My second consideration (in aid of crossing the gulf) touches
the quality of the pleasure to be derived from a classic. It is never
a violent pleasure. It is subtle, and it will wax in intensity,
but the idea of violence is foreign to it. The artistic pleasures
of an uncultivated mind are generally violent. They proceed from
exaggeration in treatment, from a lack of balance, from attaching
too great an importance to one aspect (usually superficial),
while quite ignoring another. They are gross, like the joy
of Worcester sauce on the palate. Now, if there is one point
common to all classics, it is the absence of exaggeration.
The balanced sanity of a great mind makes impossible exaggeration,
and, therefore, distortion. The beauty of a classic is not at all apt
to knock you down. It will steal over you, rather. Many serious students
are, I am convinced, discouraged in the early stages because
they are expecting a wrong kind of pleasure. They have abandoned
Worcester sauce, and they miss it. They miss the coarse *tang*.
They must realise that indulgence in the *tang* means the sure
and total loss of sensitiveness--sensitiveness even to the *tang* itself.
They cannot have crudeness and fineness together. They must choose,
remembering that while crudeness kills pleasure, fineness ever
intensifies it.



Chapter VIII

SYSTEM IN READING

You have now definitely set sail on the sea of literature.
You are afloat, and your anchor is up. I think I have given