登陆注册
18987600000016

第16章

Yet this hypothetical average human being must be found, or I must stay for ever haunted by the thought that I am not supplying him with what he wants!" And the writer became more and more discouraged, for to arrogate to himself knowledge of all the heights and depths, and even of all the virtues and vices, tastes and dislikes of all the people of the country, without having first obtained it, seemed to him to savour of insolence. And still more did it appear impertinent, having taken this mass of knowledge which he had not got, to extract from it a golden mean man, in order to supply him with what he wanted. And yet this was what every artist did who justified his existence--or it would not have been so stated in a newspaper. And he gaped up at the lofty ceiling, as if he might perchance see the Public flying up there in the faint bluish mist of smoke. And suddenly he thought : "Suppose, by some miracle, my golden-mean bird came flying to me with its beak open for the food with which it is my duty to supply it--would it after all be such a very strange-looking creature; would it not be extremely like my normal self? Am I not, in fact, myself the Public? For, without the strongest and most reprehensible conceit, can I claim for my normal self a single attribute or quality not possessed by an hypothetical average human being? Yes, I am myself the Public; or at all events all that my consciousness can ever know of it for certain." And he began to consider deeply. For sitting there in cold blood, with his nerves at rest, and his brain and senses normal, the play he had written did seem to him to put an unnecessary strain upon the faculties. "Ah!" he thought, "in future I must take good care never to write anything except in cold blood, with my nerves well clothed, and my brain and senses quiet. I ought only to write when I feel as normal as I do now." And for some minutes he remained motionless, looking at his boots. Then there crept into his mind an uncomfortable thought. "But have I ever written anything without feeling a little-abnormal, at the time? Have I ever even felt inclined to write anything, until my emotions had been unduly excited, my brain immoderately stirred, my senses unusually quickened, or my spirit extravagantly roused? Never! Alas, never!

I am then a miserable renegade, false to the whole purpose of my being--nor do I see the slightest hope of becoming a better man, a less unworthy artist! For I literally cannot write without the stimulus of some feeling exaggerated at the expense of other feelings. What has been in the past will be in the future: I shall never be taking up my pen when I feel my comfortable and normal self never be satisfying that self which is the Public!" And he thought:

"I am lost. For, to satisfy that normal self, to give the Public what it wants, is, I am told, and therefore must believe, what all artists exist for. AEschylus in his 'Choephorae' and his 'Prometheus'; Sophocles in his 'OEdipus Tyrannus'; Euripides when he wrote 'The Trojan Women,' 'Medea,'--and 'Hippolytus'; Shakespeare in his 'Leer'; Goethe in his 'Faust'; Ibsen in his 'Ghosts' and his 'Peer Gynt'; Tolstoy in 'The Powers of Darkness'; all--all in those great works, must have satisfied their most comfortable and normal selves; all--all must have given to the average human being, to the Public, what it wants; for to do that, we know, was the reason of their existence, and who shall say those noble artists were not true to it? That is surely unthinkable. And yet--and yet--we are assured, and, indeed, it is true, that there is no real Public in this country for just those plays! Therefore AEschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Shakespeare, Goethe, Ibsen, Tolstoy, in their greatest works did not give the Public what it wants, did not satisfy the average human being, their more comfortable and normal selves, and as artists were not true to the reason of their existence. Therefore they were not artists, which is unthinkable; therefore I have not yet found the Public!"

And perceiving that in this impasse his last hope of discovery had foundered, the writer let his head fall on his chest.

But even as he did so a gleam of light, like a faint moonbeam, stole out into the garden of his despair. "Is it possible," he thought, "that, by a writer, until his play has been performed (when, alas! it is too late), 'the Public' is inconceivable--in fact that for him there is no such thing? But if there be no such thing, I cannot exist to give it what it wants. What then is the reason of my existence? Am I but a windlestraw?" And wearied out with his perplexity, he fell into a doze. And while he dozed he dreamed that he saw the figure of a woman standing in darkness, from whose face and form came a misty refulgence, such as steals out into the dusk from white campion flowers along summer hedgerows. She was holding her pale hands before her, wide apart, with the palms turned down, quivering as might doves about to settle; and for all it was so dark, her grey eyes were visible-full of light, with black rims round the irises. To gaze at those eyes was almost painful; for though they were beautiful, they seemed to see right through his soul, to pass him by, as though on a far discovering voyage, and forbidden to rest.

The dreamer spoke to her: "Who are you, standing there in the darkness with those eyes that I can hardly bear to look at? Who are you?"

And the woman answered: "Friend, I am your Conscience; I am the Truth as best it may be seen by you. I am she whom you exist to serve."

With those words she vanished, and the writer woke. A boy was standing before him with the evening papers.

To cover his confusion at being caught asleep he purchased one and began to read a leading article. It commenced with these words:

"There are certain playwrights taking themselves very seriously; might we suggest to them that they are in danger of becoming ridiculous . . . ."

The writer let fall his hand, and the paper fluttered to the ground.

"The Public," he thought, "I am not able to take seriously, because I cannot conceive what it may be; myself, my conscience, I am told I must not take seriously, or I become ridiculous. Yes, I am indeed lost!"

And with a feeling of elation, as of a straw blown on every wind, he arose.

1910.

同类推荐
  • 太上开明天地本真经

    太上开明天地本真经

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。
  • 周易本义

    周易本义

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。
  • 金箓放生仪

    金箓放生仪

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。
  • 严氏济生方

    严氏济生方

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 高僧法显传

    高僧法显传

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。
热门推荐
  • 著名政治家成才故事(中国名人成才故事)

    著名政治家成才故事(中国名人成才故事)

    本套书精选荟萃了中国历史上最具有代表性的也最具有影响力的名人,编辑成了这套《中国名人成才故事》(共10册),即《著名政治家成才故事》、《著名军事家成才故事》、《著名谋略家成才故事》、《著名思想家成才故事》、《著名文学家成才故事》、《著名艺术家成才故事》、《著名科学家成才故事》、《著名发明家成才故事》、《著名财富家成才故事》、《著名教育家成才故事》等,这些故事既有趣味性,又蕴含深刻的道理,能够带给我们深刻的启迪,是青少年课外不可缺少的精神食粮。
  • 活在天朝

    活在天朝

    一个老师重生至另一个世界的古代做老师的故事。真不知道简介怎么写,那就这样吧。
  • 与妖同居的混乱生活

    与妖同居的混乱生活

    我万也没想到,本来被医院判处还有一年好活,一不留神,被人忽悠兼职当了“中间人”,为他带来的顾客提供衣食住行,只不过顾客并非人类,报酬也不是金钱,而是能让我继续活下去。没办法,我老老实实地干起了这份“全职保姆”的安稳工作,没想到,自第一位顾客与我“同居”起,我的混乱生活不过才刚刚拉开了序幕……短短几天内,我得知好友章辉离奇地失踪,昏迷了的陆成诡异的苏醒,夜半医院惊魂,重出“江湖”却发现面对的敌人不只是人类……原来命中注定我的生活不能平静!一样的混乱,不一样的生活,不敢说搞笑,但小说情节至少轻松并穿插了多种风味,我想能为读者大大们带来一定的快乐……愿它能让你从中感到娱乐!
  • 有一种境界叫苏东坡2

    有一种境界叫苏东坡2

    本书主要讲述了中年时期的苏东坡在政治、文学上的成就及其情感生活。在政治层面,苏东坡仕途坎坷,多次被贬,甚至卷入“乌台诗案”的困局,但他不改一心为民的政治理想,体恤百姓,刚直不阿。在文学层面,他是中国古代不可多得的文化巨人,继欧阳修成为第二个“文坛宗主”,写了很多流传至今的诗词,堪称空前绝后的一代奇才。在情感层面,该书主要讲到苏东坡的第二任妻子王闰之,她质朴贤淑,在苏东坡遭受排挤时,默默地照顾他,直至离开人世。
  • 108影响人类的著名人物

    108影响人类的著名人物

    文章是由哈尔滨出版社,出版的《108影响人类的著名人物》精彩书集。
  • 英雄联盟之职业人生

    英雄联盟之职业人生

    失意网管小卒,重回到英雄联盟职业圈,在群星闪耀的年代里,他无疑是那颗最耀眼的明星。
  • 天龙后续之风起云涌

    天龙后续之风起云涌

    金庸先生的武侠作品在中国的武侠甚至文学史上已经到了一个无法企及的高度,上至文人墨客,下至平凡百姓,可谓雅俗共赏,然天龙八部完结之时未免尚有些许遗憾。本人不才,在天龙八部之后狗尾续貂,试图延续那个风起云涌的江湖。不才之处,还请斧正。本文发生在北宋灭亡后的绍兴二年,江湖名门正派不断的拖金人后腿,包括烧敌粮草、刺杀金大将,扶持南宋赵构。给金人制造无数麻烦。大金皇帝完颜晟文韬武略,举金国之力建天机宫,试图以武治武。此时江湖中有两大势力,正派以少林、昆仑、崆峒、丐帮为首,邪派有摩尼教势力为砥柱中流。另有灵鹫宫等等明哲保身。正邪两派本就势同水火,因北宋年间邪派方腊起义……
  • 重生末日天灾

    重生末日天灾

    主神把地球变成游戏世界,人人都成为游戏人物升级打怪。夜骑重生在末日开始前,掀起滔天血海。
  • 池田之野望

    池田之野望

    顺逆无二道,大道贯心源,五十五年梦,醒时归一眠。
  • 仙童化身

    仙童化身

    谁说童子命不能结婚?我还要娶一大堆老婆呢!谁说童子命长不大?我还想长生不老呢!仙童……化身!逆天……而行!