the happy sequel has been due solely to the obstinate perseverance
of the few. They could not leave him alone; they would not.
They kept on savouring him, and talking about him, and buying him,
and they generally behaved with such eager zeal, and they were so
authoritative and sure of themselves, that at last the majority
grew accustomed to the sound of his name and placidly agreed
to the proposition that he was a genius; the majority really did not
care very much either way.


And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius
is kept alive from one generation to another. These few are always at work.
They are always rediscovering genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm
are exhaustless, so that there is little chance of genius being ignored.
And, moreover, they are always working either for or against
the verdicts of the majority. The majority can make a reputation,
but it is too careless to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few
agree with the majority in a particular instance, they will frequently
remind the majority that such and such a reputation has been made,
and the majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By the way,
we must not forget that such and such a reputation exists."
Without that persistent memory-jogging the reputation would quickly fall
into the oblivion which is death. The passionate few only have their way
by reason of the fact that they are genuinely interested in literature,
that literature matters to them. They conquer by their obstinacy alone,
by their eternal repetition of the same statements. Do you suppose
they could prove to the man in the street that Shakespeare
was a great artist? The said man would not even understand
the terms they employed. But when he is told ten thousand times,
and generation after generation, that Shakespeare was a great artist,