Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, March 1842Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XX, No. 3, March 1842
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
But this is an important point upon which we desire to be distinctly
understood. We wish here to record our positive dissent (be that dissent
worth what it may) from a very usual opinion—the opinion that Mr.
Dickens has done justice to his own genius—that any man ever failed to
do grievous wrong to his own genius—in appealing to the popular
judgment _at all_. As a matter of pecuniary policy alone, is any such
appeal defensible. But we speak, of course, in relation to fame—in
regard to that
——spur which the true spirit doth raise
To scorn delight and live laborious days.
That a perfume should be found by any “true spirit” in the incense of
mere popular applause, is, to our own apprehension at least, a thing
inconceivable, inappreciable,—a paradox which gives the lie unto
itself—a mystery more profound than the well of Democritus. Mr. Dickens
has no more business with the rabble than a seraph with a _chapeau de
bras_. What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba? What is he to Jacques
Bonhomme[3] or Jacques Bonhomme to him? The higher genius is a rare gift
and divine. Ὡπόλλων ου παντι φαεινεται, ος μιν ιδη, μεγας ουτος—not to
all men Apollo shows himself; _he_ is _alone great_ who beholds him.[4]
And his greatness has its office God-assigned. But that office is not a
low communion with low, or even with ordinary intellect. The holy—the
electric spark of genius is the medium of intercourse between the noble
and more noble mind. For lesser purposes there are humbler agents. There
are puppets enough, able enough, willing enough, to perform in
literature the little things to which we have had reference. For one
Fouqué there are fifty Molières. For one Angelo there are five hundred
Jan Steens. For one Dickens there are five million Smolletts, Fieldings,
Marryatts, Arthurs, Cocktons, Bogtons and Frogtons.
It is, in brief, the duty of all whom circumstances have led into
criticism—it is, at least, a duty from which _we_ individually shall
never shrink—to uphold the true dignity of genius, to combat its
degradation, to plead for the exercise of its powers in those bright
fields which are its legitimate and peculiar province, and which for it
alone lie gloriously outspread.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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