They must be
admitted, alas! upon a doubtful title; many without marriage
robes. Thus any work of art, as it proceeds towards
completion, too often - I had almost written always - loses
in force and poignancy of main design. Our little air is
swamped and dwarfed among hardly relevant orchestration; our
little passionate story drowns in a deep sea of descriptive
eloquence or slipshod talk.
But again, we are rather more tempted to admit those
particulars which we know we can describe; and hence those
most of all which, having been described very often, have
grown to be conventionally treated in the practice of our
art. These we choose, as the mason chooses the acanthus to
adorn his capital, because they come naturally to the
accustomed hand. The old stock incidents and accessories,
tricks of work-manship and schemes of composition (all being
admirably good, or they would long have been forgotten) haunt
and tempt our fancy, offer us ready-made but not perfectly
appropriate solutions for any problem that arises, and wean
us from the study of nature and the uncompromising practice
of art. To struggle, to face nature, to find fresh
solutions, and give expression to facts which have not yet
been adequately or not yet elegantly expressed, is to run a
little upon the danger of extreme self-love. Difficulty sets
a high price upon achievement; and the artist may easily fall
into the error of the French naturalists, and consider any
fact as welcome to admission if it be the ground of brilliant
handiwork; or, again, into the error of the modern landscape-
painter, who is apt to think that difficulty overcome and
science well displayed can take the place of what is, after
all, the one excuse and breath of art - charm.
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