第 11 节
作者:      更新:2022-06-15 11:22      字数:9321
  my   young      days   I   praised   the   master   whose pictures   I   liked;  but   as   my
  judgement       matured    I  praised   myself     for  liking   what   the   masters    had
  chosen to have me like。〃          It is to be deplored that so few of us really take
  pains to study the moods of the masters。               In our stubborn ignorance we
  refuse   to   render   them   this   simple   courtesy;   and   thus   often   miss   the   rich
  repast    of  beauty    spread    before   our   very   eyes。    A   master    has   always
  something to offer; while we go hungry solely because of our own lack of
  appreciation。
  To   the   sympathetic   a   masterpiece   becomes   a   living   reality   towards
  which we feel drawn in bonds of comradeship。                 The masters are immortal;
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  for their loves and fears live in us over             and over again。        It is rather the
  soul than the hand; the man than the technique; which appeals to us;the
  more   human   the   call   the   deeper   is   our   response。     It   is   because   of   this
  secret   understanding   between   the   master   and   ourselves   that   in   poetry   or
  romance we suffer and rejoice with the hero and heroine。 Chikamatsu; our
  Japanese   Shakespeare;   has   laid   down   as   one   of   the   first   principles   of
  dramatic      composition      the   importance      of  taking    the  audience     into   the
  confidence   of   the   author。   Several   of   his   pupils   submitted   plays   for   his
  approval;   but   only   one   of   the   pieces   appealed   to   him。      It   was   a   play
  somewhat resembling the Comedy of Errors; in which twin brethren suffer
  through      mistaken     identity。   〃This;〃     said   Chikamatsu;       〃has   the   proper
  spirit   of   the   drama;   for   it takes   the   audience   into   consideration。      The
  public   is   permitted   to   know   more   than   the   actors。    It   knows   where   the
  mistake lies; and pities the poor figures on the board who innocently rush
  to their fate。〃
  The   great   masters   both   of   the   East   and   the   West   never   forgot    the
  value     of   suggestion     as   a  means     for   taking    the   spectator    into   their
  confidence。       Who can contemplate a masterpiece without being awed by
  the    immense      vista   of  thought    presented     to   our   consideration?       How
  familiar   and   sympathetic   are   they   all;   how   cold   in   contrast   the   modern
  commonplaces!          In the   former   we   feel   the warm  outpouring of   a   man's
  heart; in the latter only a formal salute。            Engrossed in his technique; the
  modern       rarely   rises  above     himself。     Like    the   musicians      who    vainly
  invoked the Lungmen harp; he sings only of himself。 His works may be
  nearer science; but are further from             humanity。       We have an old saying
  in Japan that a woman cannot love a man who is truly vain; for their is no
  crevice in his heart for love to enter and fill up。              In art vanity is equally
  fatal to sympathetic feeling; whether on the part of the artist or the public。
  Nothing is more hallowing than the union of kindred spirits in art。                    At
  the moment of meeting; the art lover transcends himself。 At once he is and
  is   not。   He   catches   a   glimpse   of   Infinity;   but   words   cannot   voice   his
  delight; for the eye has no tongue。              Freed from the fetters of matter; his
  spirit moves in the rhythm of things。              It is thus that art becomes akin to
  religion   and   ennobles   mankind。         It   is   this   which   makes   a   masterpiece
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  something sacred。          In the old days the veneration in which the Japanese
  held the   work   of   the   great   artist   was   intense。   The   tea…masters   guarded
  their treasures with religious secrecy; and it was often necessary to open a
  whole   series   of   boxes;   one   within      another;   before   reaching      the   shrine
  itselfthe silken wrapping within whose soft folds lay the holy of holies。
  Rarely was the object exposed to view; and then only to the initiated。
  At the time when Teaism was in the ascendency the Taiko's                       generals
  would be better satisfied with the present of a rare work of art than a large
  grant of territory as a reward of victory。              Many of our favourite dramas
  are based on the        loss and recovery of a noted masterpiece。               For instance;
  in   one   play   the   palace   of   Lord   Hosokawa;   in   which   was   preserved   the
  celebrated painting of Dharuma by Sesson; suddenly takes fire through the
  negligence   of   the   samurai   in   charge。     Resolved   at   all   hazards   to   rescue
  the precious painting; he rushes into the burning building and seizes   the
  kakemono; only to find all means of exit cut off by the flames。 Thinking
  only  of   the   picture;  he   slashes   open   his   body  with   his   sword;   wraps   his
  torn sleeve about the Sesson and             plunges it into the gaping wound。            The
  fire is at last    extinguished。       Among the smoking embers is found a half…
  consumed corps; within which reposes the treasure uninjured by the fire。
  Horrible as such tales are; they illustrate the great value that we set upon a
  masterpiece; as well as the devotion of a trusted samurai。
  We must remember; however; that art is of value only to the extent that
  it   speaks   to   us。 It   might   be   a   universal   language   if   we   ourselves   were
  universal   in   our   sympathies。      Our     finite   nature;   the   power  of   tradition
  and conventionality; as well as our hereditary instincts; restrict the scope
  of    our     capacity      for    artistic   enjoyment。        Our     very    individuality
  establishes in one sense a limit to our understanding; and our                      aesthetic
  personality seeks its own affinities in the creations of the past。                  It is true
  that    with   cultivation    our   sense    of   art  appreciation     broadens;     and    we
  become able to enjoy many hitherto unrecognised expressions of beauty。
  But; after all; we       see only our own image in the universe;our particular
  idiosyncracies   dictate   the   mode   of   our   perceptions。          The   tea…    masters
  collected   only   objects   which   fell   strictly   within   the      measure   of   their
  individual appreciation。
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  One   is   reminded   in   this   connection   of   a   story   concerning   Kobori…
  Enshiu。      Enshiu      was   complimented   by   his   disciples   on   the         admirable
  taste he had displayed in the choice of his collection。                     Said they; 〃Each
  piece   is   such   that   no   one   could   help   admiring。      It   shows   that   you   had
  better taste than had Rikiu; for his collection could only be appreciated by
  one   beholder   in   a   thousand。〃        Sorrowfully   Enshiu   replied:   〃This   only
  proves how commonplace I am。                 The great Rikiu dared to love only those
  objects which personally appealed to him; whereas I unconsciously cater
  to the taste of the majority。 Verily; Rikiu was one in a thousand among tea…
  masters。〃
  It is much   to be regretted that so much   of the  apparent                  enthusiasm
  for    art  at  the  present     day   has   no   foundation      in  real   feeling。    In   this
  democratic   age   of   ours   men   clamour          for   what   is   popularly   considered
  the   best;   regardless   of   their    feelings。       They   want   the   costly;   not   the
  refined; the fashionable; not the beautiful。               To the masses; contemplation
  of   illustrated   periodicals;   the   worthy   product   of   their   own   industrialism;
  would   give   more   digestible   food         for   artistic   enjoyment   than      the   early
  Italians   or   the   Ashikaga   masters;   whom   they   pretend   to   admire。             The
  name of the artist is more important to them than the quality of the work。
  As   a   Chinese   critic   complained   many   centuries   ago;   〃People   criticise   a
  picture     by   their   ear。〃   It  is  this   lack   of   genuine     appreciation      that   is
  responsible for the pseudo…classic horrors that to…day greet us wherever we
  turn。
  Another common mistake is that of confusing art with