because the requirements of the public as far as plot, style,
psychology, treatment of life, and treatment of literature are
concerned are within the reach of the very meanest capacity and the
most uncultivated mind. It is too difficult, because to meet such
requirements the artist would have to do violence to his
temperament, would have to write not for the artistic joy of
writing, but for the amusement of half-educated people, and so
would have to suppress his individualism, forget his culture,
annihilate his style, and surrender everything that is valuable in
him. In the case of the drama, things are a little better: the
theatre-going public like the obvious, it is true, but they do not
like the tedious; and burlesque and farcical comedy, the two most
popular forms, are distinct forms of art. Delightful work may be
produced under burlesque and farcical conditions, and in work of
this kind the artist in England is allowed very great freedom. It
is when one comes to the higher forms of the drama that the result
of popular control is seen. The one thing that the public dislike
is novelty. Any attempt to extend the subject-matter of art is
extremely distasteful to the public; and yet the vitality and
progress of art depend in a large measure on the continual
extension of subject-matter. The public dislike novelty because
they are afraid of it. It represents to them a mode of
Individualism, an assertion on the part of the artist that he
selects his own subject, and treats it as he chooses. The public
are quite right in their attitude. Art is Individualism, and
Individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. Therein
lies its immense value. For what it seeks to disturb is monotony
of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of
man to the level of a machine. In Art, the public accept what has
been, because they cannot alter it, not because they appreciate it.