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coeur。 Fifteen years of unbroken silence before praise or blame
testify sufficiently to my respect for criticism； that fine
flower of personal expression in the garden of letters。 But this
is more of a personal matter； reaching the man behind the work；
and therefore it may be alluded to in a volume which is a
personal note in the margin of the public page。 Not that I feel
hurt in the least。 The chargeif it amounted to a charge at
allwas made in the most considerate terms； in a tone of regret。
My answer is that if it be true that every novel contains an
element of autobiographyand this can hardly be denied； since
the creator can only express himself in his creationthen there
are some of us to whom an open display of sentiment is repugnant。
I would not unduly praise the virtue of restraint。 It is often
merely temperamental。 But it is not always a sign of coldness。
It may be pride。 There can be nothing more humiliating than to
see the shaft of one's emotion miss the mark either of laughter
or tears。 Nothing more humiliating！ And this for the reason
that should the mark be missed； should the open display of
emotion fail to move； then it must perish unavoidably in disgust
or contempt。 No artist can be reproached for shrinking from a
risk which only fools run to meet and only genius dare confront
with impunity。 In a task which mainly consists in laying one's
soul more or less bare to the world； a regard for decency； even
at the cost of success； is but the regard for one's own dignity
which is inseparably united with the dignity of one's work。
And thenit is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad
on this earth。 The comic； when it is human； soon takes upon
itself a face of pain； and some of our griefs （some only； not
all； for it is the capacity for suffering which makes man august
in the eyes of men） have their source in weaknesses which must be
recognised with smiling compassion as the common inheritance of
us all。 Joy and sorrow in this world pass into each other；
mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of life as
mysterious as an over…shadowed ocean； while the dazzling
brightness of supreme hopes lies far off； fascinating and still；
on the distant edge of the horizon。
Yes！ I too would like to hold the magic wand giving that command
over laughter and tears which is declared to be the highest
achievement of imaginative literature。 Only； to be a great
magician one must surrender oneself to occult and irresponsible
powers； either outside or within one's own breast。 We have all
heard of simple men selling their souls for love or power to some
grotesque devil。 The most ordinary intelligence can perceive
without much reflection that anything of the sort is bound to be
a fool's bargain。 I don't lay claim to particular wisdom because
of my dislike and distrust of such transactions。 It may be my
sea…training acting upon a natural disposition to keep good hold
on the one thing really mine； but the fact is that I have a
positive horror of losing even for one moving moment that full
possession of myself which is the first condition of good
service。 And I have carried my notion of good service from my
earlier into my later existence。 I； who have never sought in the
written word anything else but a form of the Beautiful； I have
carried over that article of creed from the decks of ships to the
more circumscribed space of my desk； and by that act； I suppose；
I have become permanently imperfect in the eyes of the ineffable
company of pure esthetes。
As in political so in literary action a man wins friends for
himself mostly by the passion of his prejudices and by the
consistent narrowness of his outlook。 But I have never been able
to love what was not lovable or hate what was not hateful； out of
deference for some general principle。 Whether there be any
courage in making this admission I know not。 After the middle
turn of life's way we consider dangers and joys with a tranquil
mind。 So I proceed in peace to declare that I have always
suspected in the effort to bring into play the extremities of
emotions the debasing touch of insincerity。 In order to move
others deeply we must deliberately allow ourselves to be carried
away beyond the bounds of our normal sensibilityinnocently
enough perhaps and of necessity； like an actor who raises his
voice on the stage above the pitch of natural conversationbut
still we have to do that。 And surely this is no great sin。 But
the danger lies in the writer becoming the victim of his own
exaggeration； losing the exact notion of sincerity； and in the
end coming to despise truth itself as something too cold； too
blunt for his purposeas； in fact； not good enough for his
insistent emotion。 From laughter and tears the descent is easy
to snivelling and giggles。
These may seem selfish considerations； but you can't； in sound
morals； condemn a man for taking care of his own integrity。 It
is his clear duty。 And least of all you can condemn an artist
pursuing； however humbly and imperfectly； a creative aim。 In
that interior world where his thought and his emotions go seeking
for the experience of imagined adventures； there are no
policemen； no law； no pressure of circumstance or dread of
opinion to keep him within bounds。 Who then is going to say Nay
to his temptations if not his conscience？
And besidesthis； remember； is the place and the moment of
perfectly open talkI think that all ambitions are lawful except
those which climb upwards on the miseries or credulities of
mankind。 All intellectual and artistic ambitions are
permissible； up to and even beyond the limit of prudent sanity。
They can hurt no one。 If they are mad； then so much the worse
for the artist。 Indeed； as virtue is said to be； such ambitions
are their own reward。 Is it such a very mad presumption to
believe in the sovereign power of one's art； to try for other
means； for other ways of affirming this belief in the deeper
appeal of one's work？ To try to go deeper is not to be
insensible。 An historian of hearts is not an historian of
emotions； yet he penetrates further； restrained as he may be；
since his aim is to reach the very fount of laughter and tears。
The sight of human affairs deserves admiration and pity。 They
are worthy of respect too。 And he is not insensible who pays
them the undemonstrative tribute of a sigh which is not a sob；
and of a smile which is not a grin。 Resignation； not mystic； not
detached； but resignation open…eyed； conscious and informed by
love； is the only one of our feelings for which it is impossible
to become a sham。
Not that I think resignation the last word of wisdom。 I am too
much the creature of my time for that。 But I think that the
proper wisdom is to will what the gods will without perhaps being
certain what their will isor even if they have a will of their
own。 And in this matter of life and art it is not the Why that
matters so much to our happiness as the How。 As the Frenchman
said； 〃Il y a toujours la maniere。〃 Very true。 Yes。 There is
the manner。 The manner in laughter； in tears； in irony； in
indignations and enthusiasms； in judgmentsand even in love。
The manner in which； as in the features and character of a human
face； the inner truth is foreshadowed for those who know how to
look at their kind。
Those who read me know my conviction that the world； the temporal
world； rests on a few very simple ideas； so simple that they must
be as old as the hills。 It rests notably； amongst others； on the
idea of Fidelity。 At a time when nothing which is not
revolutionary in some way or other can expect to attract much
attention I have not been revolutionary in my writings。 The
revolutionary spirit is mighty convenient in this； that it frees
one from all scruples as regards ideas。 Its hard； absolute
optimism is repulsive to my mind by the menace of fanaticism and
intolerance it contains。 No doubt one should smile at these
things； but； imperfect Esthete； I am no better Philosopher。 All
claim to special righteousness awakens in me that scorn and anger
from which a philosophical mind should be free。 。 。
I fear that trying to be conversational I have only managed to be
unduly discursive。 I have never been very well acquainted with
the art of conversationthat art which； I u