e matter.

But then a strange thing happened. There arose a new class

'who discovered the cheap, and foresaw fortune in the facture of
the sham. Then sprang into existence the tawdry, the common, the
gewgaw, and what was born of the million went back to them and
charmed them, for it was after their own heart.... And Birmingham
and Manchester arose in their might--and Art was relegated to the
curiosity shop.'

I do not think this can be a true account of the matter; for, if the
people were not aware of the existence of art and did not value it at
all, how came they to imitate it? One imitates only that which one
values. Imitation, as we know, is the sincerest form of flattery; and
you cannot flatter that which you do not know to exist.

But Whistler's account of the primitive artist is also wrong, so far as
we can check it. We may be sure that, if the other primitive men had
seen no value in his pursuits, they would have killed him or let him
starve. And the artist, as he exists at present among primitive peoples,
is not a dreamer apart. The separation between the artist and other men
is modern and a result of modern specialization. In many primitive
societies most men practise some art in their leisure, and for that
reason are interested in each other's art. In fact they notice the cups
they drink out of much more than we do. If we did notice the cups we
drink out of, we should not be able to endure them. In primitive
societies there are not star pianists or singers or dancers; they all
dance and make music. Homer himself was a popular entertainer; he would
have been very much surprised to hear that he was a dreamer apart. In
fact Whistler made up this pretty story about the primitive artist
because he assumed that all artists must be like himself. He read
himself back into the past and saw himself painting primitive nocturnes
in a primitive Chelsea, happily undisturbed by primitive critics. He is
wrong in his facts, and I believe he is wrong in his theory. There is a
relation, and a necessary relation, between the artist and his public;
but what is the nature of it? That is a difficult question for us to
answer because the relation now between the artist and the public is, in
fact, usually wrong; and Tolstoy in his _What is Art?_ tried to put it
right.

_What is Art?_ is a most interesting book, full of incidental truth; but
I believe that the main contention in it is false. I will g