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not loathe a masterpiece although we gird against its

blemishes. We are not, above all, to look for faults, but



merits. There is no book perfect, even in design; but there

are many that will delight, improve, or encourage the reader.



On the one hand, the Hebrew psalms are the only religious

poetry on earth; yet they contain sallies that savour rankly



of the man of blood. On the other hand, Alfred de Musset had

a poisoned and a contorted nature; I am only quoting that



generous and frivolous giant, old Dumas, when I accuse him of

a bad heart; yet, when the impulse under which he wrote was



purely creative, he could give us works like CARMOSINE or

FANTASIO, in which the last note of the romanticcomedy seems



to have been found again to touch and please us. When

Flaubert wrote MADAME BOVARY, I believe he thought chiefly of



a somewhat morbid realism; and behold! the book turned in his

hands into a masterpiece of appallingmorality. But the



truth is, when books are conceived under a great stress, with

a soul of ninefold power, nine times heated and electrified



by effort, the conditions of our being are seized with such

an ample grasp, that, even should the main design be trivial



or base, some truth and beauty cannot fail to be expressed.

Out of the strong comes forth sweetness; but an ill thing



poorly done is an ill thing top and bottom. And so this can

be no encouragement to knock-kneed, feeble-wristed scribes,



who must take their business conscientiously or be ashamed to

practise it.



Man is imperfect; yet, in his literature, he must express

himself and his own views and preferences; for to do anything



else is to do a far more perilous thing than to risk being

immoral: it is to be sure of being untrue. To ape a



sentiment, even a good one, is to travesty a sentiment; that

will not be helpful. To conceal a sentiment, if you are sure



you hold it, is to take a liberty with truth. There is

probably no point of view possible to a sane man but contains



some truth and, in the true connection, might be profitable

to the race. I am not afraid of the truth, if any one could



tell it me, but I am afraid of parts of it impertinently

uttered. There is a time to dance and a time to mourn; to be



harsh as well as to be sentimental; to be ascetic as well as

to glorify the appetites; and if a man were to combine all



these extremes into his work, each in its place and

proportion, that work would be the world's masterpiece of



morality as well as of art. Partiality is immorality; for

any book is wrong that gives a misleading picture of the



world and life. The trouble is that the weakling must be

partial; the work of one proving dank and depressing; of



another, cheap and vulgar; of a third, epileptically sensual;

of a fourth, sourly ascetic. In literature as in conduct,



you can never hope to do exactly right. All you can do is to

make as sure as possible; and for that there is but one rule.



Nothing should be done in a hurry that can be done slowly.

It is no use to write a book and put it by for nine or even



ninety years; for in the writing you will have partly

convinced yourself; the delay must precede any beginning; and



if you meditate a work of art, you should first long roll the

subject under the tongue to make sure you like the flavour,



before you brew a volume that shall taste of it from end to

end; or if you propose to enter on the field of controversy,



you should first have thought upon the question under all

conditions, in health as well as in sickness, in sorrow as



well as in joy. It is this nearness of examination necessary

for any true and kind writing, that makes the practice of the



art a prolonged and noble education for the writer.

There is plenty to do, plenty to say, or to say over again,






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