The Art-Work Of The Future Read online

  Let us ponder how this fervent, noble longing of Liter ary Poesy must one day be responded to; and meanwhile let us leave our modern Dramatic Poetry to the pompous triumphs of her own ridiculous vanity!

  6. WHILOM ATTEMPTS AT RE-UNITING THE THREE HUMANISTIC ARTS.

  In our general survey of the demeanour of each of the three humanistic (rein menschlich) arts after its severance from their initial communion, we could not but plainly see that exactly where the one variety touched on the province of the next, where the faculty of the second stepped-in to replace the faculty of the first, there did the first one also find its natural bounds. Beyond these bounds, it might stretch over from the second art-variety to the third; and through this third, again, back to itself, back to its own especial individuality,-but only in accordance with the natural laws of Love, of self-offering for the common good impelled by Love. As Man by love sinks his whole nature in that of Woman, in order to pass over through her into a third being, the Child,-and yet finds but himself again in all the loving trinity, though in this self a widened, filled, and finished whole: so may each of these individual arts find its own self again in the perfect, throughly liberated Artwork-nay, look upon itself as broadened to this Art-work-so soon as, on the path of genuine love and by sinking of itself within the kindred arts, it returns upon itself and finds the guerdon of its love in the perfect work of Art to which it knows itself expanded. Only that art-variety, however, which wills the common art-work, reaches therewith the highest fill of its own particular nature; whereas that art which merely wills itself, its own exclusive fill of self; stays empty and unfree-for all the luxury that it may heap upon its solitary semblance. But the Will to form the common artwork arises in each branch of art by instinct and unconsciously, so soon as e'er it touches on its own confines and gives itself to the answering art, not merely strives to take from it. It only stays throughout itself, when it throughly gives itself away: whereas it must fall to its very opposite, if it at last must only feed upon the other :-" whose bread I eat, his song I'll sing." But when it gives itself entirely to the second, and stays entirely enwrapt therein, it then may pass from that entirely into the third; and thus become once more entirely itself in highest fulness, in the associate Art-work.

  (Of all these arts not one so sorely needed an espousal with another, as that of Tone; for her peculiar character is that of a fluid nature-element poured out betwixt the more defined and individuahised substances of the two other arts.) Only through the Rhythm of Dance, or as bearer of the Word, could she brace her dehiquescent being to definite and characteristic corporeality. But neither of the other arts could bring herself to plunge, in love without reserve, into the element of Tone: each drew from it so many bucketsful as seemed expedient for her own precise and egoistic aims; each took from Tone, but gave not in return; so that poor Tone, who of her life-need stretched out her hands in all directions, was forced at last herself to take for very means of maintenance. Thus she engulfed the Word at first, to make of it what suited best her pleasure: but while she disposed of this word as her wilful feeling listed, in Catholic music, she lost its bony framework-so to say-of which, in her desire to become a human being, she stood in need to bear the liquid volume of her' blood, and round which she might have crystallised a sinewy flesh. A new and energetic handling of the Word, in order to gain shape therefrom, was shown by Protestant church-music; which, in the "Passion-music," pressed on towards an ecclesiastical drama, wherein the word was no longer a mere shifting vehicle for the expression of feeling, but girt itself to thoughts depicting Action. In this church-drama, Music, while still retaining her predominance and building everything else into her own pedestal, almost compelled Poetry to behave in earnest and like a man towards her. But coward Poetry appeared to dread this challenge; she deemed it as well to cast a few neglected morsels to - swell the meal of this mightily waxing monster, Music, and thus to pacify it; only, however, to regain the liberty of staying undisturbed within her own peculiar province, the egoistic sphere of Literature. It is to this selfish, cowardly bearing of Poetry toward Tone that we stand indebted for that unnatural abortion the Oratorio, which finally transplanted itself from the church into the concert-hall. The Oratorio would give itself the airs of Drama; but only precisely in so far as it might still preserve to Music the unquestioned right of being the chief concern, the only leader of the drama's 'tone.'

  Where Poetry fain would reign in solitude, as in the spoken Play, she took Music into her menial service, for her own convenience; as, for instance, for the entertainment of the audience between the acts, or even for the enhancement of the effect of certain dumb transactions, such as the irruption of a cautious burglar, and matters of that sort I Dance did the selfsame thing, when she leapt proudly on to saddle, and graciously condescended to allow Music to hold the stirrup. Exactly so did Tone behave to Poetry in the Oratorio: she merely let her pile the heap of stones, from which she might erect her building as she fancied.

  But Music at last capped all this ever-swelling arrogance, by her shameless insolence in the Opera. Here she claimed tribute of the art of Poetry down to its utmost farthing: it was no longer to merely make her verses, no longer to merely suggest dramatic characters and sequences, as in the Oratorio, in order to give her a handle for her own distention,-but it was to lay down its whole being and all its powers at her feet, to offer up complete dramatic characters and complex situations, in short the entire ingredients of Drama; in order that she might take this gift of homage and make of it whatever her fancy listed.

  The Opera, as the seeming point of reunion of all the three related arts, has become the meeting-place of these sisters' most self-seeking efforts. Undoubtedly Tone claims for herself the supreme right of legislation therein; nay, it is solely to her struggle-though led by egoism-towards the genuine artwork of the Drama, that we owe the Opera at all. But in degree as Poetry and Dance were bid to be her simple slaves, there rose amid their egoistic ranks a growing spirit of rebellion against their domineering sister. The arts of Dance and Poetry had taken a personal lease of Drama in their own way: the spectacular Play and the pantomimic Ballet were the two territories between which Opera now deployed her troops, taking from each whatever she deemed indispensable for the self-glorification of Music. Play and Ballet, however, were well aware of her aggressive self-sufficiency: they only lent themselves to their sister against their will, and in any case with the mental reservation that on the first favourable opportunity they each would clear themselves an exclusive field. So Poetry leaves behind her feeling and her pathos, the only fitting wear for Opera, and throws her net of modern Intrigue around her sister Music; who, without being able to get a proper hold of it, must willy-nilly twist and turn the empty cobweb, which none but the nimble play-sempstress herself can plait into a tissue: and there she chit-ps and twitters, as in the French confectionary-operas, until at last her peevish breath gives out, and sister Prose steps in to fill the stage. Dance, on the other hand, has only to espy some breach in the breath-taking of the tyrannising songstress, some chilling of the lava-stream of musical emotion,-and in an instant she flings her legs astride the boards; trounces sister Music off the scene, down to the solitary coiiflnement of the orchestra; and spins, and whirls, and runs around, until the public can no longer see the wood for wealth of leaves, i.e. the opera for the crowd of legs.

  Thus Opera becomes the mutual compact of the egoism of the three related arts. To rescue her supremacy, Tone contracts with Dance for so many quarters-of-an-hour which shall belong to the latter alone: during this period the chalk upon the shoe-soles shall trace the regulations of the stage, and music shall be made according to the system of the leg-, and not the tone-, vibrations; item, that the singers shall be expressly forbidden to indulge in any sort of graceful bodily motion,-this is to be the exclusive property of the dancer, whereas the singer is to be pledged to complete abstention from any fancy for mimetic gestures, a restriction which will have the additional advantage of co
nserving his voice. With Poetry Tone settles, to the former's highest satisfaction, that she will not employ her in the slightest on the stage; nay, will as far as possible not even articulate her words and verses, and will relegate her instead to the printed text-book, necessarily to be read after the performance, in Literature's decorous garb of black and white. Thus, then, is the noble bond concluded, each art again itself; and between the dancing legs and written book, Music once more floats gaily on through all the length and breadth of her desire.-This is modern Freedom in the faithful counterfeit of Art!

  Yet after such a shameful compact the art of Tone, however brilliantly she seem to reign in Opera, must needs be deeply conscious of her humiliating dependence. Her life-breath is the heart's affection; and if this also be centred on itself and its own contentment, then not only is it as much in need of the wherewithal of this contentment as are the yearnings of the senses and the understanding, but it feels its need of that object far more piercingly and vividly than they. The keenness of this need gives to the heart its courage of self-sacrifice; and just as Beethoven has spoken out this courage in a valiant deed, so have tone-poets like Gluck and Mozart expressed by glorious deeds of love the joy with which the lover sinks himself within his object; ceasing to be himself, but becoming in reward an infinitely greater thing. Wherever the edifice of Opera-though originally erected for the egoistic manifestoes of segregated arts-betrayed within itself the trace of a condition for the full absorption of Music into Poetry, these masters have accomplished the redemption of their art into the conjoint artwork. But the baleful influence of the ruling evil plight explains to us the utter isolation of such radiant deeds, together with the isolation of the very tone-poets who fulfilled them. That which was possible to the unit under certain fortunate, but almost purely accidental circumstances, is very far indeed from forming a law for the great mass of phenomena; and in the latter we can only recognise the distracted, egoistic oscillations of Caprice; whose methods indeed are those of all mere copying, since it cannot originate anything of itself. Gluck and Mozart, together with the scanty handful of kindred tone-poets, (25 ) serve us only as load-stars on the midnight sea of operatic music, to point the way to the pure artistic possibility of the ascension of the richest music into a still richer dramatic poetry, namely into that Poetic art which by this free surrender of Music to her shall first become an all-effectual Dramatic art. How impossible is the perfect artwork amid the ruling state of things, is proved by the very fact that, after Giuck and Mozart had disclosed the highest capabilities of Music, these deeds have yet remained without the smallest influence on our actual modern art's demeanour,-that the sparks which flew from their genius have only hovered before our art-world like sputtering fireworks, but have been absolutely unable to incend the fire which must have caught its flame from them, had the fuel for it been to hand.

  But even the deeds of Gluck and Mozart were but one-sided deeds, i.e. they revealed the capability and the instinctive will of Music without their being understood by her sister arts, without the latter contributing towards those deeds from a like-felt genuine impulse to be absorbed in one another, and in fact without any response from their side. Only, however, from a like and common impulse of all three sister arts, can their redemption into the true Art-work, and thus this artwork itself; become a possibility. When at last the pride of all three arts in their own self-sufficiency shall break to pieces, and pass over into love for one another; when at last each art can only love itself when mirrored in the others; when at last they cease to be dissevered arts,-then will they all have power to create the perfect artwork; aye, and their own desistence, in this sense, is already of itself this Art-work, their death immediately its life.

  Thus will the Drama of the Future rise up of itself; when nor Comedy, nor Opera, nor Pantomime, can any longer live; when the conditions which allowed their origin and sustained their unnatural life, shall have been entirely upheaved. These conditions can only be upheaved by the advent of those fresh conditions which breed from out themselves the Art-work of the Future. The latter, however, cannot arise alone, but only in the fullest harmony with the conditions of our whole Life. Only when the ruling religion of Egoism, which has split the entire domain of Art into crippled, self-seeking art-tendencies and art-varieties, shall have been mercilessly dislodged and torn up root and branch from every moment of the life of man, can the new religion step forth of itself to life; the religion which includes within itself the conditions of the Artwork of the Future.

  Before we turn with straining eyes to the prefigurement of this Artwork-such as we have to win for ourselves from the utter disowning of our present art-surroundings -it is necessary, however, to cast a glance upon the nature of the so-called plastic arts.

  III. MAN SHAPING ART FROM NATURE'S STUFFS. (26)

  1. ARCHITECTURAL ART.

  AS Man becomes the subject and the matter of his own artistic treatment, in the first and highest reference, so does he extend his longing for artistic portrayal to the objects of surrounding, allied, ministering Nature. Exactly in proportion as Man knows how to grasp the reference of Nature to himself in his portrayal of her, and to set himself in the centre of his survey of the world as the conscience-woken and the conscience-wakener, (27) is he able to picture Nature to himself artistically; and thereafter to impart her to the only beings for whom this portrait can be destined-to wit, to Men. In this he proceeds from a like, though not an equally imperative, impulse to that which urged the art-work whose subject and whose stuff he was himself. But only the man who has already brought forth from and in himself the directly human artwork, and can thus both comprehend and impart himself artistically, is also able to represent Nature to himself artistically; not the unawakened thrall of Nature. The Asiatic peoples, and even the Egyptians-to whom Nature only showed herself as a self-willed, elementary, or brutish force, to which Man stood in the relation either of unconditioned suffering or of grovelling self-debasement-set Nature up above them as the object of their adoration, the graven symbol of their worship; without, for that very reason, being able to exalt themselves to free, artistic consciousness. Here, then, Man could never form the subject of his own artistic exposition; but seeing that, whether he willed or no, he could only conceive all personality-such as the personal nature-force-according to a human standard, he made over his owrr image, in sooth in horrible distortion, to those objects of Nature which he fain would portray.

  It was reserved for the Hellenes to first evolve the humanistic (rein menschliche) art-work in their own person, and from that to expand it to the exposition of Nature. But they could not be ripe for this human art-work itself until they had conquered Nature, in the sense in which she presented herself to the Asiatic peoples, and had so far set Man on Nature's pinnacle that they conceived those personal nature-forces as clothed with the perfect shape of human beauty, as Gods that bore themselves as men. First when Zeus breathed life throughout the world from his Olympian height, when Aphrodite rose from out the sea-foam, and Apollo proclaimed the spirit and the form of his own being as the law of beauteous human life, did the uncouth nature-deities of Asia vanish with their idols, and fair artistic Man, awakening to self-consciousness, apply the laws of human beauty to his conception and his portraiture of Nature.

  Before the God's-oak at Dodona the Pelasgian ("Ur-hellene") bowed himself in waiting for the oracle; beneath the shady thatch of leaves, and circled by the verdant pillars of the God's-grove, the Orpheist raised his voice; but under the fair-ceiled roof, and amid the symmetry of marble columns of the God's-temple, the art-glad Lyrist led the mazes of his dance, to strains of sounding hymns,-and in the Theatre, which reared itself around the God's-altar- as its central point-on the one hand to the message-giving stage, on the other to the ample rows where sat the message-craving audience, the Tragedian brought to birth the living work of consummated Art.

  Thus did artistic Man, of his longing for artistic commune with himself rule Nature to his own artistic ne
eds and bid her serve his highest purpose. Thus did the Lyrist and Tragedian command the Architect to build the artistic edifice which should answer to their art in worthy manner.

  The foremost, natural need urged men to build them homes and strongholds: but in that land and mid that folk from which our whole Art originates, it was not this purely physical need, but the need of men engaged in artistic presentation of themselves, that was destined to convert the Handicraft of building into a genuine Art. Not the royal dwellings of Theseus and Agamemnon, not the rude rock-built walls of Pelasgian citadels, have reached our physical or even our mental field of vision,- but the Temples of the Gods, the Tragic theatres of the Folk. Every relic that has come to us of architectural art applied to objects outside these, dates after the decline of Tragedy, i.e. of the completed Grecian Art, and is essentially of Asiatic origin.