Literature and Democracy

(Lecturer, V. R. College, Nellore)

I

When we remember Ruskin's warning against the mischief of ‘masked words’ which chameleon-like change their hue to suit the whim and fancy of each individual, no apology will, I believe, be needed for explaining the terms Literature and Democracy though they are so familiar and widely current. ‘Literature’ is here used in the usual restricted sense of ‘elegant literature’ or ‘belles-lettres,’ a body of writing "that has claim to consideration on the

ground of beauty of form or emotional effect." ‘Democracy’ possesses here the same comprehensive meaning which Mazzini gave it when he defined it as "the progress of all, through all, under the leading of the best and the wisest." The term is here used as being applicable to the whole community that observes the principle of equality between man and man in the matter of all essential rights, out of which follow as a corollary the democratic State with the ultimate sovereignty vested in the community as a whole, and the democratic Government meaning "the Government of the people, by the people, for the people." It necessarily implies on the negative side the abolition of all special rights and privileges, the removal of all artificial barriers between man and man, and on the positive side the emancipation of the poor, submerged humanity.

It may be at once conceded that Literature in the past has flourished mainly under the patronage of kings and nobles. Whatever draws may be pointed out in the ancient institution of Monarchy, its one redeeming merit has been this spontaneous homage always paid by kings to poets and scholars. Queen Elizabeth of England and King Louis XIV of France, to mention but two striking instances, have eternally endeared themselves to mankind by their literary patronage. In our own country, there has been no royal Court without one or more poets adorning it. The kings and nobility in India vied with each other in honouring men of letters, and especially the names of King Bhoja and Sri Krishnadevaraya whose Courts held respectively the ‘nine gems’ and the ‘eight cordinal elephants’–as the poets were called–are for ever gratefully remembered by all lovers of literature. Nursed and nourished by royal favour, literature had naturally an aristocratic outlook. Every poem of note was dedicated to some noble patron; and to an exaggerated praise of his person and pedigree went many pages. Even in the body of the work, the poet sought to please the sovereign by throwing hints that the semi-divine hero of the mythical story was but a magnified prototype of his patron. The very episode chosen was made to appear but a thinly-veiled glorification of some incident in the royal patron's life. The Faerie Queene of Spenser was but a grand eulogy of Queen Elizabeth; the life and loves depicted in the classical plays in Sanskrit, in the Restoration Drama in English, and in the Prabandhic poetry in Telugu are but idealised pictures of the life and loves in the Court and the harem. One famous Prabandham for instance, written by Thimmana, a prominent Court-poet of Sri Krishnadevaraya, while ostensibly narrating the episode or Lord Krishna coaxing his favourite consert Satya out of her jealous wrath, seeks, it is said, to argue Sri Krishnadevaraya himself out of an amatory quarrel with his queen. The ‘cloud-capped towers,’ the seven-storeyed garden palaces, the gorgeous domes and glittering minarets, the melting moonstone pavements beside the meandering rivulets, the celestial gardens in which the flowers and fruits of all seasons are found together and the breeze is ever gentle, ever wooing the coy creepers, and ever stealing and wafting their fragrance, the chattering parrots, and chirping pigeons, the strutting swans and dancing peacocks, of whose descriptions our old plays and poems are so full, were all, we may be sure, only the poetical transfigurations of aristocratic life in its varied phases of prosperity and happiness.

It would not however be correct to say that literature, even aristocratic literature, neglected wholly the democratic view-point. Even while treating of kings and Courts, the poets by harping on sentiments and emotions, by concentrating on the eternal verities that confront all beings and by glorifying the basic principles of human nature may be said to have laid ‘well and truly’ the foundations of Democracy. Such stories as King Cophetua begging the hand of a beggar-maid, or the aged King Santanu allowing himself to be rowed by a boat-maid into the Ganges of Love, or King Dnshyanta casually meeting an orphan-girl in a hermitage, falling in love with her at first sight, marrying her then and there in Gretna Green fashion and making her his queen-consort could have but one effect, that of minimising the distinctions of rank and wealth and emphasising "universal human equality in respect of the profound underlying essentials of man's common nature" upon which Democracy is ultimately based. There were, moreover, poets even in ancient times, who more directly helped the democratic movement by espousing the cause of the poor man. A Japanese poet of the eighth century thus bewails the woes of poverty:

"Heaven and earth are wide, but for me they have become narrow;
The sun and moon are bright, but for me they yield no radiance.
Is it so with all men or with me alone?

Born a man by the rarest of chances,
I am made in human shape like another,
Yet on my shoulders I wear a cloak void of padding
Which hangs down in tatters like sea-weed–
A mere mass of rags.
Within my hut, twisted out of shape,
Straw is strewn on the bare floor of earth.
To crown all–cutting off the end, as the proverb has it,
Of a thing that is too short already–
Comes the headman of the village with his rod,
His summons (to forced labour) penetrates to my sleeping place.
Such helpless misery is but the way of the world."

Here are three ancient Chinese poems anticipating the care-free exultant vein of Robert Burns, the two former of which glorify the lot of the poor labourer while the last one eulogises the proverbially impecunious scholar. I give their English rendering in order, below:

THE HUSBANDMAN’S SONG

"Work, work;–from the rising sun
Till sunset comes and the day is done
I plough the sod
And harrow the clod,
And meat and drink come both to me.
So what care I for the powers that be?"

THE POOR MAN

"No scarlet-tasselled hat of state
Can vie with soft repose:
Grand mansions do not taste the joys
That the poor man's cabin knows."

THE SCHOLAR

"A scholar lives on yonder hill
His clothes are rarely whole to view,
Nine times a month he eats his fill,
Once in ten years his hat is new.
Owretched lot!–and yet the while
He ever wears a sunny smile."

Even Shakespeare, who is said to be too aristocratic, pays to the poor but honest labourer the following tribute which is all the more striking since it is put into the mouth of a king:

"No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
Who with a body filled and vacant mind
Gets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave."

We should also recognise that the race of the Court-poets was not wholly unrelieved by independent democratic authors like Milton and Johnson in England, and Bhartruhari and Bammera Potana in our own country who openly raised their voice against the tyranny of kings and nobles, and who would never sell their sacred Muse for any consideration and never bend their knee to the mightiest potentate. Both by their writings and by their personal example, they undoubtedly accelerated the pace of Democracy.

Moreover, if we trace the aristocratic literature to its origins, we find it taking its rise in a mass of folk-lore, primitive ballads, crude songs etc., ftoating loosely among the general community and floating down across Time without beginning. The most ancient classics in the West, the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer, are now regarded on an hands as but artistic compilations of numerous stories in prose and verse handed down by hoary tradition, popularised by wandering minstrels and mendicants, and widely prevalent among the people at that time. I venture to think that the most ancient Indian epics, the Ramayana of Valmiki, the Mahabharata of Vyasa and the Bhagavata of Suka, are also of like nature. These varieties of popular literature have not at an been superseded by their off-spring, the ‘belles-lettres,’ but have persisted alongside of the latter down to our time. Indeed while the elegant literature has been accessible only to the cultured few, these have given solace and inspiration to the multitude. The ballads and kirtans recited by our wandering minstrels, and some of the ditties sung by our women-folk in marriages and other festive occasions bear on them evident signs of their being as old as the language or the race. It is a wonder how oral tradition has preserved them so long.

From the foregoing, it is clear that Literature, aristocratic as well as popular, and Democracy have been inextricably interwined and mutually helpful from their very origin. Even confining ‘Democracy’ to politics, one will not be far wrong in asserting that literature and men of letters have on the whole exercised a profound influence in the direction of political democracy. The most striking instance in this connection is the influence of English literature on India. How much to the spread of this literature the democratic movement in India is indebted, even the extreme nationalist will, I believe, readily acknowledge. Milton, Burns, Shelley, Byron, Swinburne, Carpenter, Shaw and Wells are names to conjure with among all protagonists of the Indian democratic movement. That men of letters have often wielded great power in the state is amply illustrated in history. Demosthenes and Ciero had the most potent voice in the governance of Greece and Rome during their life-time; Milton was the confidant of Cromwell; Ibn Al Mutazz, a famous, ninth-century poet of Arabia, was the son and Secretary of Caliph Al Mutazz; Han Yu, a Chinese poet of about the same period, was a statesman of the first rank; the famous trio in Japanese literature of the eighteenth century, Haku Seki, Kiuso and Motoori were, it is well-known, constantly consulted by the Government; to crown all, two great poets in India, Bhoja and Krishnadevaraya, were themselves kings. It can be further proved that great movements towards national emancipation, of which political democracy is but a part, owed their inspiration chiefly to men of letters.

Martin Luther, the great German writer and translator of the Bible, was the founder of Protestantism; Rousseau was the prophet of the French Revolution; Montesquieu, though erroneously representing the English Constitution, got the United States to accept his plan of separation of the Judiciary, the Legislature and the Executive; Tolstoy by his teachings paved the way for Bolshevism; a Burmese author U. Awbatha by his fine translations, from the Pali, of the great Jatakas of Gauthama has revolutionised the life and thought of people and made the race what it is today; and our poet Tagore, every one will agree, is the father of the modern Indian Renaissance.

Besides the work of individual authors, there was one event in the realm of authorship that made for Democracy. It was the discovery of the art of printing. This at once made it possible for any number of copies being brought out with incredible ease and rapidity and broadcasted among the public. This wide dissemination of knowledge instilled new taste and kindled new aspirations in the common people. It thoroughly woke them out of their ‘pathetic contentment’ and made them intensely dissatisfied with their existing lot; it revealed to them their high destiny and their inherent strength to achieve it. The inevitable drift of it all could only be towards Democracy.

Now let us consider how in its turn the movement towards Democracy affected Literature and its votaries. One common feature of the earliest literature in all countries is its metrical form. Nay, even purely non-literary subjects such as the positive sciences and law were written in verse. In pre-Islamic Arabia, for instance, while the poet was the wise man, magician and tribal oracle, while poetry was all in all, prose was never written and was indeed not held to be of sufficient importance to merit such an honour. In Ancient India, all sciences and arts, not to speak of literary works, were composed exclusively in verse. The later emergence of prose is directly traceable to the democratic influence. The verse-form that satisfied the small section comprising priestly scholars, and even helped to keep up their exclusiveness, would not do for the growing circle of lay public who had not proceeded much further than the ‘three R's’ but wanted an intellectual pabulum suited to their tastes. They naturally demanded an easier and less cumbrous medium which came nearer to oral speech, and the result was the evolution of Prose. Moreover, the privileged few in Courts, academies or monasteries could afford leisurely flights in the fairy realms of Romance or supra-mundane sphere of Epic or Tragedy. But to create interest in the busy multitude, the author had to treat of themes not far removed from the scene of their daily labours, and thus arose Fiction.

Another craze of the literate public was for news of all kinds and for articles handling in a popular way matters of current interest. This resulted in the birth of Journalism.

While thus the impact of Democracy upon the world of letters has given prominence to Prose, Fiction and Journalism, the great classics of antiquity have gradually fallen into disuse. Still they adorn the book-shelves and their names are uttered with reverence. But they have ceased to be studied and appreciated by the public. They are no longer a live force in the modern world. The reason is not far to seek. The average reader today is so much engrossed in problems of the moment that he has no eye for the immaculate form, and elaborate technique, the subtle suggestion and high imagination of the classics. He is so utterly lost in the trees that he cannot see the wood. He readily hugs the ‘literature of the hour’ in preference to the ‘literature for all time.’

The problems created by Democracy have so much dominated the minds of men that they could not but have profound reactions on Literature. To some one of these problems every literary piece, like everything else in the world, has perforce to be connected, and its value as literature is just in proportion to its success in solving the particular problem. The solution it proposes is its ‘message’ and art is meaningless without this ‘message.’ Bernard Shaw once characteristically declared himself superior to Shakespeare on the ground that he had a clear-cut explicit message to the world while Shakespeare had none. This strikingly brings out the change in literary values wrought by problem-breeding and problem-hunting Democracy. Pure idealism and disinterested art count for nothing; instead, only realistic propagandist literature pays. It is not open propaganda either, for even today men refuse to be lectured to and sermonised in literature. So the modern author seeks to achieve his object by a show of relaxation and amusement.

The advent of Democracy has had its effect also on the literary style. The formal beauties such as choice diction and rhetorical flourishes have lost their attraction and on the other hand a plain, familiar, matter-of-fact expression is now quite satisfying.

The worst evil of uncultured Democracy seeking to assert itself in literature has been a morbid love of sensation. Sensation today carries the palm over quiet beauty; for every single reader of Homer or Shakespeare or Tagore there are, I fancy, a thousand readers of Miss Mayo. There was a time when reading from some classic formed part of the day's routine for an educated person. But today, with true Democracy, the mania is for the newspaper, the detective novel or the sentimental short story. It is no wonder that those accustomed to the strong wine of sensational literature, should have no stomach for the mild draughts of pure classics,

Now with regard to the literary profession, the first effect of Democracy has been a complete break-up of the old order. Along with the regime of kings and nobility, their patronage of letters also came to an end; and there was no ready substitute to make up for the loss. Authors were thrown upon their own resources and for a while endured stark misery until the place of the noble patrons was taken by the literary public. The woes of authors during this interregnum are strikingly illustrated by the plight of the ‘Grubstreet scribblers’ so unkindly exposed in Pope's Dunciad. This twilight of transition we in India, and especially in our Andhra Desa, do not seem to have yet passed. Here we have no cultured public worth the name hungering for literary fare, and the only literary patrons of today, barring a very few anachronisms of old-fashioned aristocracy, seem to be our Text-book Committee and Boards of Studies! Democracy, in other words, has yet to vindicate its cultural pretensions in this land.

The way in which Demos treated authors has been sometimes curious and even baffling. No doubt instances are not altogether lacking in which it gave immediate recognition and all due encouragement to deserving merit, and its evaluation has been upheld by Time. The Poems of Tennyson and the Gitanjali of Tagore, for instance, were fortunate in winning from the literary public instant recognition for their authors as poetic stars of the first magnitude. But such instances have been few and far between. Too often has Demos perversely worshipped false gods, and rejected the true. In either case, Time has vindicated Truth and set right the popular judgment. Alexander Pope was regarded by the public of his age as the greatest poet of all time, even greater than Shakespeare! But Wordsworth was greeted with, "This will never do!" In the realm of Fiction, Sterne was admired in his day as the most original genius while George Eliot in her time was slighted as a laboured writer. Too often Demos began by ignoring or decrying a great genius but gradually allowed itself to be wheedled or compelled into admiration. From Milton to Bernard Shaw, we find a host of writers like Grey, Wordsworth, Keats, Browning, etc., for whom early popular negligence or disfavour was ultimately transformed into adoration. Swift in the eighteenth century, Carlyle in the nineteenth century, and Bernard Shaw in our own time are three curious instances of great writers whose utter disregard of popular favour and open chastisement of Demos, gradually won for them esteem and admiration from that very Demos. How one can by patient and assiduous courtship wear out popular prejudice and win due recognition is proved by the instance of a recent writer, W. H. Davies. His magnum opus, a tragedy in blank verse, was rejected by one publisher after another; then by going out on tramping expeditions, he gathered enough money to get his first poems printed. But the journals to which they were sent for review paid no heed to them. Now taking the matter into his own hands, he went about with copies of his poems in hand making personal appeals, which not only brought him money but secured reviews in the leading papers and his literary position was at once established. At times public opinion was also diametrically opposed to the critical and scholarly estimate. For instance The Sight That Failed of Kipling failed indeed with the critics but was warmly applauded by the public. On the other hand, while the critics gave George Gissing high praise as a literary artist, the public gave him the cold shoulder.

It will not, on the whole, be far wrong to conclude that while Literature both directly and indirectly contributed to the consummation of Democracy, the latter though it has occasionally shown sound sense and judgment in discovering, and appreciating literary genius, has yet to prove itself an infallible guide in estimating true worth, especially in original writers.

II

Having so far outlined the historical relationship between Literature and Democracy, I shall now deal with their present position and future prospect, relative to each other. There are those who take a pessimistic view and say that at present they both are drifting apart and must sooner or later come to grief. According to them, Literature is now a spent-up force; it has lost its vigour and freshness; its high pretensions have been completely discredited; it no longer pays; its soft flageolet is scarcely audible in the deafening roar of Industrialism; it has almost ceased to count in the work-a-day world; it is a relic of the sentimental past and should seem a piece of anachronism in modern life.

I completely dissent from the above view. ‘While’ it is a fact that one kind of literature, the classics, has almost fallen into disuse, it is not at all true that all literature is now losing ground. Especially the essay, the short story, the novel, the drama and even occasional verse are far from being underrated. Making allowance for temporary aberrations of popular whim and caprice, the great public nowadays are not slow to appreciate achievements in the above fields; and when once a writer becomes a persona grata with the modern public, the royal patronage of old is as nothing before the golden harvest of modern popular authorship. This is amply illustrated by the amazing fortunes of Kipling, Shaw, Wells, Edgar Wallace, Conan Doyle and other popular idols of Western Democracies.

Far from being crowded out by the political and economic problems of Democracy and threatened with extinction, Literature is being more and more looked to for a solution of these very problems. "The future of Poetry," declared Mathew Arnold, "is immense because, in poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay." This claim he might have as well extended to other forms of literature equally worthy. The truth of his prophetic utterance is being made clearer as time passes. As modern Democracy is tightening its political and economic coils round every nation, we are learning the utter futility of all the make-shifts and stop-gaps of short-sighted selfish diplomacy, and are realising that the only salvation lies in co-operative action springing from broad-based sympathy and humanity, so eloquently voiced by the best writers of all ages and climes. Men bankrupt of other resources are falling upon the reserve-fund of collective wisdom of the greatest writers, past and present. Now, more than ever before, is heeded the cry of oppressed humanity which Shakespeare has put into the mouth of Shylock in these words: "Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?" Now, if ever, is being burnt into our souls the truth of Burns's song, "A Man's a man for a’ that" and especially his saying:

"Rank is but the guinea-stamp
Man is the gowd for a that."

The war-weary democracies of today fed up with aggressive nationalism and economic exploitation, and finding themselves between the devil of Dictatorship and the deep sea of Communism, are turning not to the harangues of politicians nor to the fallacies of economists but to the pages of Tolstoy and Thoreau, of Rabindranath Tagore and Romain Rolland. Shelley was content to claim that "poets are unacknowledged legislators"; but one may now assert that they are no longer unacknowledged in that capacity.

There are also pessimists who hold that Democracy has been tried and found wanting, that it is fast crumbling under the problems of its own making, that being tied to the wheels of economic Industrialism, it is cutting itself adrift from cultural influences, and that sooner or later it must give place to Dictatorship or Communism, either of which is essentially undemocratic. Democracy runs Counter to the old world conception of the fitness of things. Like the Prince of Tagore's story, it has entered our ‘Kingdom of Cards’ and is shaking us upside down and outside in. The right to err and to suffer in consequence is implicit in Democracy, though not of course intended by it. But if we believe in the truth of our organic existence as human society, we must needs have faith in Democracy. For, as Prof. John Dewey observes, "Democracy approaches most nearly to the ideal of all social organisation, viz., that in which the individual and the society are organic to each other. The individual embodies and realises within himself the spirit and will of the whole organism. The individual is the society concentrated; he is the localised manifestation of its life."

Is the gulf really widening between Democracy and Literature? It has been already shown how Democracy is in the last resort seeking and finding proper guidance in Literature. In its turn, Democracy is also giving a new orientation to Literature by persuading it to leave off its old moorings, to come out of its ‘splendid isolation.’ The world of letters is no longer a fool's paradise, nor are the men of letters mere epicureans of delicious fancy. Its old aristocratic trappings Literature has long outworn. And Democracy has taught Literature that it will not do for the Muse to be merely ‘riding the Pegasus,’ or angel-like ‘beating in the void her luminous wings in vain.’ She must come down to the hard earth, and play the guardian angel for the whole of mankind. She must prove herself the ‘friend, philosopher and guide’ to even the low-liest and the lost. She must cease to be the Court-maiden toying with kings and hanging on their favours, but must turn to the forlorn suffering humanity and bring to them the salvation which she alone can. Literature that is purely ‘aery-faery’, that is merely ‘sound and fury signifying nothing’ or that is simply a weaver of pretty fancies, a dresser of dainty sentiments, a juggler of jingling sounds, is certainly at a discount today; it is not wanted; it has no place in the economy of Democracy. On the other hand, the crying need of the day is a literature that fills the dried-up channels of modern existence with the flood-tide of a new life, a literature that brings home to the bosoms and businesses of men the beauty and utility of Faith, Hope and Love, literature that riding on ‘the coursers of the air’ clears it of all mistrust and misunderstanding by proclaiming everywhere the message of ‘peace on earth and goodwill among men,’ a literature that by raising the minds of even the humblest out of their mean surroundings and making them dwell, for a time at least, on the grand or lovely aspects of Nature and Truth, makes their lot less insufferable. To perform this function Literature must undergo a great change. By its simplicity and ease of manner it must make itself accessible to all. By its transparent sincerity and disinterestedness, it must inspire universal confidence. By its sweetness and beneficence, it must endear itself to everyone. Like a limpid irrigation-channel, the current of Literature must be ‘of the earth, earthy’ and at the same time wear the hues of heaven; it must not only feast the mind but help to fill the belly. In a most practical manner, it must stead humanity of today in all their vital necessities. In short, Literature must breathe the democratic spirit through and through; it must become the very soul of Democracy.

Indeed the liaison that is fast developing between Literature and Democracy is the most hopeful sign of the times. The leading writers of today such as Tagore, Romain Rolland, Yeats, ‘A. E.,’ Wells, Shaw and Masefield, are all arden’t democrats and humanitarians. On the other hand, the present-day leaders of democratic movements in the world such as Annie Besant, Mahatma Gandhi, Kemal Pasha, Macdonald, etc., are themselves the finest products of literary culture and fervent worshippers at the shrine of the Muse. Democracy is opening up ‘fresh fields and pastures new’ for Literature. The material thus furnished is most promising, for it lends itself best to original imaginative treatment. Democratic life today is throwing up real tragedies and comedies, real epics and romances compared with which the tragedies and comedies, real epics and romances of old Literature almost sound insipid. ‘Orestes’ and ‘Hamlet’ can hardly match the colossal tragedy of poverty and unemployment at the present day. The ‘Alchemist’ and ‘Volpone’ are not half so comical as the peace-pacts and disarmament conferences of today. Coming nearer home, which comedy or tragi-comedy can overwhelm us with so much humour and irony as the tidal wave of ‘Sarada marriages’ that overtook us a year or two ago? ‘Iliad’ and ‘Paradise Lost’ must pant in vain for the ‘high seriousness’ of the present-day struggle between Man and Machine. ‘Orlando Furioso’ and the ‘Faerie Queene’ must indeed blush with modesty before the romance of our radio and aeroplane. With such themes as these Literature need not suffer because kings grow scarce. Authors who have grasped this truth, who have learned to shed the old-world mythology and grapple instead with this new material, need have no misgivings about their success; indeed they are the best guarantee for the future of both Literature and Democracy.

No one need wonder that the two are nowadays approaching each other for mutual inspiration and support. This is as it ought to be. For, in the first place, they both own a common origin, namely, faith in the essential goodness of human nature and in the equality, if not identity, of the soul in all human beings. Secondly they are bred on the same fare–the milk of human kindness, and the honey of idealism. Thirdly, they are, alike in most respects, mutually inseparable and indispensable. If there is anything in creation that is truly democratic, it is Literature. The world of letters has been aptly styled a republic. Worldly rank and privilege have no place here; only

"Sense and worth, o'er a’ this earth
Bear the gree and a’ that."

Here is no monopoly for any caste or creed, for any class or community. It is the common possession of all.

Literature breaks through all barriers of nationality and language and fulfils itself by appealing to the best in all men. Nay, one touch of true Literature makes all humanity kin. On the other hand, if there is anything that forms the raison d’ etre for Literature, it is Democracy. It constitutes the Millennium consciously or unconsciously aimed at by all men of letters; it provides the most favourable conditions for the realisation of the highest ideals set forth in Literature.

Without the vital breath and dynamic impulse of democratic ‘motif,’ Literature would become anemic and soon die of inanition. On the other hand, without the humanising influence and harmonising ‘soul force’ of Literature, Democracy would soon degenerate into a cock-pit of class-warfare and perish, involving the whole mass of mankind in its ruin. So the want of either will mean disaster to the other and to humanity.

Born of the same Mother, bred on the same diet, possessing the same features, these twins, Literature and Democracy, have been for too long straying from each other, the one in the vacuum of Unreality and the other in the quagmire of Materialism. In their mutual alliance and co-ordination lie the well-being of each and the salvation of humanity. "The love of Literature," says Beeton,: "is one of the most marked characteristics of advanced civilisation, and it exercises an important influence on practical life, on the destiny of nations, and on the progress of ages. As civilisation becomes diffused, the Literature of a country comes more and more into sympathy with ordinary life. Nor does Literature lose anything by being thus brought into contact with common life. For those works are ever the best and most useful which speak to the feelings and sympathies of the great mass of the people. Too frequently and too long have Literature and Life been completely alienated from each other, like two distinct worlds having no interests, no sympathies in common, to the great injury of both. Literature has been despised in the eyes of the world, and the world has been too much overlooked by men of letters." This divorce between Demos and Letters is also deplored by Fred Schlegal. "The isolation of the learned as a distinct body," says he, "from the great mass of people is the most formidable obstacle in the way of national civilisation. The various innate inclinations, nay the very conditions and circumstances of men should, to a certain extent, co-operate, if the productions of the mind are to be perfected or appreciated."

May Literature and Democracy, celestial twins as they are, enter arm in arm into their common inheritance, this God's earth, and bind all humanity in silken cords of love! May they together reign here in everlasting glory as the universal Father reigneth in Heaven!