Now, to return to our lay-student of Art, let us suppose that he first approaches the art-critics of the day for guidance. Will there be one among these men who will satisfy him? Is there a single art-critic either of the nineteenth or twentieth century who knew, or who knows, his business?
It is possible to point to one or two, and even so, in doing this, one is prompted more by a sense of kindness than by a sense of accuracy. Some Continental critics, Camille Mauclair and Muther among them, and here and there an English critic like R. A. M. Stevenson, occasionally seem to hit a nail on the head; but as a rule, one can say with Coventry Patmore: "There is little that is conclusive or fruitful in any of the criticism of the present day."[50]
For the most part it is written by men who know absurdly little of their subject, and who, if they do know it, are acquainted much more with its chronological and encyclopædic than with its philosophical side. There is not much conscience either, or much acumen, in these men; and they are as a rule concerned with questions that are irrelevant to the point at issue. Like a certain kind of insect, as Nietzsche very justly remarks, they live by stinging; but their stings serve no purpose save that of providing them with their food.[51]
They are, perhaps, less to blame than the artists themselves for the state of affairs that exists to-day; but, while the artists have betrayed only themselves, the critics have betrayed the reading public. They have neither resisted nor condemned the flood of anarchy that has swept over the art-world; they have rather promoted it in every way in their power, abetting and applauding artists in their lawlessness. In fairness to some of them, however, it should be said, that in encouraging the confusion and disorder around them they very often acted with almost religious sincerity. This reservation applies to Ruskin, for instance, and to many other critics writing for the better-class papers.
Lest this be considered as an overstatement of the case, hear what one of these men himself actually says concerning his own profession! Mr. Frank Rutter, writing in 1907, expressed himself as follows:—
"In olden days the press used to lead public opinion; now it meekly follows because its courage has been sapped by servile cringing to the advertiser, because its antics and sensational inaccuracy have brought it into contempt. No longer commanding the authority of a parent or guardian, it seeks to attract attention by the methods of the cheap-jack. The few exceptions surviving only prove the rule."[52]
Finding themselves forced to speak of other things than "The Purpose of Art," "The Standard of Beauty," and "The Canons of Art"—simply because nobody now knows anything about these matters, or dares to assert anything concerning them,—the better-class art-critics, feeling that they must do something more than state merely their opinions concerning the work under notice—in fact, that they must give their reasons for their praise or blame—have lately been compelled to have recourse to the only field that is open to them, and that is technique.
Now, while Mr. Clutton Brock seems perfectly justified in deprecating these tactics on the part of some of his brother critics, and while Mr. Rutter seems quite wrong in upholding them, the question which naturally arises out of the controversy is: what is there left to the critic to talk about?