for art, and similar grants a/ made in Germany and England. f In every large town enormous buildings are erected I museums, academies, conservatoires, dramatic schools, and performances and concerts. Hundreds of thousands of wor, men, — carpenters, masons, painters, joiners, paperhanger] tailors, hairdressers, jewellers, moulders, type-setters, — speni their whole lives in hard labour to satisfy the demands art, so that hardly any other department of human activit;^ except the military, consumes so much energy as this. C Hot only is enormous labour spent on this activity, but d it, as in war, the very lives of men are sacrificed. Hundr&t' of thousands of people devote their lives from childhood^ learning to twirl their legs rapidly (dancers), or to toud notes and strings very rapidly (musicians), or to draw w^-r paint and represent what they see (artists), or to turn evJ-s phrase inside out and find a rhyme to every Avord. And thf people, often very kind and clever, and capable of all sop of useful labour, grow savage over their specialised ail stupefying occupations, and become one-sided and se complacent specialists, dull to all the serious phenomena life, and skilful only at rapidly twisting their legs, th- tongues, or their fingers.

But even this stunting of human life is not the worst, fs remember being once at the rehearsal of one of the mch ordinary of the new operas which are produced at all tj opera houses of Europe and America.

I arrived when the first act had already commenced, reach the auditorium I had to pass through the staj entrance. By dark entrances and passages, I was led throui WHAT IS ART?

3 the vaults of an enormous building past immense machines for changing the scenery and for illuminating; and there in the gloom and dust I saw workmen busily engaged. One of these men, pale, haggard, in a dirty blouse, with dirty, work-worn hands and cramped fingers, evidently tired and out of humour, went past me, angrily scolding another man. Ascending by a dark stair, I came out on the boards behind the scenes. Amid various poles and rings and scattered scenery, decorations and curtains, stood and moved dozens, if not hundreds, of painted and dressed-up men, in costumes fitting tight to their thighs and calves, and also women, as usual, as nearly nude as might be. These were all singers, or members of the chorus, or ballet-dancers, awaiting their turns. My guide led me across the stage and, by means of a bridge of boards, across the orchestra (in which perhaps a hundred musicians of all kinds, from kettle-drum to fiute and harp, were seated), to the dark pit-stalls.

On an elevation, between two lamps with refiectors, and in an arm-chair placed before a music-stand, sat the director of the musical part, baton in hand, managing the orchestra and singers, and, in general, the production of the whole opera.

The performance had already commenced, and on the stage a procession of Indians who had brought home a bride was being represented. Besides men and women in costume, two other men in ordinary clothes bustled and ran about on the stage; one was the director of the dramatic part, and the other, who stepped about in soft shoes and ran from place to place with unusual agility, was the dancing-master, whose salary per month exceeded what ten labourers earn in a year.

These three directors arranged the singing, the orchestra, and the procession. The procession, as usual, was enacted by couples, with tinfoil halberds on their shoulders. They all came from one place, and walked round and round again.

4 WHAT IS ARTl and then stopped. The procession took a long time to arrange: first the Indians with halberds came on too late; then too soon; then at the right time, hut crowded together at the exit; then they did not crowd, but arranged themselves badly at the sides of the stage; and each time the whole performance was stopped and recommenced from the be- ginning. The procession was introduced by a recitative, delivered by a man dressed up like some variety of Turk, who, opening his mouth in a curious way, sang, “ Home I bring the hri-i-ide.” He sings and waves his arm (which is of course hare) from under his mantle. The procession commences, but here the French horn, in the accompaniment of the recitative, does something wrong; and the director, with a shudder as if some catastrophe had occurred, raps with his stick on the stand. All is stopped, and the director, turning to the orchestra, attacks the French horn, scolding him in the rudest terms, as cabmen abuse each other, for taking the wrong note. And again the whole thing recommences. The Indians with their halberds again come on, treading softly in their extraordinary hoots; again the singer sings, “ Home I bring the hri-i-ide.” But here the pairs get too close together. More raps with the stick, more scolding, and a recommencement. Again, “Home I bring the hri-i-ide,” again the same gesticulation with the hare arm from under the mantle, and again the couples, treading softly with halberds on their shoulders, some with sad and serious faces, some talking and smiling, arrange themselves in a circle and begin to sing. All seems to be going well, hut again the stick raps, and the director, in a distressed and angry voice, begins to scold the men and women of the chorus. It appears that when singing they had omitted to raise their hands from time to time in sign of animation. “Are you all dead, or what? Cows that you are! Are you corpses, that you can’t move? ” Again they re-commence, “ Home I bring the bri-i-ide,” and WHAT IS ART?

5 again, with sorrowful faces, the chorus women sing, first one and then another of them raising their hands. But two chorus-girls speak to each other, — again a more vehement rapping with the stick. “ Have you come here to talk? Can’t you gossip at home? You there in red breeches, come nearer. Look towards me! Recommence! ” Again, ” Home I bring the hri-i-ide.” And so it goes on for one, two, three hours. The whole of such a rehearsal lasts six hours on end. Raps with the stick, repetitions, placings, corrections of the singers, of the orchestra, of the procession, of the dancers, — all seasoned with angry scolding. I heard the words, “asses,” “fools,” “idiots,” “swine,” addressed to the musicians and singers at least forty times in the course of one hour. And the unhappy individual to whom the abuse is addressed, — flautist, horn-blower, or singer, — physically and mentally demoralised, does not reply, and does what is demanded of him. Twenty times is repeated the one phrase, “Home I bring the bri-i-ide,” and twenty times the striding about in yellow shoes with a halberd over the shoulder. The conductor knows that these people are so demoralised that they are no longer fit for anything but to blow trumpets and walk about with halberds and in yellow shoes, and that they are also accustomed to dainty, easy living, so that they will put up with anything rather than lose their luxurious life. He therefore gives free vent to his churlishness, especially as he has seen the same thing done in Paris and Vienna, and knows that this is the way the best conductors behave, and that it is a musical tradition of great artists to be so carried away by the great business of their art that they cannot pause to consider the feelings of other artists.

It would be difficult to find a more repulsive sight. I have seen one workman abuse another for not supporting the weight piled upon him when goods were being unloaded, or, at hay-stacking, the village elder scold a peasant for not б WHAT IS ART?

making the rick right, and the man submitted in silence. And, however unpleasant it was to witness the scene, the unpleasantness was lessened by the consciousness that the business in hand was needful and important, and that the fault for which the head-man scolded the labourer was one which might spoil a needful undertaking.

But what was being done herel For what, and for whom? Very likely the conductor was tired out, like the workman I passed in the vaults; it was even evident that he was; but who made him tire himself? And for what was he tiring himself? The opera he was rehearsing was one of the most ordinary of operas for people who are accustomed to them, but also one of the most gigantic absurdities that could possibly be devised. An Indian king wants to marry; they bring him a bride; he disguises him- self as a minstrel; the bride falls in love with the minstrel and is in despair, but afterwards discovers that the minstrel is the king, and everyone is highly delighted.

That there never were, or could be, such Indians, and that they were not only unlike Indians, but that what they were doing was unlike anything on earth except other operas, was beyond all manner of doubt; that people do not con- verse in such a way as recitative, and do not place them- selves at fixed distances, in a quartet, waving their arms to express their emotions; that nowhere, except in theatres, do people walk about in such a manner, in pairs, with tinfoil halberds and in slippers; that no one ever gets angry in such a way, or is affected in such a way, or laughs in such a way, or cries in such a way; and that no one on earth can be moved by such performances; all this is beyond the possibility of doubt.

Instinctively the question presents itself — For whom is this being done? Whom can it please? If there are, occasionally, good melodies in the opera, to which it is pleasant to listen, they could have been sung simply, without WHAT IS ART?

7 these stupid costumes and all the processions and recitatives and hand-wavings.

The ballet, in which half-naked women make voluptuous movements, twisting themselves into various sensual wreath- ings, is simply a lewd performance.

So one is quite at a loss as to whom these things are done for. The man of culture is heartily sick of them, while to a real working man they are utterly incomprehensible. If anyone can he pleased by these things (which is doubtful), it can only be some young footman or depraved artisan, who has contracted the spirit of the upper classes but is not yet satiated with their amusements, and wishes to show his breeding.

And all this nasty folly is prepared, not simply, nor with kindly merriment, but with anger and brutal cruelty.

It is said that it is all done for the sake of art, and that art is a very important' thing. But is it true that art is so important that such sacrifices should be made for its sake? This question is especially urgent, because art, for the sake of which the labour of millions, the lives of men, and above all, love between man and man, are being sacrificed, — this very art is becoming something more and more vague and uncertain to human perception.

Criticism, in which the lovers of art used to find support for their opinions, has latterly become so self-contradictory, that, if we exclude from the domain of art all that to which the critics of various schools themselves deny the title, there is scarcely any art left.

The artists of various sects, like the theologians of the various sects, mutually exclude and destroy themselves. Listen to the artists of the schools of our times, and you will find, in all branches, each set of artists disowning others. In poetry the old romanticists deny the parnassians and the decadents; the parnassians disown the romanticists and the decadents; the decadents disown all their predecessors WHAT IS ART?

WHAT IS ART?

and the symbolists; the symbolists disown all their pre- decessors and les mages; and les mages disown all, all their predecessors. Among novelists we have naturalists, psycho- logists, and “ nature-ists,” all rejecting each other. And it is the same in dramatic art, in painting and in music. So that art, which demands such tremendous., labour-sacrifices from the people, which stunts human lives and transgresses against human love, is not only not a thing clearly and firmly defined, but is understood in such contradictory ways by its own devotees that it is difficult to say what is meant by art, and especially what is good, useful art, — art for the sake of which we might condone such sacrifices as are being offered at its shrine.

CHAPTER II