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Eeldrop and Appleplex
by
“The artistic temperament–” began Appleplex.
“No, not that.” Eeldrop snatched away the opportunity. “I mean that what holds the artist together is the work which he does; separate him from his work and he either disintegrates or solidifies. There is no interest in the artist apart from his work. And there are, as you said, those people who provide material for the artist. Now Edith’s poem ‘To Atthis’ proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that she is not an artist. On the other hand I have often thought of her, as I thought this evening, as presenting possibilities for poetic purposes. But the people who can be material for art must have in them something unconscious, something which they do not fully realise or understand. Edith, in spite of what is called her impenetrable mask, presents herself too well. I cannot use her; she uses herself too fully. Partly for the same reason I think, she fails to be an artist: she does not live at all upon instinct. The artist is part of him a drifter, at the mercy of impressions, and another part of him allows this to happen for the sake of making use of the unhappy creature. But in Edith the division is merely the rational, the cold and detached part of the artist, itself divided. Her material, her experience that is, is already a mental product, already digested by reason. Hence Edith (I only at this moment arrive at understanding) is really the most orderly person in existence, and the most rational. Nothing ever happens to her; everything that happens is her own doing.”
“And hence also,” continued Appleplex, catching up the thread, “Edith is the least detached of all persons, since to be detached is to be detached from one’s self, to stand by and criticise coldly one’s own passions and vicissitudes. But in Edith the critic is coaching the combatant.”
“Edith is not unhappy.”
“She is dissatisfied, perhaps.”
“But again I say, she is not tragic: she is too rational. And in her career there is no progression, no decline or degeneration. Her condition is once and for always. There is and will be no catastrophe.
“But I am tired. I still wonder what Edith and Mrs. Howexden have in common. This invites the consideration (you may not perceive the connection) of Sets and Society, a subject which we can pursue tomorrow night.”
Appleplex looked a little embarrassed. “I am dining with Mrs. Howexden,” he said. “But I will reflect upon the topic before I see you again.”