cabinets, libraries, the pleasures of art, visits to theatres,
concerts, the baths, and so on. If he does not earn a fortune for
himself, he is granted a pension, in order that he may compose the
better. And again, these compositions, so prized by us, remain
useless lumber for the people, and utterly unserviceable to them.

And if still more of these dealers in spiritual nourishment are
developed further, as men of science desire, and a studio is erected
in every village; if an orchestra is set up, and authors are
supported in those conditions which artistic people regard as
indispensable for themselves,--I imagine that the working-classes
will sooner take an oath never to look at any pictures, never to
listen to a symphony, never to read poetry or novels, than to feed
all these persons.

And why, apparently, should art not be of service to the people? In
every cottage there are images and pictures; every peasant man and
woman sings; many own harmonicas; and all recite stories and verses,
and many read. It is as if those two things which are made for each
other--the lock and the key--had parted company; they have sprung so
far apart, that not even the possibility of uniting them presents
itself. Tell the artist that he should paint without a studio,
model, or costumes, and that he should paint five-kopek pictures,
and he will say that that is tantamount to abandoning his art, as he
understands it. Tell the musician that he should play on the
harmonica, and teach the women to sing songs; say to the poet, to
the author, that he ought to cast aside his poems and romances, and
compose song-books, tales, and stories, comprehensible to the
uneducated people,--they will say that you are mad.