23 / Croce /
The Essence of Aesthetic
which we try to tame, to illude and to delude, in order that
they may serve us; or we drive them away and send them
to the slaughter-house when they are no longer good for
any service. But for the honour of criticism we must add
that those capricious critics are not so much critics as
artists: artists who have failed and who aspire to a certain
form of art, which they are unable to attain, either because
their aspiration was contradictory, or because their power
was not sufficient and failed them; and thus, preserving in
their soul the bitterness of the unrealised ideal, they can
speak of nothing else, lamenting everywhere its absence,
and everywhere invoking its presence. And sometimes,
too, they are artists who are anything but failures, —
indeed, most felicitous artists, — but, owing to the very
energy of their artistic individuality, incapable of
emerging from themselves in order to understand forms of
art different from their own, and disposed to reject them
with violence; they are aided in this negation by the
odium figulinum, the jealousy of the artist for the artist,
which is without doubt a defect, but one with which too
many excellent artists appear to be stained for us to refuse
to it some indulgence similar to that accorded to the
defects of women, so difficult, as we know, to separate
from their good qualities. Other artists should calmly
reply to these artist-critics: “Continue doing in your art
what you do so well, and let us do what we can do”; and
to the artists who have failed and improvised themselves
critics: “Do not claim that we should do what you have
failed in doing, or what is work of the future, of which
neither you nor we know anything.” As a fact, this is not
the usual reply, because passion forms half of it; but this
is indeed the logical reply, which logically terminates the
question, though we must foresee that the altercation will
not terminate, but will indeed last as long as there are
intolerant artists and failures — that is to say, for ever.
And there is another conception of criticism, which is
expressed in the magistrate and in the judge, as the
foregoing is expressed in the pedagogue or in the tyrant; it
attributes to criticism the duty, not of promoting and
guiding the life of art, — which is promoted and guided, if
you like to call it so, only by history; that is, by the
complex movement of the spirit in its historical course, —
but simply to separate, in the art which has already been
produced, the beautiful from the ugly, and to approve the
beautiful and reprove the ugly with the solemnity of a
properly austere and conscientious pronouncement. But I
fear that the blame of uselessness will not be removed
from criticism, even with this other definition, although
perhaps its motive may to some extent be changed. Is
there really need of criticism in order to distinguish the
beautiful from the ugly? The production itself of art is
never anything but this distinguishing, because the artist
arrives at purity of expression precisely by eliminating the
ugly which threatens to invade it; and this ugliness is his
tumultuous human passions striving against the pure
passion of art: his weaknesses, his prejudices, his
convenience, his laissez faire, his haste, his having one
eye on art and another on the spectator, on the publisher,
on the impresario — all of them things that impede the
artist in the physiological bearing and normal birth of his
image-expression, the poet in composing verse that rings
and creates, the painter in sure drawing and harmonious
colour, the composer in creating melody and introduces
into their work, if care be not taken to defend themselves
against it, sonorous and empty verses, mistakes, lack of
harmony, discordances. And since the artist, at the
moment of producing, is a very severe judge of himself
from whom nothing escapes, — not even that which
escapes others, — others also discern, immediately and
very clearly, in the spontaneity of contemplation, where
the artist has been an artist and where he has been a man,
a poor man; in what works, or in what parts of works,
lyrical enthusiasm and creative fancy reign supreme, and
where they have become chilled and have given way to
other things, which pretend to be art, and therefore
(considered from the aspect of this pretence) are called
“ugly.” What is the use of the pronouncement of
criticism, when it has already been given by genius and
by taste? Genius and taste are legion, they are the people,
they are general and secular consensus of opinion. So true
is this, that the pronouncements of criticism are always
given too late; they consecrate forms that have already
been solemnly consecrated with universal applause (pure
applause must not, however, be confounded with the
clapping of hands and with social notoriety, the constancy
of glory with the caducity of fortune), they condemn
ugliness already condemned, grown wearisome and
forgotten, or still praised in words, but with a bad
conscience, through prejudice and obstinate pride.
Criticism, conceived as a magistrate, kills the dead or
blows air upon the face of the living, who is quite alive, in
the belief that its breath is that of the God who brings life;
that is, it performs a useless task, because this has
previously been performed. I ask myself if the critics have
established the greatness of Dante, of Shakespeare, or of
Michelangelo, or rather their legions of readers; if, among
the legions who have acclaimed and do acclaim these
great men, there are or have been men of letters and
professional critics, their acclamation does not differ in
this case from that of others, even of youth and of the
people, who are all equally ready to open their hearts to
the beautiful, which speaks to all, save sometimes, when
it is silent, on discovering the surly countenance of a
critic-judge.
And so there arises a third conception of criticism: the
criticism of interpretation or comment, which makes itself
small before works of art and limits itself to the duty of
dusting, placing in a good light, furnishing information as
to the period at which a picture was painted and what it
represents, explaining linguistic forms, historical
allusions, the presumptions of fact and of idea in a poem;
and in both cases, its duty performed, permits the art to
act spontaneously within the soul of the onlooker and of
the reader, who will then judge it as his intimate taste tells