THOU SHALT NOT PEEAOH 149 



with the spirit of life. I lately read a novel by 

 one of our most promising young novelists, in which 

 there was a streak of vulgar realism, forced in, 

 evidently, under the pressure of a theory, — the the- 

 ory that art is never to shrink from the true. It 

 offended because it was entirely gratuitous ; there was 

 no necessity for it. If it was true, it was not apt ; 

 if it was real, it was not fit; it jarred; it was dragged 

 in by main force ; it was a false note. Is not any- 

 thing disagreeable in a novel of the imagination a 

 false note ? Disagreeable, I mean, not by reason of 

 the subject matter, but by reason of the treatment. 

 Dante makes hell fascinating by his treatment. 



There are three ways of treating the under side 

 of nature. There is the childlike simplicity of . the 

 Biblical writers, who think no evil ; there is the 

 artistic frankness of the great dramatic poets, who 

 know the value of foils and contrasts, and who can- 

 not ignore any element of life ; and there is the 

 license and levity of the lascivious poets, who live 

 in the erotic alone. Both Ibsen and Tolstoi have 

 been condemned a,s immoral only because their 

 artistic scheme embraces all the elements that are 

 potent in life. Of levity, of exaggeration, they are 

 not guilty. If Zola is to be condemned, it is prob- 

 ably because he makes too prominent certain things, 

 and thus destroys the proportion. In nature no- 

 thing is detached. Her great currents flow on and 

 purify themselves. The ugly, the unclean, are 

 quickly lost sight of ; the sky and the sun cover all, 

 bathe all. But art is detachment ; our attention is 



