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ingenious enough to lay himself out in flattering the rampant Imperialism that was rife amongst the middle-classes when he appeared upon the scene. I have no doubt that if, at the present time, a man similarly gifted should arise to sing the wrongs of the income-tax payer he could feather his nest well in a few weeks.
It is a commonplace that the true test of Art is the test of time. And what is the test of time but the verdict of the people as a whole. One cannot think of a single great writer whose first work has been received with anything but coldness or abuse from the critics. Time has justified them all. The few have over and over again shown themselves utterly without judgment, but as these works have gradually filtered through to the people they have been acclaimed as masterpieces. That there is an unlimited demand for good work when it is within reach is witnessed by the rush that is made for cheap editions, when copyrights of great writers expire.
The whole way along, Capitalism has stifled Art and tortured the artist. For Art there has been a cramped and narrowed existence; for the artist starvation during his best years, and fame when he was too old to enjoy it. There never was a system which was so noxious to Art as this of Capitalism. All the accusations that it hurls at Socialism will rebound with redoubled vigour against its own lying head. The most inconceivably unrefined Socialistic State could not do worse than degrade Art and starve the artist. What will the ordinary Socialist State of our dreams do?
Firstly, with regard to your geniuses. Well, the bureau idea is a rotten one. We have the rudiments of it now in the various scholarships to Schools of Painting and Schools of Music, although they have not yet tried it in respect to Literature. You may discover and encourage technical talent like this—but the chances are that genius will go unnoticed, if nothing more. In such schemes you are bound to have examiners and selectors of a sort, and anything novel (as all works of genius are bound to appear until you get used to them) may give them the impression that it is only bad or eccentric. Genius takes some little time to be appreciated, and then a whole people is always a safer judge than an individual who is asked to give an immediate opinion. But, frankly, is there any reason why you should thus keep the artists as a breed apart, a sort of Levites? A poet eats, sleeps, and drinks, and (if he is a sensible man) plays billiards. There ⟨seems⟩
