LOVE, HAPPINESS AND ART
97
tion and his inability to solve his problems-these, far from being
inconsistent, are what make the play sublime. But our clever friends
want characters to be all of a piece, consistent-as they are in books
only. The truth is that Shakespeare's conception of Hamlet reaches
into the remotest corners of the human soul. Ulysses is perhaps the
greatest type in all ancient literature, and Hamlet in all modern.
If
I weren't so weary, I should develop my idea at greater
length. It is so easy to chatter about the Beautiful. But it takes more
genius to say, in proper style, "close the door," or "he wanted to
sleep," than to give
all
the literature courses in the world.
Criticism occupies the lowest place in the literary hierarchy: as
regards form, almost always; and as regards moral value, incon–
testably. It comes after rhyming-games and acrostics, which at least
require a certain inventiveness.
July 15, 1853
What artists we should be if we had never read, seen or loved
anything that was not beautiful; if from the outset some guardian
angel of the purity of our pens had kept us from all contamination;
if
we had never known fools or read newspapers! The Greeks were
like that... . But classic form is insufficient for our needs, and our
voices are not made to sing such simple tunes. Let us be as dedicated
to art as they were, if we can, but differently. The human mind
has broadened since Homer. Sancho Panza's belly has burst the
seams
of Venus' girdle. Rather than persist in copying old modes
we should exert ourselves to invent new ones. I think Leconte de
Lisle is unaware of all this. He has no instinct for modern life; he
lacks heart. By this I do not mean personal or even humanitarian
feelings, no--but
heart,
almost in the medical sense of the word.
His
ink
is
pale; his muse suffers from lack of fresh air. Thorough–
bred horses and thoroughbred styles have plenty of blood in their
veins, and it can be seen pulsing everywhere beneath the skin and
the words. Life! Life! . .. That is the only thing that counts! That
is
why I love lyricism so much. It seems to me the most natural
form of poetry-poetry in all its nakedness and freedom. All the
power of a work of art lies in this mystery, and it is this primordial
quality, this
motus animi continuus
(vibration, continual movement
