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doctors disagreed？ Where was the rock on which an earnest student might
lay his cornerstone without the misgiving that the next wave in public
opinion would sap its base and cast him and his ideals out again at sea？
The eighteenth…century artists and the Italian composers had been
sincere and convinced that they were producing works of art。 In our own
day the idol of one moment becomes the jest of the next。 Was there； then；
no fixed law？
The short period； for instance； between 1875 and the present time has
been long enough for the talent of one painter （Bastien…Lepage） to be
discovered； discussed； lauded； acclaimed； then gradually forgotten and
decried。 During the years when we were studying in Paris； that young
painter's works were pronounced by the critics and their following to be
the last development of Art。 Museums and amateurs vied with each other
in acquiring his canvases。 Yet； only this spring； while dining with two or
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three art critics in the French capital； I heard Lepage's name mentioned
and his works recalled with the smile that is accorded to those who have
hoodwinked the public and passed off spurious material as the real thing。
If any one doubts the fleeting nature of a reputation； let him go to a
sale of modern pictures and note the prices brought by the favorites of
twenty years ago。 The paintings of that arch…priest； Meissonier； no longer
command the sums that eager collectors paid for them a score of years
back。 When a great European critic dares assert； as one has recently； of the
master's 〃1815；〃 that 〃everything in the picture appears metallic； except
the cannon and the men's helmets；〃 the mighty are indeed fallen！ It is
much the same thing with the old masters。 There have been fashions in
them as in other forms of art。 Fifty years ago Rembrandt's work brought
but small prices； and until Henri Rochefort （during his exile） began to
write up the English school； Romneys； Lawrences； and Gainsboroughs had
little market value。
The result is that most of us are as far away from the solution of that
vexed question 〃What is Art？〃 at forty as we were when boys。 The
majority have arranged a compromise with their consciences。 We have
found out what we like （in itself no mean achievement）； and beyond such
personal preference； are shy of asserting （as we were fond of doing
formerly） that such and such works are 〃Art；〃 and such others； while
pleasing and popular； lack the requisite qualities。
To enquiring minds； sure that an answer to this question exists； but
uncertain where to look for it； the fact that one of the thinkers of the
century has； in a recent 〃Evangel；〃 given to the world a definition of 〃Art；〃
the result of many years' meditation； will be received with joy。 〃Art；〃 says
Tolstoi； 〃is simply a condition of life。 It is any form of expression that a
human being employs to communicate an emotion he has experienced to a
fellow…mortal。〃
An author who； in telling his hopes and sorrows； amuses or saddens a
reader； has in just so much produced a work of art。 A lover who； by the
sincerity of his accent； communicates the flame that is consuming him to
the object of his adoration； the shopkeeper who inspires a purchaser with
his own admiration for an object on sale； the baby that makes its joy
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known to a parent … artists！ artists！ Brown； Jones； or Robinson； the
moment he has consciously produced on a neighbor's ear or eye the
sensation that a sound or a combination of colors has effected on his own
organs； is an artist！
Of course much of this has been recognized through all time。 The
formula in which Tolstoi has presented his meditations to the world is；
however； so fresh that it comes like a revelation； with the additional merit
of being understood； with little or no mental effort； by either the casual
reader； who； with half…attention attracted by a headline； says to himself；
〃‘What is art？' That looks interesting！〃 and skims lightly down the lines；
or the thinker who； after perusing Tolstoi's lucid words； lays down the
volume with a sigh； and murmurs in his humiliation； 〃Why have I been all
these years seeking in the clouds for what was lying ready at my hand？〃
The wide…reaching definition of the Russian writer has the effect of a
vigorous blow from a pickaxe at the foundations of a shaky and too
elaborate edifice。 The wordy superstructure of aphorisms and paradox falls
to the ground； disclosing fair 〃Truth；〃 so long a captive within the temple
erected in her honor。 As； however； the newly freed goddess smiles on the
ignorant and the pedants alike； the result is that with one accord the
aesthetes raise a howl！ 〃And the ‘beautiful；'〃 they say； 〃the beautiful？ Can
there be any ‘Art' without the ‘Beautiful'？ What！ the little greengrocer at
the corner is an artist because； forsooth； he has arranged some lettuce and
tomatoes into a tempting pile！ Anathema！ Art is a secret known only to the
initiated few； the vulgar can neither understand nor appreciate it！ We are
the elect！ Our mission is to explain what Art is and point out her beauty to
a coarse and heedless world。 Only those with a sense of the ‘beautiful'
should be allowed to enter into her sacred presence。〃
Here the expounders of 〃Art〃 plunge into a sea of words； offering a
dozen definitions each more obscure than its predecessor； all of which
have served in turn as watchwords of different 〃schools。〃 Tolstoi's
sweeping truth is too far… reaching to please these gentry。 Like the priests
of past religions； they would have preferred to keep such knowledge as
they had to themselves and expound it； little at a time； to the ignorant。 The
great Russian has kicked away their altar and routed the false gods； whose
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acolytes will never forgive him。
Those