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p Criticism "should trace how the poetic idea, after emerging in the mysterious depths of the human spirit, passes through the variegated material of the author’s ideas and views of life”. Very well; let us assume that this is the most important task of criticism. But the material, through which the poetic idea is said to “pass” is provided by the social environment surrounding the artist, and the poetic idea itself, no matter in what "depths of the spirit" it is born, cannot help being influenced by this environment. The poetic ideas of Aeschylus are not the same as the poetic ideas of Shakespeare. And if Mr. Volynsky is right in saying that criticism should be competent at both assessing poetic ideas and revealing the creative process, there cannot be the slightest doubt that it should “rest” first and foremost on history. The " philosophical concepts of a certain idealist type" explain little where it is a question of facts and of the causality between them. And there can be no doubt whatever that in order to understand the process of artistic creation one must be familiar with the facts, i.e., the history of art. And it must be noted that this process is not a uniform process, in which one and the same abilities always take part. In different historical epochs it sets in motion very different "psychic forces" (we shall put it like that to gratify Mr. Volynsky), in consequence of which the art characteristic of each epoch always has its own specific character.

p To explain our idea let us take an example from the history of painting in France. In Boucher’s paintings a refined gracious sensuality predominates; in David’s paintings there is a certain conventional simplicity; and finally, in the paintings of the Romantic artists such as Delacroix or Gericault, who are indifferent to grace and hate conventional simplicity, there predominates what the French call le pathetique (suffice it to recall Dante et Virgile and Le Radeau de la Meduse). These are three separate schools. And each of these schools has a different attitude to line, colour and composition. It is obvious that Boucher needed one set of abilities for his creation, David another, and the Romantic artists a third. But where did this difference derive from? Is it not explained by the special features of each individual? No, and precisely because we are speaking not of special features which were characteristic of individual artists, but of features which belonged to whole schools, or, rather, to be more exact, whole epochs.   [160•* 

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p Idealist aesthetics knew, of course, that each great historical epoch had its own art (for example, Hegel distinguishes between Oriental, Classical and Romantic art); but in this case while stating obvious facts, it gave a totally unsatisfactory explanation of them. The history of art was explained in the final analysis by the qualities of the spirit, the laws of development of the absolute idea. When a Mr. Volynsky sets about such explanations he produces nothing but empty, allegedly philosophical phrases. But when the matter is taken up by a giant, such as Hegel, he undoubtedly occasionally produces some very witty and even downright brilliant logical constructions. Only one thing is wrong: these brilliant constructions usually explain nothing at all, i.e., they do not lead to the goal, for the sake of which they were advanced. Indeed, Hegel tells us that Classical art is marked by a perfect balance between form and content, whereas in Romantic art content (the idea) outbalances form. This is a very interesting remark which anyone who studies the history of art would do well to remember. But why does content outbalance i’orm in Romantic art? Hegel’s idealist aesthetics is incapable of answering this, for one cannot regard as an answer his reference to the fact that the infinite (content, idea) in its logical development is bound to outbalance the finite (form). Here Hegel is repeating what we saw in his Philosophic der Geschichte, where the historical movement of mankind is explained by the logical laws of development of the same absolute idea, and where these logical laws also explain nothing. And in his Aesthetics, just as in the Philosophic der Geschichte Hegel himself sometimes leaves his idealist realm of shadows in order to breathe the fresh air of everyday reality. And it is interesting that in these cases the old man’s chest breathes as freely as if it had never inhaled a different sort of air. Let us recall his remarks about Dutch painting.

p As we know the pictures of Dutch painters hardly ever have an “elevated” content. It is as if these painters had sworn to forget “noble” subjects and portray nothing but the prose of everyday life. Hegel asks whether in so doing they have not sinned against the rules of aesthetics. And replies that they have not, and that their subjects are not as prosaic as might appear at first glance.

p “The Dutch,” he says, "took the content of their pictures out of themselves, out of the social life of their day; one cannot reproach them for the fact that with the help of art they reproduced this reality of their day.” If they had not reproduced it, their 162 pictures would have ceased to be of interest to their contemporaries. In order to understand Dutch painting one must remember the history of the Dutch. They won from the sea the land on which they live; thanks to their persistence, patience and courage they succeeded in overthrowing the rule of Philip II and gaining religious and political freedom, and their industry and enterprise ensured them considerable prosperity. The Dutch valued these qualities of their character and this respectable bourgeois prosperity of theirs. And it was these qualities and this prosperity that the Dutch painters reproduced. We see them in Rembrandt’s pictures, Van Dyck’s portraits and Wouwerman’s scenes.  [162•*  For us the important point here is not that Hegel is trying to justify the Dutch painters: to our mind they were never in need of defence. But we would direct the reader’s attention to the fact that t^^1^^- great idealist has succeeded very well in explaining, at least, certain phenomena in the history of art by the course of development of social life. In order to understand the painting of the Dutch, one must remember their history. This is a perfectly correct idea. But this correct idea leads one on to reflections that are very dangerous for idealist aesthetics.

p What if a thought which is correct in relation to Dutch painting turned out to be equally correct in relation to painting in Italy, sculpture in Greece, poetry in France, etc., etc.? The history of art would begin to be explained by the history of social life, and there would not be the slightest need for the cunning logical constructions of the idealists who appeal to the qualities of the absolute idea. Idealist aesthetics would have died of its own accord.

p And this is what did happen. While idealist aesthetics was busy with the absolute idea, the view that mankind’s spiritual development was merely a reflection of its social development became more and more widespread and established in the literature of the leading European countries. The very beginning of the nineteenth century saw the appearance of Madame de StaeT’s book De la litterature, consideree dans ses rapports avec les institutions sociales (Paris, 1800). The task which Madame de Stae’l set herself was solved most unsatisfactorily: it was far beyond the powers of this famous, but basically superficial writer, who barely even understood its vast significance. But the task had been set, and this was extremely important. The very social life of Western Europe vouched for its correct solution.

p France did more for this solution than the other countries, and among the French the people who understood the matter best were by no means always from the literary profession. Thus, for example, the famous historian Guizot understood it incomparably more 163 correctly and profoundly than Villemain or Victor Hugo. In his fine essay fitude sur Shakespeare (1821) Guizot adheres to the conviction firmly and quite consistently that the history of literature of any given country is the fruit of its social history. Shakespeare is a perfectly legitimate offspring of English social relations and customs of the Elizabethan age. In the same way, whereas Guizot thinks that classicism has had its day this is because the society of which it was the brilliant expression no longer exists. Finally, whereas Guizot assumes that only "Shakespeare’s system" is capable today of giving "the plans according to which genius should work" (les plans d’apres lesquels le genie doit maintenant travailler), this again is for a reason which lies in the social system: "only this system is capable of embracing all the social conditions and feelings ... the clash and activity of which constitute for us the spectacle of human life".

p If we compare this study by Guizot with the famous preface to Cromwell, which is regarded as the literary manifesto of the Romantics,^^50^^ we see that as far as the explanation of the historical development of the drama is concerned the poet is a mere child in relation to the historian. And this is not surprising. A rich store of historical knowledge is in itself a good thing when it is a question of historical development. But our historian was not just an historian. In his case the scholar capable of assiduous theoretical study was complemented by the man of practice.  Guizot was one of the most outstanding political representatives of the French bourgeoisie of the nineteenth century. Political struggle showed him early on where the secret springs of social movements, springs imperceptible to the naked eye and concealed by the veil of poetry, lie. He was one of the first people to understand clearly the truth that the political relations of peoples are rooted in their social relations. And from this truth it was but a step to the conviction that the selfsame social relations also explain peoples’ literary history.

p And this is still not all. By taking an active part in the political struggle of the bourgeoisie with the aristocracy and clergy, Guizot came to understand the importance of clashes between social classes in the historical movement of mankind. In the boldest and most unambiguous terms he proclaimed that the whole of French history was the result of such clashes. And once having assimilated this view he was, of course, bound to try and apply it to the history of literature also. This attempt was made by him in his fitude sur Shakespeare.

p Dramatic poetry was born in the people and for the people. But little by little it became everywhere a favourite pastime of the upper classes, the influence of which was bound to change its whole character. This change was not for the better. Taking advantage of their privileged position, the upper classes draw away from the 164 people, developing their own specific views, customs, emotions and habits. Simplicity and naturalness gives way to refinement and artificiality, manners become effete. All this affects drama also; its sphere grows narrower, it is pervaded by monotony. Tkis is why in modern times dramatic poetry flourishes only where, thanks to a fortunate combination of circumstances, the artiiciality which always prevails among the upper classes has not yet succeeded in having a harmful effect on it and where the upper classes have not yet severed their link with the people entirely and still share certain tastes and aesthetic requirements with it. Precisely this combination of circumstances is found in Elizabeth’s reign in England where, moreover, the end of the recent political disorder and the rise in the people’s level of prosperity gave a most powerful stimulus to the nation’s moral and intellectual powers. It was then that the colossal energy built up, which was felt later in the revolutionary movement; but for the time being this energy made itself felt mainly in a peaceful field. Shakespeare expressed it in his dramas. His country did not always appreciate his brilliant works, however. After the Restoration the aristocracy forgot Shakespeare in its attempt to import the tastes and customs of the splendid French nobility. Dryden found his language anachronistic, and at the beginning of the eighteenth century Lord Shaftesbury complained bitterly of his barbaric style and oldfashioned spirit. Finally, Pope expressed regret that Shakespeare had written for the people and not tried to please "a better sort" of audience. It was only from the time of Garrick that Shakespeare was again acted on the English stage in full (without omissions and alterations).

p It would be absurd to say that Guizot listed all the historical conditions that produced Shakespeare’s dramas. Anyone who could do that would be able to give history a recipe for producing writers of genius. But there is no doubt that in his studies Guizot proceeded along the right path and that history does indeed explain the matter much better than the "absolute idea" could. If Guizot had continued to work in this sphere or if his viewpoint had been better assimilated by the writers who followed in his footsteps, we would, of course, now possess a great deal of wellprocessed material for a history of world literature. But the consistent application of Guizot’s view soon became a moral impossibility for ideologists from the bourgeoisie.

p By 1830 the big bourgeoisie already held a dominant position in France. Its struggle with the nobility was over; the once terrifying enemy had been defeated and broken; from now onwards there was no need to fear new devastating ’blows from it. But, alas! Earthly happiness is transient. Hardly had the big bourgeoisie settled accounts with one enemy, when it was threatened by another from the opposite direction. The workers and petty 165 beurgeoisie, who had played such an energetic part in the struggle against the old regime, but remained as beforejin a difficult economic position and without any political rights, began to make demands on its recent ally which the latter partly did not want to satisfy and partly could not satisfy at all without laying hands on itself. A new struggle began, in which the big bourgeoisie was now forced to adopt a defensive position. And, as we know, defensive positions do not encourage the development of a love of truth in the social strata and classes that adopt them. "To live among one’s fellow citizens as among enemies, to regard one’s own people as an enemy, to fight against it, while dissembling aad concealing one’s hostility and veiling it in various more or less artificial guises”, is to bid farewell forever’ to all noble impulses, to love not that which is true, but that which is useful, and to define goodness by the formula which, it is said, a savage once gave to a missionary: good is when I steal something from someone else, and evil is when someone steals something from me. In their studies on social questions the learned representatives of the French bourgeoisie began to talk a great deal and most eagerly to the effect that everything has its place and that the poor would show themselves to be goodjpeople full of high morals if only they would forget about their unpleasant position and let those to whom fate has given the opportunity^ get rich in peace. Any reference to the struggle of social forces was now regarded as improper among the bourgeoisie, just as twenty or so years earlier it had been regarded as improper among the aristocracy. And the selfsame Guizot who had once proclaimed that the whole of French history amounted to such a struggle and that only hypocrites could conceal this well-known fact, the selfsame Guizot now began to preach the opposite. He was particularlyfactive in this direction after 1848, the year which frightened his beloved "middle classes" so badly.

p Since the earlier viewpoint had become practically undesirable and intolerable for the big bourgeoisie, it is not surprising that its ideologists were now reluctant to assimilate and apply it in theory also. They gradually forgot completely that their predecessors had adhered to this viewpoint most successfully only a very short time ago. They forgot and began to hold the conviction that it had been invented by wicked shakers of the bourgeois foundations with the evil aim of exciting the credulous masses and thereby injuring decent folk. In their studies on the history of art they continued to repeat that art is the reflection of social requirements and tastes; but now they rarely referred to the fact that society consists of different classes, the requirements and tastes of which are bound to change in connection with[changes in social relations. And these rare occasions were only when they were discussing phenomena relating to the period of the struggle of the 166 selfsame third estate against the old regime; in the same way old men remember their childhood and youth well, but forget what happened yesterday and are unable to grasp the obvious meaning of that which jis taking place before their eyes at the present moment; they^have eyes and almost do not see, ears but hardly hear....

_p The events of 1830 put the petty bourgeoisie and the working class in a quite different relationship to impartial theoretical truth. Hatred of “privileges” engendered in them a desire for justice, and anger at the hypocrisy of the big bourgeoisie made them love truth independently of any practical considerations. In the period 1830 to 1848 the French petty bourgeoisie produced a vast number of all sorts of talented people, and questions of literature and art acquired tremendous significance in the eyes of its educated section. And for all this its ideologists did a great deal for scientific aesthetics. The indeterminate position of their class (or, rather, social stratum) between the big bourgeoisie and the proletariat did not permit them to regard inter-class relations as clearly as Guizot and those of like mind had once regarded them. They wanted to rise above classes and transfer questions of social life and science to the hazy realm of abstractions. These people, many of whom were passionately interested in the doctrines of Utopian socialism and communism, did not want to even hear of the clash of social elements. Obviously they could not understand the tremendous scientific importance of the viewpoint which Guizot had adopted so firmly in his fitude sur Shakespeare.

The proletariat__ But it had no time for aesthetics.