The cleric? The politician? Or the novelist? Be honest
in your reply, and you will know who, at that hypothetical reception,
created a stir. The stir, according to place or period, greeted the
politician or the bishop, and only in purely literary circles would Mr
Conrad have been preferred.... For the worship of crowds goes to power
rather than to distinction, to the recognised functionary of the State,
to him whose power can give power, to all the evanescent things, and
seldom to those stockish things, the milestones on the road to eternity.
The attitude of the crowd is the attitude of the State, for the State
is only the crowd, and often just the mob; it is the chamberlain of
ochlocracy, the leader who follows. In all times, the State has shown
its indifference, its contempt, for the arts, and particularly for
literature. Now and then a prince, such as Louis of Bavaria, Philip of
Spain, Lorenzo the Magnificent, has given to literature more than
respect. He has given love, but that only because he was a man before a
prince. The prince must prefer the lawyer, the politician, the general,
and indeed, of late years what prince was found to patron George
Meredith or Henry James?

The attitude of the State to the novelist defines itself most clearly
when a royal commission is appointed. In England, royal commissions are
_ad hoc_ bodies appointed by the government from among men of political
influence and special knowledge, to investigate a special question.

As a rule they are well composed. For instance, a royal commission on
water supply would probably comprise two or three members of Parliament
of some standing, the President of the Institute of Civil Engineers, a
professor of sanitation, a canal expert, one or two trade unionists, one
or two manufacturers, and a representative of the Home Office or the
Board of Trade. Any man of position who has shown interest in public
affairs may be asked to sit on a royal commission ... provided he is not
a novelist. Only one novelist has attained so giddy a height: Sir Rider
Haggard; how it happened is not known: it must have been a mistake. We
are not weighty enough, serious enough to be called on, even if our
novels are so weighty and so serious that hardly anybody can read them.
We are a gay tribe of Ariels, too light to discuss even our own trade.
For royal commissions concern themselves with our trade, with copyright
law, with the restrictions of the paper supply. You might th