side of art.. A true theory of art must take into account form and the use of materials; for it is by the sole means of these that the spiritual thought of the artist is expressed.' This importance of the technical side of art is precisely what Tolstoy emphasizes in Chapter XII of What is Art? where he says:

I have elsewhere quoted the profound remark of the Russian artist Bryulov on art, but I cannot here refrain from repeating it. . . . Once when correcting a pupil's study, Bryulov just touched it in a few places, and the poor dead study immediately became animated. "Why, you only touched it a wee bit and it is quite another thing!" said one of the pupils. "Art begins where the wee bit begins," replied Bryulov, indicating by these words just what is most characteristic of art. The remark is true of all the arts, but its justice is particularly noticeable in the performance of music. That musical execution should be artistic, should be art, i.e. should infect, three chief conditions must be observed-there are many others needed for musical perfection; the transition from one sound to another must be interrupted or continuous; the sound must increase or diminish steadily; it must be blended with one and not with another sound; the sound must have this or that timbre, and much besides-but take the three chief conditions: the pitch, the time, and the strength of the sound. Musical execution is only then art, only then infects, when the sound is neither higher nor lower than it should be-that is, when exactly the infinitely small centre of the required note is taken; when that note is continued exactly as long as is needed; and when the strength of the sound is neither more nor less than is required. The slightest deviation of pitch in either direction, the slightest increase or decrease in time, or the slightest strengthening or weakening of the sound beyond what is needed, destroys the perfection and, consequently, the infectiousness of the work. So that the feeling of infection by the art of music, which seems so simple and so easily obtained, is a thing we receive only when the performer finds those infinitely minute degrees which are necessary to perfection in music. It is the same in all arts: a wee bit lighter, a wee bit darker, a wee bit higher, lower, to the right or the left-in painting; a wee bit weaker or stronger in intonation, or a wee bit sooner or later-in

eludes like

dramatic art; a wee bit omitted, over emphasized, or exaggerated-in poetry, and there is no contagion. Infection is only obtained when an artist finds those infinitely minute degrees of which a work of art consists, and only to the extent to which he finds them.' Surely the technical side of art, and the fact that a work only enters the realm of art if the technical side is competent, could hardly be more clearly stated, and it does Tolstoy an injustice to suggest that he was oblivious of that side of the matter.

The Yorkshire Post inserted this:

I am grateful to the reviewer of Tolstoy on Art in your issue of the 18th inst. for saying that my essays included in the book are valuable,' but I would beg leave to join issue with him on one or two points. He has mutilated the quotation from What is Art? in such a way as to suggest that Tolstoy preferred a riddle to a symphony. What he really said was that To compose a fairy-tale, a little song which will touch, a lullaby or a riddle which will entertain, a jest which will amuse, or to draw a sketch which will delight dozens of generations or millions of children and adults, is incomparably more important and more fruitful than to compose a novel or a symphony, or paint a picture, which will divert some members of the wealthy classes for a short time, and then be for ever forgotten.' The contrast he makes is between simple art that reaches people's hearts and pretentious and transitory art produced for a select circle.

Your reviewer says that 'great art . . . can never be a democratic thing; its enjoyment is the privilege of an aristocracy'; yet in the very work under review it was asked: Is it really possible that a common country peasant... can recognize and be touched by works of are? Certainly it is! Just as in ancient Greece crowds assembled to hear the poems of Homer, so to-day, in many countries, as has been the case in many ages, the Gospelparables and much else of the highest art (including folksongs, folk-stories, and folk-music), are gladly heard by the common people.' That is a view not to be properly refuted by a mere denial. Your reviewer tells us that Ruskin was right in believing that only that which is good and beneficial for man can rank as art, and that Tolstoy is wrong in believing

that perfection of form may entitle a work to rank as art and render it infectious, even though the feeling conveyed may seem to us objectionable. We have here a clash of views: Tolstoy's very clear, Ruskin's very mystical, and merely to tell us that the view Tolstoy is refuting is 'right' does not help matters much.

Once again, Tolstoy--who discriminates between (a) the form of art and (b) the feeling conveyed-tells us that though the Greeks imitated the human body 'extremely well' and erected beautiful buildings, we should not continue to choose as our ideal' the religious conceptions of the Greeks. To this your reviewer rejoins that,' until our ideals have produced greater art than those of the Grecks, we can hardly afford to disparage theirs.' That is to say, Tolstoy asks us to distinguish between the form (in which the Greeks admittedly excelled) and the ideals held in ancient times. Your reviewer obliterates the distinction by speaking as though ideals produced art; whereas Tolstoy has shown that perfection of form is also needed before art can exist at all.

If one recognizes the two sides of the matter the form and the subject-matter-one can understand what Tolstoy says, but as long as the two are jumbled together, confusion results.

The Aberdeen Press and Journal inserted this:

Only in the last paragraph of your review of my book is there a remark to which I should like to reply. It says, 'There can be no "universal" art such as Tolstoy postulates'; yet, as p. 106 of the work under review puts it: 'Is the great artist he who delights a select audience of his own day and class, or he whose works link generation to generation and race to race in a common bond of feeling? Surely art should fulfil its purpose as completely as possible. A work of art that united every one with the author and with one another would be perfect art. Tolstoy, in his emphatic way, speaks of works of "universal" art, and (though the profound critics hasten to inform us that no work of art ever reached everybody) certainly the more nearly a work of art approaches to such expression of feeling that every one may be infected by it, the nearer (apart from all question of subject-matter) it approaches perfection.'

That passage occurs in an essay of which Tolstoy wrote me I have read it with great pleasure. You have admirably and strongly expressed the fundamental thought of the book.' A further passage, on p. 365, says: 'There are works of "universal "art (using the word, of course, in a comparative and not in an absolute sense). The Iliad, the Odyssey, the story of Joseph, the Psalms, the Gospel-parables, the story of Sakya Muni, the hymns of the Vedas, the best folk-legends, fairy-tales, and folk-songs, are understood by all. If only they are adequately rendered, and are received not superstitiously but with an open mind, they are "quite comprehensible now to us, educated or uneducated, as they were comprehensible to the men of those times, long ago, who were even less educated than our labourers.”

Faced by these instances, expressly named by Tolstoy, how can anyone maintain that there can be no art such as Tolstoy postulates.' The fact that the works he refers to do exist, is decisive proof that they can exist.

To a review in Brentano's Book Review I have replied as follows:

Mr. Harold Haven Brown's review of Tolstoy on Art in your February issue has been rather slow in reaching me, but I hope you will still allow me a word of explanation.

་

It is true that the illustrations in my book are 'wholly of the story-telling type,' but that is because they chiefly refer to pictures mentioned in the chapter in which Tolstoy speaks of the feeling conveyed by art,' and not in the one devoted to the form of art. Tolstoy issued his work unillustrated, and naturally in his allusions to the 'subjectmatter of feeling conveyed' he preferred to choose as examples works that could be most conveniently dealt with in words, that is to say, pictures of the story-telling type. But it is quite incorrect to say of Tolstoy that the arts of design and the mastery of technique in art 'found him cold and indifferent.'

As one descends the scale from good to bad, and bad to worse, among the criticisms one reaches some on a very low level, such as a review in the New York Independent, to which paper I have addressed the following reply:

In Mr. Ernest Boyd's review of Tolstoy on Art, he remarks

that 'Tolstoy took his stand upon what the late Mr. Gladstone called" the impregnable rock of the Holy Scriptures." This quite misrepresents Tolstoy's attitude. During the last twenty-five years of his life he attributed no kind of inspiration to the books of the Bible that is not to be found elsewhere; and in the first draft of What is Art? which he sent me, the story of Joseph and his brethren, regarded by him as supreme art, was alluded to as ' that ancient Egyptian novel.'

Mr. Boyd is no nearer the mark when he says that, Tolstoy is immensely perturbed by the absence of lessons, messages, and so forth, which, in his opinion, the artist should provide for the advantage of mankind.' Nowhere does Tolstoy say that literature, music, and dancing are immoral in themselves, though like other things they may be made to serve evil ends; and nowhere does he demand lessons, messages, and so forth' in works of art.

It is difficult to understand how anyone who had read What is Art? could suppose that Tolstoy wished the artist to 'provide lessons, messages, and so forth' for the advantage of anybody. He himself had said (p. 276), ' as soon as the spectator, reader, or hearer, feels that the author is not writing, singing, or playing, for his own satisfaction. but is doing it for him, the recipient, resistance immediately springs up and the most individual and the newest feelings and the cleverest technique not only fail to produce any infection but actually repel.'

Lest this pamphlet should seem to suggest that Tolstoy's work on art has received scant recognition, I will quote from some articles on What is Art? that appeared in the Star even before Mr. Shaw had reviewed the book. In that paper, 'Spectator,' after correcting certain errors in French names, added: 'But this is the mint and anise and cummin of criticism. The important point is that the translation reads like an original; you feel that Tolstoy has lost nothing in transit. And what a wonderful artist in prose this Tolstoy is! How vigorous and succinct How clear! How persuasive! You may not follow Tolstoy to his ultimate conclusion, but I defy you not to be interested by every word he writes.' And in the same paper Mr. A. B. Walkley wrote: 'If we do not