with astonishing virtuosity. The Press is their
washpot. And they are influential in other places. They can get pensions
for their favourites. They know the latest methods of pulling an artichoke
to pieces. And they will say among themselves, forgiving but slightly
pained: "Yes, he's written a very remarkable novel, but he doesn't know
how to eat an artichoke." They would be higher than the angels were it not
for the fact that, in art, they are exquisitely and perfectly footling.
They cannot believe this, the public cannot believe it. Nevertheless,
every artist knows it to be true. They have never done anything themselves
except fuss around.

* * * * *

As for us, we are their hobby. And since unoriginality is their most
striking characteristic, some of us are occasionally pretty nearly hobbied
to extinction by them. In every generation they select some artist,
usually for reasons quite unconnected with art, and put him exceedingly
high up in a niche by himself. And when you name his name you must hush
your voice, and discussion ends. Thus in the present generation, in
letters, they have selected Joseph Conrad, a great artist, but not the
only artist on the island. When Conrad is mentioned they say, "Ah,
Conrad!" and bow the head. And in the list, compiled presumably to
represent what is finest in English literature at an epoch when the novel
is admittedly paramount, there are half a dozen of everything except
novelists. There is only one practising novelist, and he is not an
Englishman. I said a moment ago that the most striking characteristic of
the dilettanti is unoriginality. But possibly a serene unhumorousness runs
it close.

* * * * *

The master-thought at the bottom of this scheme is not an Academy of
British Letters for literary artists, but an Academy of British Letters
for literary dilettanti. A few genuine artists, if the scheme blossoms,
will undoubtedly be found in it. But that will be an accident. Some of the
more decorative dilettanti have had a vision of themselves as
academicians. Hence the proposal for an academy. In the public mind
dilettanti are apt to be confused with artists. Indeed, the greater the
artist, the more likely the excellent public is to regard him as a sort of
inferior and unserious barbaric dilettante. (Fortunately posterity does
not make these mistakes.) A genuine original artist is bound to make a sad
spectacle of