sert is that an artist's sense
of beauty is different for the time being from his own.

The reproach of the lack of a sense of beauty has been brought against
nearly all original novelists; it is seldom brought against a mediocre
novelist. Even in the extreme cases it is untrue; perhaps it is most
untrue in the extreme cases. I do not mean such a case as that of Zola,
who never went to extremes. I mean, for example, Gissing, a real
extremist, who, it is now admitted, saw a clear and undiscovered beauty
in forms of existence which hitherto no artist had deigned seriously to
examine. And I mean Huysmans, a case even more extreme. Possibly no
works have been more abused for ugliness than Huysman's novel _En
Menage_ and his book of descriptive essays _De Tout_. Both reproduce
with exasperation what is generally regarded as the sordid ugliness of
commonplace daily life. Yet both exercise a unique charm (and will
surely be read when _La Cathedrale_ is forgotten). And it is
inconceivable that Huysmans--whatever he may have said--was not ravished
by the secret beauty of his subjects and did not exult in it.

The other attribute which may be taken for granted in the novelist, as
in every artist, is passionate intensity of vision. Unless the vision is
passionately intense the artist will not be moved to transmit it. He
will not be inconvenienced by it; and the motive to pass it on will thus
not exist. Every fine emotion produced in the reader has been, and must
have been, previously felt by the writer, but in a far greater degree.
It is not altogether uncommon to hear a reader whose heart has been
desolated by the poignancy of a narrative complain that the writer is
unemotional. Such people have no notion at all of the processes of
artistic creation.

III

A sense of beauty and a passionate intensity of vision being taken for
granted, the one other important attribute in the equipment of the
novelist--the attribute which indeed by itself practically suffices, and
whose absence renders futile all the rest--is fineness of mind. A great
novelist must have great qualities of mind. His mind must be
sympathetic, quickly responsive, courageous, honest, humorous, tender,
just, merciful. He must be able to conceive the ideal without losing
sight of the fact that it is a human world we live in. Above all, his
mind must be permeated and controlled by common sense. His mind, in a
word, must have the quality of being noble. Unless